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Category Archives: Victor

Victor’s shit

Family problems (ironically) kept me away from drinking for a while, but I’m back with a double-shot of boozy fun.

Stiegl Bier – Salzburger, Austria (4.9% alc./vol.)

This dichromatic can grabbed my attention. It’s arguably an asshole technique, because this beer is not particularly pleasant. It is sour tasting, too heady, and leaves me wanting for the end. Filled my mouth with a combination of suds, bitterness, and something to the effect of sadness that only a cold, humid, and appendix-shaped country can create. I honestly had trouble finishing this one. But I’m well below the level of wealth that can tolerate dumping out beer.

London Pride – Fulller’s Griffin Brewery (4.7% alc./vol.)

This beer is tasty.  It’s easily drinkable and pleasant. A decent showing, but in hindsight, not very memorable. It’s slightly above average; if you want to put a number score to this, use whatever sounds respectable to you without getting to far into the upper echelons. It’s worth trying, sure… but like London, it’s sort of grey and overcast at all times.

London Style Porter – Fuller’s Griffin Brewery (5.4% alc./vol.)

Wow, this beer changed my entire outlook on beer. This is the first porter that I’ve ever tried, and to be entirely forthcoming, I fucking love this. Since the start of this article, I’ve tried another porter, and was not quite as impressed by it, ergo, this is my go to porter until I taste otherwise. Definitely recommend.
EDIT: I tried another one of these while sober and it was really good, but not the gift from heaven that I made it out to be at first.

König Ludwig Weissbier- Bayern, Germany (5.5% alc./vol.)

I know just enough German to know that this brew is named after King Ludwig of Bavaria.  If you’re at all familiar with the tradition of Weissbier (white or blonde beer), then this brew will not disappoint. While it’s not the most powerful beer in terms of sharpness or aftertaste, it delivers a warm and inviting texture while giving enough bitterness to show that it means business. Would definitely buy again.

Krombacher Pils – (4.8% alc./vol.)

Smooth and a little bit bitter. This brew was delightfully tasty for a pilsner, and near about the cheapest beer in the rack. I bought four more the next week I liked they so much. I can’t say a whole lot about this one beyond tasty, sorry.

Schnitzer Bräu – Black Forest, Germany (5% alc./vol.)

This beer states that it’s organic and that it’s also is gluten free. I don’t generally care about either of those, since my allergies lie elsewhere, but it’s worth noting that they print it on the label. It’s also about 40% more costly per bottle than other similar brews. The claim is that it’s brewed with the finest miller malt, and my (admittedly inexperienced) palate for malt is inclined to agree with their bragging. This brand isn’t worth drinking at any occasion, but I appreciate that with all the things that they left out… flavour isn’t one of them.

Fun fact, I struck up a conversation about this import beer with the curious woman at the cash register. She was interested in it because of the gluten-free nature of the premium beer. She was also an import. Bonus points for implied xenophobia?

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While I was walking home the other night, a thought occurred to me. And while I admit that this thought was primarily brought on by sleep deprivation and several other effects that the scientific community refers to as trippin’ balls, the fact remains that as I sit here sober the idea is still amusing. So, what the hell!? Isn’t that the test?

In a criminal drama, there’s always that moment when the investigating team finds a small clue, but the resultant information gathered far outweighs what would be reasonable to deduce. What I mean is that they come up with an entire plot’s worth of leads out of a single hint in a way that looks pretty ridiculous when you pull back for a moment. But maybe I’m over-thinking it, I’ll just demonstrate this idea.

Say the clue is a photograph for an example. Say it’s my photograph for a more specific example.

This sentence doesn't have any hidden clues, but you feel better about finding it anyway.

Say it's this photograph for the most specific example.

Now, I’m not saying that my keys have been in a crime scene, but I am saying that the breakdown of the “facts” would work something like this.

1. We know that the subject doesn’t own a vehicle, because all three keys are residential in cut. Ergo, he walks whenever he leaves his house, which we’re guessing is not very often based on the fact that he hasn’t gotten a new lanyard for his keys in over four years.
2. We know the age of the subject’s lanyard because we ran a search on the address printed, and it lead us to St.FX’s site. However, recently they stopped issuing them to residents, because of the tendency for them to catch on buildings, furniture, etc.
3. We know that the subject holds on to the past more than a healthy individually because he hasn’t been an attendant at that university, nor has he lived in that county in over two years. He’s also underhanded because the cut of the Weiser brand key matches those used in dormitories on St.FX’s upper campus. (The lower campus uses card key’s because they were more recently renovated.) The fact that he still holds on to it means that he decided not to return that key in case it’s ever profitable to return to that building later.
4. The largest key on the rings is an Ilco brand key. They make colourful keys of animals, scenery, cartoons… you know, that sort of thing… and he’s using one with a cat on it. The fact that there’s no identifiable marks on it suggests that he doesn’t own a cat at all. That, and the lack of cat hair on any of the personal effects we picked up probably indicates that he’s allergic to cats. Which means he’s compensating for it by using an image of a cat for his building key.
5. The third key is a Curtis brand, smaller, and more generic than the others. It’s his apartment key. I’m willing to bet that the subject picked a less personal key either because he deems his own personal residence less important than the collective nature of the building, or it’s a holdover from a childhood where he was raised by fairly authoritarian-socialist parents who prioritized the many over an individual.
6. Lastly, we found the camera with his fingerprints on it and examined the exif data. We know that he has way too much time on his hands, because he took this picture. He wanted us to follow him.

Q.E.D.

Okay, so last week I gave another trio of ales a try, and then couldn’t be arsed to write about it. (Luckily I don’t fire the cans off right away. )This is in no way an apology, I’m merely stating a fact that you couldn’t otherwise know. You’re welcome.

Tonight’s theme would be Pilsners from Continental Europe, but our third beer falls just outside what I can call mainland with total confidence, anyhow, you’ll see what I mean at Google maps.
Beck’s Beer – of Bremen Germany (5% alc. by vol.)

You know the germans make good stuff. Like the Flammenwerfer.

Beck’s is a pale lager that comes to us via the umbrella brand of Anhauser0Busch, whom you may know better for their frat beer Budweiser, and Bud light. Think of this like the foreign adoptee into the family that actually made something of himself. We’ve got a robust flavour, hinted at by a bubbly and lively smell that’s a little sweet. The hop aftertaste is just what you’re expecting, but I didn’t find it overpowering. Sharp at the start, but easy drinking after the first mouthful, when you fully grasp the taste. An excellent offering.

PilsnerUrquell – Plzeň, Czech Republic (4.4% alc. by vol.)

This Bohemian town is the source of the first pilsner style beer. Y’know, because it’s in the name.

My second pick is native to the Czech Republic. This town (Plzeň) has been brewing since the 13th century; the inviting smell and complex bitterness of the taste bear that out. I’ll give them this, after centuries of brewing tradition, they’ve given us a delicious beer that’s a little softer on the palate than most that I’m familiar with. It’s got a rich golden-yellow colour, similar to the previous. Thoroughly enjoyable. Curiously, I found that it retains a sharp taste, but does not punish a fast drinking.

Tuborg Pure Gold – Copenhagen Denmark (5.5% alc. by vol.)

Dammit, we were so close to a running theme.

I’m sorry dear readers, I picked this out before I realized that Copenhagen is not quite included in continental Europe. But I shall press on, because I don’t have a replacement. Also, two beers (however tasty) do not a trio make. The c0lour is true to the name, but I found that the large head dissipated quickly. Despite that, it was very aromatic, such that I can still picture the smell as I type. This lager has a bit more bite, and sort of an odd taste to match it’s bitterness. Perfectly drinkable beer, but clearly not as impressive as the other two. In the words of Woody Harrelson, when asked about a completely unrelated topic, “It’s not the taste, it’s the texture”.

Well, there you have it folks. Two hits and a miss. All I need now is a pithy line about access to the Baltic. Yup, sure wish I had one.

I felt sort of bad about not having a beer blog post to put up today, what with racial stereotypes for the Irish being what they are… hilarious. The reason in short for this is early morning business that can’t be put off tomorrow, and in the interest of not having shit fuck up, I’ve decided to not drink today. It’s a sad turn of events for anyone that loves beer as much as I.

What I could post was a brief recap of my first attempt at baking in a good long time after the (*shudder*) incident.

My father is encouraging up to the point of feigning death.

Construction of biscuits are as follows.
ACT 1
– Neglect sleep until 6:30am
– Decide to remedy hunger with something different
– Fail to find reasonable/reputable source of recipes for poorly-educated bachelors
– Find cookbook from a bygone era with nothing resembling a cover
– Flip though parchment looking for simplest recipe
– Squeeze out the last of the tea from last evening’s pot in desperation for caffeine
– Settle for biscuits.

ACT 2
– Pour flour, salt, baking powder and sugar into bowl
– Realize after mixing that your house doesn’t have any baking soda left
– Blend in lard and add 2 cups of milk as the recipe calls for
– Notice the recipe is totally full of shit, and that’s way too much milk for the ratio of dry goods
– Angst over your bowl of sludge
– Pound that bitter tea back without milk or sugar like a boss
– Abandon mixing spoon in favour of hands
– Forget to oil/grease hands before plunging in
– Find that your sludge is sticking to your hands now, such that it’s impossible to scrape off
– Regret not sleeping
– Frown and consider tears as a course of action

ACT 3
– Man the fuck up
– Get that goddamn flour back
– Dump more flour in
– No, dumbass, that’s not nearly enough
– Dump a lot more flour in
– Gradually unglue your hands from the vitriolic bowl of semi-alive dough
– Put on another pot of tea
– Rip and tear that shit into balls about so big (this size should be self evident)
– Flatten on cookie sheets
– Splash some fucking green colouring onto your mutant lumps; smear
– NOW! INTO THE FIRES OF HELL WITH YEE!

ACT 4
– Fucking burn some of them because your dumb ass wanted to go back to listening to podcasts.
– Salvage the morning with a plate of delicious and manly biscuits
– Tell wordpress

This is my baking. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

Another trio for you (the treasured reader) tonight! I’ve had numerous misgivings about doing this blog so regularly while my finances are in such disarray, and some of them weren’t even external jabs. To that end, I’ve got a new theme for #3 in the Blogroll. Tonight’s theme is Bargain tall-boys. So, let’s jump headlong into this trial of 3 beers under $3 apiece. THREE THREES!
[One note about the price listings in this article. I purchased these in New Glasgow, Nova Scotia. I make no promises about them being under the target price wherever you’re reading this from.)

Newcastle Brown Ale (alc./vol.4.7%) – $2.79 +deposit

This can is as bold and notable as the beer inside.

First on the agenda, we have this English Brown. Setting aside any attempts at less than favourable jokes about race relations in the colonial era before I go any further. As the name implies, it’s a darker coloured ale with a very hoppy smell that seems typical of English beer. It was very effervescent when drunk slowly, but I can hardly say I had the self-control for that shtick. Regrettably, I am totally at a lost as to describing the taste, but it actually reminds me of coffee.
Oddly,  the taste lilts up at the end of the drink, as if it’s asking a question. Unfortunately, a question that’s a shade too intimate, and leaves you feeling awkward and unsure of how to continue. Still worth trying if you fancy the British stuff.

Morland’s “Old Speckled Hen” English Fine Ale (alc./vol. 5.2%) – $2.47 +deposit

Fruity, rich, malty, and smooth. You can make your own joke here.

Right of the bat, I have to wonder two things about this beer. One, why am I afraid to ask if “old speckled hen” is a sexual euphemism across the pond. And two, how the Christ do I keep picking up UK beer? As for the beer itself, it’s a lighter brown with a moderate head and barely any bubble in the glass. A pleasant but nondescript smell was present. It tasted like a red beer after being smoothed out and made slightly more bitter. The finish is malty and very smooth, aftertaste is dry… Honestly, it left me wanting more

Brasserie Licorne’s Boris (5.5% alc./vol.) – $2.51 +deposit

Yes, that script on the can is philosophy. No, it doesn't impact the taste.

Since the third beer tonight is based in France, I have to imagine the name is pronounced “Boh-Rhee” rather than what my english-eyes want to interpret as a Baltic man’s nomenclature.
This light golden coloured beer sports almost no bubble and is not quite foamless. It’s smell is rather sweet, especially compared to the other two I have here tonight.  The taste stays crisp and sharp from start to finish, and for that reason it’s a delicious, albeit not particularly easy drinking beer. Boris is a complex blend that delivers on taste and texture, and one beer that I definitely would buy again.

And one last thing about Boris, it was the only beer can so far in the making of this blog that got a fly in it while I was finishing the post. It’s French, so you may take that with as many grains of salt as you wish.

This post was really an inevitability, and so was the title, so I make no apologies about either. You’re not here to listen to that shit. You’re here for the same reason I am. And to that end, I present. Beer Blog: 2.0!

Rather than have a variety pack available, I’ve chosen three tall-boy cans. Tonight’s theme is “stronger than average beer”. Now, while there are some types of people that read that and immediately think either “sour-tasting shit” or  “X.Y% alc. by vol.” The people in the first category can fuck right off if they wish, and the second category would do me a great favour if we could agree on an actual number range. I’m not nearly so formal as to get hung up on regulations which online guides and brew-masters often languish over. I’ll just try any beer with an intriguing can.

First of three is Alexander Keith’s 2011 Limited Release Tartan Ale (6.1% alc./vol.)

What can I say? I'm a sucker for local talent.

Anyone even passingly familiar with Nova Scotia has heard or drank the generic beer that they pump out by the pool load. It’s frat beer. It’s not very interesting, and that’s why I was somewhat nervous as to the quality of AK’s new product. I wouldn’t have even picked it up were it not for the NSLC worker that happened by with the old standard “Can I help you find anything?” and in response to my non-committal just looking for something new she directed me to a display of all-to-familiar looking labels. I picked one up for shits and giggles, and also just to send her away without having to be rude. You know, the Maritime way.

This beer pours clear, and is very red in colour, and slightly dark. Were a person unable to smell, and never saw the can it came out of, they might mistake it for a fortified wine. I mention the smell because it’s a distinct one. Taste is kinda bitter but not very pronounced. What was pronounced was an odd taste of I want to say, oak? Either way it softened quite quickly into basically a red beer. The can claims that “with its warm amber hues and complex aromas, this Scottish style ale has a full bodied taste with a slightly smoky finish”, and it’s not nearly as full of shit as that sentence sounds. Overall this beer tastes just as I assumed all beer tasted when I was younger. Musty and boozy, but not very pleasant.

Fuller’s Extra Special Champion Ale by The Griffon Brewery, CHISWICK (5.9% alc./vol.)

The sheer Brittishness of that name caused my pinky fingers to experience erections for the duration of this beer.

Mostly a dark ale, this pub style beer sported more foamy head than a bad reference that I can’t even tackle right now. It reeks of hops, and tastes as bitter as divorce. Astoundingly, the aftertaste is even more bitter, in what I can only assume is some sort of cruel punishment for not continuing to pipe it into your facehole. Not a particularly easy to drink beer. But try it anyway, you’ll have fun thinking about the fact that not only do the British suffer with bad weather and stereotypes, but also actively choose beer that hates the drinker.

8.6’s Bavaria, Ironically a product of Lieshout, Holland (and also ironically 7.9%alc./vol.)

After a few of these fuckers, you'll look like the other cans pictured.

Here, we’ve got a clear looking blonde with a hint of gold colour. The sweet smell lures you into a false sense of security, because it seems to sharpen in taste as you go. The aftertaste is mild and bitter, but not unpleasant at all. What can I say beyond, “this beer is fucking delicious, and you are literally depriving yourself if you never consume it”? One more thing, which should really be obvious in hindsight, at 7.9%, it hits like a brass knuckle.

A fucking delicious brass knuckle.

That wraps up my second stint into critically thinking about beer. If you’d like to hear more from my offbeat pacing of brews, and can string sentences together better than my drunk self, feel free to write in a suggested theme of beers. Either way, I fucking love this job.

I’ve been awake for a while now, it’s about 21 hours if you’re keeping track, so I feel like I’m qualified to state how smart I am right now.  What this means in a practical sense is that as I experience a greater degree of sleep-deprivation, I gain genius insight at an alarming rate. Now, there’s a lot of math and biological theory that I could point to, but you can’t see my hands right now so that wouldn’t much matter. And that’s not even why I’m here.

I’m here to talk about podcasts. Now, I’m sure many of you are familiar with the idea, and will be rather bored with my perceived rehashing of the topic. That’s fine, I welcome you anyway, and here’s a picture of people that give nearly as many shits about your boredom as I do.

If you're looking for a joke here, you missed the fucking point.

In years gone by, before the internet could deliver porn to your eyeballs with just a few choice keystrokes, and even before popular TV programming loosed its executive bowels upon the collective consciousness of the continent, radio was the primary source of entertainment for those people that had finished churning their butter, or splitting their wood… Or whatever old people did when they weren’t as old as they are now.

The smart money's on sock hops and implied lesbianism. Maybe I'm biased.

Now, when most of us picture radio broadcasts, we think about all-too excited morning disk-jockey that punches up his zingers with sound effects that appeal to single digit IQs. (Or hell, double-digit IQs while I’m on an offending people kick.) But ages ago, it all looked like this.

"...And what's the deal with those crazy Bolshevics?"

While I possess the pale complexion and cartoonish over-bite necessary to enjoy talking into thin air, I like to think that the modern day podcast has radio beat for several reasons.

First and foremost, it’s the aspect of control that colours recent entertainment. Once a person or group decides to host a podcast, they upload it as a regular mp3, perhaps with an RSS feed to keep you posted of the most recent show. Everyone knows that, but here’s the most important part. Out of the podcasts available nowadays, you not only choose when to listen to the hosted files, and in what device, but you can pick from damn near any topic.

I’m talking about current news from worldwide sources, philosophy, food+drink, politics, technology, comedy… I guess sports as well, if you’re into that sort of thing, and wandered in here by mashing keys with your fists. I don’t know, maybe.

Not pictured: subtle humour.

But enough about people I don’t like, you’re still here because you want to know what I do like. Lately, I’ve been checking out a few podcasts myself. Here’s my top 3 current. I will say this first up, they almost always fall under an explicit language tag, so you may want to bring the headphones out for these…

1. Kingdom of Loathing – Now, this is two podcasts if you want to get technical. Mondays is 120 minutes of Jick & Skully. Wherein the primary co-creators of the game shoot the shit, and occasionally get to the questions that their fan-base sends in, while Thursday’s Jick Show is more technical based, and only diverges to shooting the shit most of the time. Either way, these guys have been podcasting since 2004. If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice that this puts them before podcasting was even a thing. Long story short; huge archive, broad topic range, very personable guys. You may not vibe with it if you’ve not played the game.

2. Apropos of Nothing – If you can’t gleam this from the name (then you’re on the wrong blog), this duo doesn’t like to nail down an overarching topic for there show. That’s not really a problem, because the wit and insight that Matt and Salsa bring to each of their admittedly short archive of shows so far is truly impressive. Very funny, very smart, very worth your time to check out.

3. The Nerdist – Interestingly, I heard about this from Matt of the AoN podcast when he visited Skully on a Jickless show a while back. That’s what people do in the podcasting sphere do, they link it all together. And while most would assume that with a name like this, they’ve gotta be big into tech and gadgets, it’s not that obvious. This is a full-time comedy analysis show. Chris Hardwick, Jonah Ray, and Matt Mira have had dozens of performers on to discuss how they approach being funny. And here’s the best part about that. It’s neither dry nor clinical. It’s casual, it’s irreverent, and it’s also surprisingly uplifting. Worth anyone’s time!

I’ve also heard from numerous sources online that I should also be listening to the Adam Corolla podcast, and also check out the Idle Thumbs podcast (no longer running). I must admit that I haven’t checked out either at the time of putting this article up. So, I guess that means we both have homework now.

**Cue outro music**

This is not a blog about anything in particular, just whatever catches our fancy is good enough. After all is said and done, I believe that the quality of the writing should always trump the event in question when you’re talking about informal articles. And to that spirit, I present to you:

BEEEEEEEEEER BLOOOOOOOOG #1

I can only hope this will be the first of many.

This weekend, I picked up a trio of beers, thanks to the most considerate manufacturers at Molson Coors (By the way, there’s no fucking lite beer to be reviewed here, so don’t be repelled by the name Coors.) who ship their best 12 pack  as three sets of 4. To aid in my choice, it was a bargain-priced $20.81 (about $2-3 less than most 12 packs available at time of purchase), working out to a hair under $1.69 apiece. To aid in my review, I will be be using Final Fantasy 1 characters.

Because I am such a fucking nerd.

Dark Brew. You can really taste the nether-realm.

First up on the agenda is Rickard’s Dark version. This porter style beer is crafted with a maple syrup in the mix. Could there be a more Canadian drink? Well, if you like a strong beer… maybe. At 4.8%, it comes in as the least alcoholic of the trio, but doesn’t suffer in the taste department. Some drinkers may be turned off by the idea of maple, but it’s only a mild aromatic change and taste. And like the Black Mage, it’s low hitpoint count means it goes down easy. I would love to see someone create boozy maple syrup though!

White Brew. You can really taste the rejuvenation.

This wheat ale claims to be crafted with orange peel and coriander. The result is a decidedly sweet smelling beer with a surprisingly crisp taste for a blend using fruit. I enjoyed this beer a lot, and it definitely had more complexity than most blonds that get passed around at a pub, or so I heard. This is the highest booze percent of the group at 5.4%, so it’s reasonably brewed, but not quite up the level of a strong beer. Like the White Mage, however, it’s not just the physical strength that counts for character.

Red Brew. You can really taste the strained metaphor.

5.2% alc. by vol.  puts this beer firmly in the middle of the two other blends by Rickard’s, and of most beers in general. I’ll be completely honest here. The label claims “This remarkably drinkable beer is crafted to deliver a distinctive full flavour”, and while I can give them points for not backing down on the proper Canadian spelling… I’m not so sure what they meant by distinctive. I found this beer to be a much more “generic beer”  than the other two in the power trio. Don’t get me wrong; it’s tasty… But it feels like an odd man out in a group of primarily gimmick-sounding beer.

So, these are all worthwhile beer in my book as an experience. Dark was rich and bold, White was sweet and pleasant, But the Red was probably the most common beer. Y’know the kind. The “I’m going to drink a bathtub of this stuff” beer. Either way you pour it, Enjoy!

(Dedicated to my closest insane person, Helepolis.)

OH…
I am the very model of a uncouth jackfuck lunatic.
I’ve studied arguments and so my style is quite pedantic.
I know the ilk of sharpened blades, and with my hoard I am fickle.
I could seperate, by rote, each of your atria from ventricle.

I’m very well acquainted, too, with misdirection and of shtick
And while I’m fairy beefy, I am anything but generic.
I’m very skilled in mining, and at skinning I am well prepared…
YES!
I know myriads of reasons why I’m still quite visually impaired.

He knows myriads of reasons why he’s still quite visually impaired.
He knows myriads of reasons why he’s still quite visually impaired.
He knows myriads of reasons why he’s still quite visually impaired.

Although I rarely can find time to plunge into this sarcastic well,
I’m quite adept at hardcore runs; Helepolis in K O L.
Good luck in following my great meandering linguistic string.
With Ebony and Ivory, I am the true Stoner Pimp King.
Good luck in following his great meandering linguistic string.
With Ebony and Ivory, he is the true Stoner Pimpin’ Pimpin’ King.

I’m unitimidated to play Pokemon with much chutzpah
Then assemble half a dozen that are twice as strong as Rayquaza
If you claim there is no such thing, I’ll hasten to your words impugn,
Go fuck your single-typing rules, I will be Badass-Flying soon.
I’ve read a vast compendium of RTS and RPG,
My reading rate is more than great, and you’ve no hope of catching me.
Then I’ll define a book of myths, you’re going to see I am the king…
AHA!
I’ll teach you scores of Manticores, ‘cuz I know damn near everything.

He’ll teach you scores of Manticores, ‘cuz he knows damn near everything.
He’ll teach you scores of Manticores, ‘cuz he knows damn near everything.
He’ll teach you scores of Manticores, ‘cuz he knows damn near every-every-thing.

Then I can rhyme off lyrics like a veritable database,
Beam them straight into your skull like a satellite from outer-space.
In short, your boasts and counterpoints are nothing more than babbling,
With Ebony and Ivory, I am the true Stoner Pimp King.
In short, your boasts and counterpoints are nothing more than babbling,
With Ebony and Ivory, he is the true Stoner Pimpin’ Pimpin’ King.

In fact, when I know what is meant “insular” and “bellicose”
When I can tell at sight a pompous dickhead being quite verbose.
When such affairs as bloggings and speed runs aren’t such non-sense,
And when I know precisely what is meant by “full-time attendance”
When I possess the patience to deal with people who’re fucking nuts
And disregard retweeting about the multitude of the Caf-sluts.
In short when I have referenced the work Transmetropolitan…
Ah, I’ve got it!
I hate this goddamn city and I couldn’t stand to leave a-gain.

He hates this goddamn city and he couldn’t stand to leave again.
He hates this goddamn city and he couldn’t stand to leave again.
He hates this goddamn city and he couldn’t stand to leave again.

For my article-type writing, though I’m wordy and also boundless,
Hasn’t yet seen the quantity I want, but I digress.
I’ll sing this song until the time that I become more baffling.
With Ebony and Ivory, I am the true Stoner Pimp King.
He’ll sing this song until the time that he becomes more baffling.
With Ebony and Ivory, he is the true Stoner Pimpin’ Pimpin’ King.

And know that I’ve introduced myself, I’d like to have some idea of what’s going on…

Get ready for something. Sans Pictures.

I am about to drop a fucking bomb on this blog. It’s something that I’ve resented the idea for nigh on a decade, but I can do so no longer. Sure, that’s a lot longer than I’ve had a blog, but my point is thus.

I am not living in Nova Scotia. Surely to say this makes me sound like a goddamn lunatic. “Of course you’re living in Nova Scotia, Victor. You’ve said so… You’ve pointed it out on that endearing map with the implication of ponies.”

No, I may be residing in Nova Scotia, and indeed a rural shithole therein, but I sure as shit am not alive right now. If we are only the area around us, if we are a fraction of the happenstance location where our parents fucked and then sat down, then I might as well kill myself right now. If the random fucking chance of my being born in a shithole town and then my being bounced back and forth from shithole to alternate shithole is the be all to end all of my living… I should fellate a sidearm today.

Coincidentally, were I to make the foolish choice of death now, word would not spread for fucking weeks. Due to the fact that my father is the only other person here, and he is of the enlightened opinion that cell phones are useless. I don’t have the energy to make shit up anymore.

But I contend, at 7:30 in the goddamn morning, after not sleeping all night, and not doing so outside of subsisting on daytime naps for the last week… That I am where my mind is. That’s it. That’s the grandiose load that I’m here to drop. I am in addition to my blood and bone self an entity that ponders things, and sometimes shares them.

And that is the reason that I stick around. So that I may continue to reason and enjoy my thinking. That I can consider things, any sort of things. To imagine them as a picture in my mind, to pull apart bits of this picture, rotate it, or set it on fire, or something… and to see how it affects the bigger picture. Never to stop. Because if I did, I’d be no better off than the people who have put themselves in an early grave. Or fucking follow Jersey Shore.

But here’s the shitkicker out of all this. As a human, despite all psychological and legal evidence to the contrary, I need to be around people. I don’t have to like them. I don’t have to get along with them. I don’t have to agree with them. Hell, my brain doesn’t even have to approve of them.  Sure as shit the lion doesn’t have to agree with the zebras.

But, he does have to consider them.