I play a game called Civilization IV. It’s a great strategy game, kind of like a more complex game of Risk or Axis and Allies, and it has some amazing mods you can add to it to make it even better. A very popular and very well-made mod is called Fall From Heaven, which is a fantasy mod. It’s fun to play because it changes the dynamic of the original game quite immensely, effectively reinventing the experience. Civilization IV is a turn-based strategy game, with taxes, buildings, armies, diplomacy, etc., so in forums discussing the game people are normally focused on the pure game mechanics – how to get advantages, churn out more units, increase territory, etc., with the odd tangent about real history, on which the game is based.

Well, I installed the Fall From Heaven mod and have really enjoyed playing it, but came across a few issues that I needed answered. So I went to the Fall From Heaven forum to read up on some things and found that fantasy, as a genre, brings with it a core army of devoted nerds who will take things way too seriously. Most of the people on the Fall From Heaven forum still talk about strategy, straight-up, but the nerds, damn their hides, have taken to discussing culture and history, for a fantasy game! Some are even “remembering” events that apparently occurred in a fictitious world created as a backdrop for a fucking strategy game! Read more »

I’ve noticed that Rimmel has been choosing some rather… unique models for their advertisements. Now I don’t know about you, but I think this one looks pretty freakin’ weird. Like, goldfish-with-hair weird. What the fuck is going on here?

Undertandably you may be a bit confused. I know I am. Here’s a picture of a REAL goldfish for reference.

Hard to tell the difference, isn’t it? Let’s look at the similarities:

• They both have a tiny mouth and essentially no chin;
• They both have gold sparkles around their eyes;
• They both have bulging eyes that are TRYING TO ESCAPE THEIR FACE!!!

There is one key difference though: the goldfish does not have a forehead on which you could park a Hummer.

Honestly, what is it with the British? It’s bad enough they can’t get their oral hygiene sorted out, now they’ve gone and forgotten how to point their eyes in the same direction. It must be hard keeping up appearances with the Royals.

I was tuned into Jango when it decided that I should listen to upcoming artist Loran Cross. While Jango once again failed to accurately gauge my musical taste, it did somehow tune into my sense of humour. Below I’ve attempted to capture the lyrics to “What You Feel For Me Now”. Hit the Play button and follow along!

I was trucked by de thunder of love
Eat twas beaudeeful day clear of gloss
I was peeing just chwaiting in loin
Weathal my worries boiling my moin

Thennn IIIiii
Sooow yooooouuu
Theennnn IIIIiiii
Sooowwww yooooooooouuuuuuuu…

I was no longer waiting in da Kraut
I felt my new weengs grauing in my BACK!!!
We are fliiing so high in the clouds
As I could see man you world in you rise

Den IIIiii
III flewwwww
Yesss IIIIiii
IIII flewwwwwwwwwww…

Tell me what you feed from me
Luuung!
Cause I can’t chold bahk whad I feel
Huh give me da reee bliind
Clenching my feast steel holding my moiiiiiiiind

Cauussssee IIIiii
Loooooooove
Yesss IIIiii
Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuff

It’s been a long time you’re on my moin
Dithunthers beaner wake for a whoil
*BURT* to file still burling inside
Hold my body’s waiting for your line

Cauuse IIIIiii
Looove yooooouuu
Yesss IIIIiiii
Hooold Yoooooooooooooooooooouuuuuu…

Please tell meeee
Tell me what you feed from me noow
Cause I can’t chold back whad I feel
Und give me da reed line
Clenching my feast steel holding my moiiiind

Cauuuse IIIiii
Loooove Yooooooouuu
Yeesss IIIiiii
Won’t yooooooooooooooooooooouuuuu…

I love you
And I want you
Uhuh you

A few years ago in Zimbabwe, Samukeliso Sithole decided to pose as a female athlete, and apparently was doing quite well at it. A little too well. He was such a convincing female that his fellow female athletes didn’t feel at all concerned about undressing in front of him. Well, one day, after watching some first-hand undressing and redressing, Sithole and his female friends headed out to the train station. That’s when the mysterious Mr. Mkandla appeared and spilled the beans. Sithole made a run for it, but Mr. Mkandla somehow managed to catch him (I’m guessing Sithole’s heels must have slowed him down).

Now here’s the best part. Sithole’s defence, according to newzimbabwe.com, is as follows:

In his defence, Sithole told the court that he was born with both female and male organs. The athlete added that his parents then consulted a Chipinge traditional healer who gave them some herbs following which he assumed female status.

However, Sithole further alleges that they only paid half the money charged for the services rendered by the healer. As a punishment by the traditional healer for them to pay up the outstanding bill, the male organ only developed recently, he said.

He told the court that he was scheduled to settle the bill with the traditional on his trial day and this would have resulted in him reverting to the female gender.

For some reason, the judge just didn’t buy into the good, old, “It wasn’t there before, I swear!” defence, and threw him in jail for 3.5 years.

Perusing the bulletin board at my local Second Cup has once again yielded some weird shit. Here we have a posting for a professional Question Answerer who goes by the name Annie:

Click the image to enlarge.

It seems Annie doesn’t do readings face-to-face, but rather prefers that you send her a cheque and some info about your birthday (along with your address of course). Smells like a recipe for potential identity theft if you ask me – but this is Ask Annie, not Ask Mr. Fanrastic. So to belay any concerns about her expertise, she presents the following testimonials for assurance:

“No wonder he kisses like a dead turtle.”

“Wow! I had no idea I was so complex!!”

“Thanks to Annie, I’ve grown five inches!”

“I floss now, thanks to Annie!”

Yeah, I know. You can thank me by sending me a cheque for $40.

Not the best name for a road safety education institution:

Looks like the GoodLife Fitness at Toronto Union Station is spicing things up a bit:

I worked at EB Games this past summer. Most of the job was alright, but my assistant manager was a deviant, lascivious sicko, who I couldn’t tolerate, so I quit. The following is a real letter of resignation that I handed in to the store manager. No joke. All names have been changed for shame.

***** ****,
It is with regret that I must inform you of my immediate resignation from the position of customer service representative with EB Games Inc. During my employment I have spoken with you many times about certain incidents that I have had with the assistant manager, David Morris, and asked you to intervene. David has behaved in a very unprofessional manner towards me, and has made my stay with the company extremely uncomfortable. As I have reported to you, the following situations have occurred:

1. David has consistently commented on the shape and definition of my legs and his appreciation of this fact. I have asked David repeatedly to stop doing this, but he has always ignored me while continuing to stare at me and breathe heavily.

2. While I strive to get along with all coworkers in at least a civil manner, David’s constant invitations for me to watch Cher concert DVDs at his apartment or to attend “boxer-brief parties” behind Wal-Mart are intolerable and unprofessional.

3. I have often gone into the back room to retrieve merchandise for customers to find David standing in the bathroom with his pants down. When I expressed disdain for his appearance he has suggested that he was simply going to the bathroom and forgot to close the door. I have informed you that this was quite unlikely as he was almost always in an aroused state and looking at me when I entered the back room, making me extremely uncomfortable.

4. As I reported to you, the last shift that I had with David on August 20th was particularly troublesome. After working together in relative silence for the better part of two hours, David approached me behind the service desk when the store was empty of customers. I was organizing used games, when David stood close to me, placed his hand on my thigh, and asked me if I had ever been ice-fishing before. I looked up at him and he was staring at me intently. I asked him what he meant, and he said: “You know… two men just trying to stay warm together.” I told him I was leaving the workplace immediately and reported the incident to you when I got home.

As nothing had been done to correct David’s behaviour or to create a professional workplace for me, I must leave EB Games Inc. I hope that my departure will have positive consequences, in that I trust you will examine your assistant-manager’s lascivious behaviour with more scrutiny in the future so that others will not be forced to endure his advances as I have.

Regards,
****** *******

Extreme Pita’s soup of the day:

So, like, is this a soup made from vegetables with cannibalistic tendencies?

(A Victorian parlour with ornate furniture. There is a knock at the door at the back-left of the stage, in an attached foyer. A young girl walks towards the door and welcomes an older man into the foyer. They walk into the parlour and sit on a couch in the middle of the stage, facing the audience.)

CLARISSE SAPPLETON: (Five foot tall, 385 pound beast. Wheezes due to a chronic lung infection as she enters the scene. Huge sausage fingers wipe a constant flow of blood from her infected nose, and one leg is about 1.5 feet shorter than the other, causing her to shuffle in a most horrendous way. One can easily see the early effects of elephantiasis setting-in on her left arm and ‘good’ leg.) My aunt should be down any minute, Mr. Crowley. How does this day find you?

MR. CROWLEY: (Middle-aged, smartly-dressed gentleman with a posh London accent. His mannerisms are confident and assertive – this is a man of the world who knows how to comport himself) That’s all well and good, young lady. I should say I’m in rather a bit of a hurry.

CLARISSE SAPPLETON: (Oh yeah, she’s also Italian) Kill me.