Wednesday, August 12th, 2009
Weather Complaining
Yeah, yeah, I get it. The weather hasn’t been perfect. It’s been unseasonable. There’s been some rain. But I’m from England. This is a pretty regular summer to me. So how about you just shut the fuck up, enjoy the sunny days when they happen and think of something new to complain about? I swear to God, every single person you encounter has something to say about the weather conditions, like they’re Al frikkin’ Roker all of a sudden (British people, he’s a weatherman, just so you know). ‘How are you today?’ ‘Well, I’d be good if it wasn’t for all this rain,’ SHUT UP!
Public Nudity
Specifically fat older man public nudity. When the hell did this ever become acceptable? Soon as the sun comes out, men with the worst bodies ever get it in to their twisted little minds that they can just take their T Shirts off all willy nilly and walk around topless. Guess again, Tubby. Unless your upper body looks like this, kindly keep your shirt on. Actually, do us all a favour and put a few more layers on. No one wants to see your beer gut. And when you’re walking down the street, shirtless and your belly ripples with every stride you take, do not, under any circumstances, have the audacity to wink at any member of the female tribe, you prick.
Clear Bra Straps
I’m not sure what is so hard to understand about the concept of straps. If you are wearing a strapless dress, you need small boobs and a strapless bra. If you have giant jugs, straplessness is not your amigo. Deal with it. It’s bad if you attempt it with no bra (if your tits slap you in the face, you have no one to blame but yourself), but to wear a bra that has clear straps, with a strapless top, is even more insulting. Who do you think you’re fooling exactly? It’s summertime bitch. The sun reflects of those clear straps and we are all fully aware that you’ve got some major assistance holding up your fun bags. Clear straps were made to be worn with tank tops, though in my view we should all go back in time to when our mother’s were burning their bras and take those clear strapped pieces of crap out with a match.
Tags: bras, fat dudes, summer, weather
Posted in life | 8 Comments »
Thursday, March 12th, 2009
Every year it’s the same thing. As soon as the temperatures get a little above freezing, some fool breaks out the shorts and flip-flops.
It’s mid-march and so far, the sun has made a couple of appearances in Toronto. But sun in Toronto does not always equate to warmth. Evidently, some people don’t see it that way. One woman I saw, while out shopping, had a severe case of premature summer wardrobe ejaculation. A glimmer of mid-march sunshine does not constitute white linen pants, sandals and a denim jacket. You look even more ridiculous when the people around you are shivering in winter coats. I’ve also seen a guy in shorts and a T Shirt and a girl in a strapless dress. What in the freeze your balls off hell is wrong with you people?
I completely understand, having just endured my third brutally dismal winter here, that the very sight of some sun may send the mind into a false state of hope that warmer times are to come. But now is not that time. Why are some people so against toughing it out for a couple of extra months with a something warm and woolly over their torso? Month by month, you can let a layer go – for example, maybe now we can discard the long johns. And in a week or two, we can dust off our lighter spring jackets and finally stop looking like Michelin men.
But please, I beg of you, save the sandals for summer – that’s where they belong (and when I say ‘sandals’, you know I don’t mean flip flops, bitches, so don’t even try it). And white linen pants have no place anywhere outside of a beach. We’ll have three glorious months to show off the fabulosity of our summer wardrobes – so don’t be so quick to shoot your load.
Tags: flip flops, summer, wardrobe catastrophes
Posted in fashion | 2 Comments »
Monday, September 1st, 2008
Labor Day, I decided to take a nice, peaceful, relaxing bike ride along the lakeshore to soak up the last bit of summer. Unfortunately, approximately three quarters of the population of Toronto had the same idea.
It was utter madness down there. There were kids and bikes and strollers and rollerblades everywhere. Battle of the wheels. And you damn sure know I wasn’t gonna lose. Forget having a bell on my bike. I’m thinking of adding an air horn. If I told these motherbitches to get out of my way once, I told them a thousand times.
Amid this clusterfuck of Labor Day insanity, I made a couple of observations:
Men in rollerblades
Clearly, some fellas didn’t get this memo yet, so I’ll spell it out loud and clear: rollerblading for men is about the gayest thing you can do. I lost count of the number of shirtless, sweat drenched, iPod headphoned, cargo short wearing rollerbladers I saw. If studies were done on this, I think they would show that men who rollerblade are one Cher record and a couple of drinks away from anal penetration. And why are they always speed skating? Because they’re in a hurry to get home and watch that Margaret Cho DVD? Yeah, I thought so.
Chest hair
Listen, I know it’s all part of being a man. A few tufts of hair sprouting from the chest plate is passable, but if your chest looks like a shag pile carpet from the ’70s threw up on you, you need to put that shit away. Who told you it was OK for you to take your shirt off in a public setting? If we women have to wax our bikini regions, you can get rid of that unsightly mess. I’m going to start carrying wax strips with me and if I see a guy with a chest rug, I will hold him down and forcibly remove it. And no, I’m not joking.
I hate anyone not on a bike
Motorists, pedestrians, babies in strollers; I can’t stand any of them. Cars want to kill me, pedestrians are determined to get in my way and babies, well I guess we just have to blame the parents. But even more than babies in strollers, I hate four year olds in strollers, with their feet scraping along the ground and that smug look on their face. Get those lazy bastards up and make them walk! What the hell is wrong with you? Those are the kids who will still be living at home at 25, with no job prospects, smoking weed and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. And don’t even get me started on when they get that motorized scooter in their late thirties.
Despite all the obstacles, human and otherwise, I went for the longest bike ride of my life. I just kept pedaling. Through the heat and the steady transformation of my hair from flat ironed loveliness, to the Irish girl afro, I just kept pedaling. Through the screaming kids and rows of hotdog stands, I just kept pedaling. Past the guy with the body of an adonis who was jumping rope and dripping sweat, I stopped pedaling and damn near hit a tree, but that’s not the point. I wanted to take in every last bit of this summer, because it has been a great one. I pedaled so much, I think I ended up in upstate New York.
For most, Labor day symbolizes the end of summer, but you know what it means to me? Time to start shopping for my fall wardrobe. Happy days!
Tags: bikes, summer, the gays, toronto, waxing
Posted in life | 5 Comments »
