Friday, March 31, 2006

Stolen Shampoo or The Case of the Heisted Herbal Essence

Somebody stole my shampoo. Right from under my nose. I'm not so much upset as amazed. Who would do that? Let's backtrack for a moment.

After my gym session, I like to sit in the sauna (relax you immature homophobes, I was not nude). It is easily the most relaxing activity in my life and I look forward to it. The feeling you get sitting there in the heat is incredibly soothing. The thermometer always hovers around 100 degrees celsius (yes, they do get that hot) and induces much sweating. It cleans the skin and generally gives a serene feeling that washes over the body and mind. My lifelong mantra for the past 2 weeks has been keep the body healthy and the mind will follow. In fact, the mind has no choice seeing as how it is comfortably seated within the skull. It has no choice but to follow. Anyway, I digress.

I usually follow my sauna session with a shower. Outside the sauna door is a little shelf where everybody puts their things, as I do with my bottle of shampoo. I have been doing that for almost 2 years when yesterday, upon emerging from the sweat box, I look and the shampoo is gone. Vanished. Purloined! You know in cartoons, when something magically disappears, little lines shoot outwards from where the object was? Well, I saw those lines. Yoinks! Gone!

Now, I'm not upset. I'm rather...well, shocked isn't the word. It was the most incredulous situation. Who would steal a half-used bottle of knock-off Herbal Essence shampoo (I believe it was the "Equate" brand of knock-off...still, it smelled reeeeal purdy). I'll go and get another bottle. I don't care. It's just...who would do that? What brand of klepto would do this?

"Hmmmm hmm hmmm...dum dee dum...just passing through the locker room...minding my own business...hello, what's this?! An unattended half-empty bottle of Equate brand Herbal Essence shampoo!? Ooooooh. Don't mind if I do. YOINKS! STOLEN'D!"

At that point his feet start winding up like on the Flintstones when they get ready to run, with those plink-plonk sounds and he zips off.

Right now, I have two suspects for this grievous thievery.

1) Marc Labrèche. He's been killing my mojo lately and this may be just the latest example. He obviously doesn't want my hair to smell nice.

2) Rex "in the city" Navarrete. We all know how much he likes shampoo.

So to the shampoo-thief-stapo out there and you bad-smellinazis, this will not stop me. I will buy more shampoo and continue my ritual of hygiene. If I stop, then I let the terrorists win.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Reflections

It has been brought to my attention that all my blog posts are generally skewed at a negative angle. Apparently, I just rant against one thing or bash something else. Tearing down is indeed easier than building.

I suppose I am just full of bottled rage and this is my only outlet. I am a raging rage-aholic. I am addicted to rage-ahol. It was suggested that instead of being Kman v2.0, I should instead write about nicer things, lighter things that I like. Which brings up a problem. That would make this blog extremely dry! I could not think of anything I like enough to a) be worthy of writing about and b) be interesting.

I suppose in the glorious blogosphere in which we write, removed from the real world, where politeness and tact and decorum are all foreign concepts, anger sustains my writing spirit.

So until such time that I have something truly happy to write about, I suppose I will continue to complain that some idiot ruined a tv show for me or some singer butchered a song on tv or some new fad out there is idiotic and not worth the ink with which it is printed. And if I offend any of you, don't take it personal-like. I just do it to vent. It is a form of anger projection. (I don't really hate sudokus, it's just that at that moment it seemed like the best thing to dismantle.)

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Sudorku (yeah, I went there)

There is a new fad that is permeating society. Its insidious nature prevented me from railing against it sooner. No, I don't mean the re-appearance of leg warmers nor Jamie Foxx. I'm talking about sudoku, the poor man's crossword puzzle. For those who don't know what a sudoku is, good! I won't provide you with a link to wikipedia. In fact, you won't get much out of them anyway. They have this to say about sudokus:

"The name Sudoku is the Japanese abbreviation of a longer phrase, "suuji wa dokushin ni kagiru (数字は独身に限る), meaning" you're a dim-bulbed nincompoop who doesn't have the cranial volume nor lexicon to complete a crossword.


Above: An average sudoku enthusiast.


As an avid crosswordman, or x-word-man (x-man for short), I look down my steep nose at these fools you see on the bus or the metro or anyplace else that offers a writeable surface, for that matter. They think that just because they're doing a number puzzle, they must be on par with John Nash. Well, I got news for you: it's an easy game! Anyone with two wits to collide in their skull can finish a sudoku in no time.

I'm not too worried, though. This Japanese fad will shortly go the way of other far east imports that died on this side of the planet: tamagotchi, Hideki Irabu, BeyBlade...the list goes ever on. Now if someone can just put down Hello Kitty and eliminate the characters' endings from DOA4 from my memory, everything will be fine.

Death to sudoku!

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Spoiler Alerters are the Devil

Everybody hates spoilers. You know when some jerk sees a highly anticipated movie before you and takes a twisted delight in telling you the big secret? "She's a he!" "It's her head in the box!" "He's actually his father!" "His wife gets killed!" We all hate those fools. They suck the joy out of quality films/shows; the kind of joy that makes watching these programs so fun and gripping. Here is my story.

I acquired the much anticipated season premiere of the Sopranos and I got all prepped and properly hyped to watch it last night. So I load it up and on my MSN Messenger I changed my status to busy and my personal message to "watching The Sopranos s6e1". I thought that was really clear until the devil popped up. The devil is a guy named Ryan S. Hmmm, maybe that's too obvious...fine, R. Sen.

Without giving away a huge surprise in the episode, the Spoiler Devil, with the brevity of a single line, blew it. He told me the big plot point, then added "ha".

I was enraged.

I proceeded to say something along these lines:

WTF is the matter with you? Are you dyslexic? Maybe you're just retarded! Christ! Can't you see my name says "watchING"? ING!!!! As in, I am currently viewing it. Not watchED. WatchING! I've waited so long for this and you just blow it, maliciously. WTF is your problem?!


Then, as he was trying to respond, I finally blocked that idiot. Hey, Spoiler Devil, you're dead to me. I'll forgive you later, probably, but right now I'm so angry. While you're at it, stop being so gay for me and drop my name as your email address. Jesus, what is wrong with you?

Saturday, March 11, 2006

I Smell Da Feet

I have a million different things on my mind that are all blog-worthy in their own right. I could do a Lotto 6/49-esque style draw, selecting one ball from the machine and write extensively on that topic, for better or for worse; for good or for ill. But rather than expound in painful detail on some subject of no doubt cathartic proportions, I will write about feet. What the hell is the deal with people and their god damned gross feet?

Being an avid gym-goer, I often see people with bare feet walking around the locker room. I simply cannot understand why people are so terribly filthy as to have one of the following:

  • black toe nails

  • yellow toenails

  • milky toenails

  • cracked, jigsaw puzzle toenails

  • toenails that curve over the front edge of the toe

  • toenails that curve over the side of the toe

  • a combination of the above


Seriously, though, how hard is it to keep clean feet? You're at the gym. They are actually providing you with showers to clean yourself, so there's absolutely no excuse not to wash. I think normal feet are pretty unsettling as it is, so you can imagine my repulsion when confronted with toes akin to Costanza's gym teacher's teeth. And do these people have spouses? One look at those feet and I feel they should be blacklisted from any companionship until it's cleared up or death, whichever comes first.

As for the curved nails, why? How hard is it to cut your disgusting nails once in a while? Personally, I cut my nails extremely often. The moment I see white accumulating, I usually take my clippers through a workout. Yet, there are people who insist on growing ladles on their feet. And what the f*** does one have to do to get a yellow, shell-like nail?

All I am saying is that if you have rotting, decrepit feet, cover them up or stay at home. I don't need to put up with it.