banger and mash

I've got so much to say about girls, relationships, and sex, but can't properly explain myself because Manic has turned me into turned me into a fucking jittery-handed monster and I'd probably end up writing non-sensical shit.

Speaking of which, something I should bring light to: my segment in Talkin' Schmidt about ex-girlfriend etiquette has been receiving some flack lately. I don't really care. Every single guy I've talked to about this subject has fully agreed with me. One thing I will grant the female viewers is that, because of editing the segment due to time restraints, a lot of footage was cut, which probably would have helped in the explanation.

It all really boiled down to jealousy and attachment. Like most men in relationships over six months, we tend to view our women as "my girl". You look at her from across the room and say "that's my girl", which is a mentality that stays with you long after the relationship has ended. You see it in the movies all the time: when the divorced wife begins seeing another man, the ex-husband usually loses his mind with jealousy. It's not much different in this case. You become attached to that girl on so many levels that when it comes time to separate, most of the feelings for that person remain engraved on your heart and slowly fade like hieroglyphics.

So in my case, when I see an ex-lover with new man, what the fuck did you think I'd feel? I'm not some cold-hearted knucklehead with no concept of sentiment. I look at the guy and say in my head:

"If you hurt my girl, I'm going to rip off your cock, marinade it for two years, and then serve it to you in a restaurant and you'll think it tastes good".

What I said during the segment makes full sense. It's only human to be jealous of some man touching your girl. And although it may have been me that ended the relationship, I have every right to still feel strongly for the well-being of ex-lovers. Even so, I always remain civil when in the presence of the two of you - I shake hands and make you look really uncool - but just remember that the jar of brine is never too far away, if you catch my drift.

"YTV, pull that shit down!"

Mike and I recorded the Basement Edition of Talkin' Schmidt last night. The topics include:

BK: Lego vs. Legos , Excess Disney Sequels, Useless Hand-held Phone Tactics, Backpackers, Call of Brutal Children

Andy: Matilda and Satanic Messages, Ex Girlfriend w/ Boyfriend Etiquette, Anonymous Donors, Vegetable Commercial Motifs / Dad vs. Dolphins

Collectively: Specific Souvenir Requests, Chicken Soup for the Damaged Readers Soul

It was all filmed quite quickly and efficiently. Seeing as we haven't filmed an episode in almost a year, the topics flowed rather smoothly. The Crown Royal didn't hurt things either. Christmas time will do that to you

things I've learned at 1806

I'll preface this next bit with some notes. I've lived here, in the same room, for three years, and I know every in and out of this neighborhood within a four-block radius. I've lived with some serious characters and have experienced some pretty amazing times. There's been some quiet times, and some really loud times. If these walls could talk, there would probably be a lot of bleeping-out.

The Sound

My room at 1806 is partly separated by glass from another bedroom. Apparently, everything can be heard coming from my room in the other bedroom, and I mean everything. Yet the strange thing is, I've never heard much of anything come from the other side. It's almost like a one-way-mirror, except for sound. Strange, indeed.

The Lifts.

The elevators are incredibly smart here. I've never seen elevators like it. When idled, one sits at ground level, another in the middle, and the other at the penthouse. They juggle perfectly as if actually controlled by one very considerate man.

The Delta Chelsea.

This hotel sits across the street from my room. It ruins what would be an incredible view of south downtown Toronto. The shortcut through the lobby is the only real redeeming quality about the place, which I've probably passed through over 500 times. It's also extremely ugly. On top of that, I never saw any full-on sex coming from any of the rooms. How lame is that? Every night I'd look out my window to see if anything was going down, and nothing. I've seen some weird stuff however. I've seen a blowjob in progress, an old guy masturbating naked, two naked people laying on the bed with the lights on, and a whole lot of people changing. So, for all my real friends, do me a favor and go have sex at the Delta. Not so that I can sit and watch, but so that I can finally say after three years "Oh look, people are having sex at the Delta. Neat". On a final note - Blair and I are still trying to figure a way to blow up the entire building, just so he'll have a nice view.

The Alarms.

My condo is allergic to smoke. Even if you burn toast, the smoke alarm goes off. There's been some perticularly hilarious stories surrounding that device. The interesting thing is though, howcome the alarm never went off after we Jamaican Sauna'd the bathroom? I've seen steam come out of that bathroom that would honestly rival Niagara Falls.

The Changes.

Something is always wrong with this place. They're always shutting off the water, closing the gym, renovating the pool, fixing soggy ceilings, tearing up floors, bleaching something, and removing something else. I'm going to guess that there were only a total of 21 days where nothing was wrong with this building. I'm sure the site coordinator loses sleep at night.

The Halls.

The hallways smell like Toys R' Us. I noticed that the day I moved in. Do you know the smell I'm talking about? It's dominantly a fresh plastic smell, mixed with the odd stroller that passes by.

The Water.

It's god-damn delicious. Toronto water in general is the tastiest water ever. I have no idea why either. If the water here could be embody an inanimate object, it would probably be a milk shake, because that's how good it feels to drink. Going from another other towns water to Toronto's is like going from Marble Cheese to Double-Creme Brie. Get the picture?

The Tank.

I was never busted for practically living in my studio. My studio space is a large storage unit located one floor below street level. Two security cameras point directly at the door, and yet I was never hassled for being down there for hours at a time. Sometimes, a few people will accompany me, back in the good old Think Tank days. We'd stay there for hours. I'd have girls down there (intentionally or not). I play albums on full blast. I empty piss jugs and used oils/chemicals into the small drain outside the door. I clean by brushes at the Car Wash bay (and I usually do a pretty good job of spraying all the colors into the drain). Strange things come and go from that room as well, such as: a gigantic mirror, a five-foot wagon wheel, bee bee guns, an oven door, countless canvases, and lots of busted furniture.

24/7

It's too convenient here. It's literally impossible to go hungry in this area. There are four 24-hour establishments within five minutes of each other, and I couldn't even tell you how many times I've visited them at 5 a.m. There's a Panago next to my front door, a Subway, and a Falafel house around the corner. The convenience is also one of the major factors in leaving this place: I just don't want it that easy anymore.

Blair.

I love living with Blair, because he thinks I'm a pretty cool guy and really hams me up when I'm in the kitchen. He laughs at all my bad jokes and catches all my movie references. He is easily persuaded by his vices, and I've practiced that persuasion many, many times. His hobby is cleaning, which is good, because my hobbies create a lot of mess. He thinks I look like Sinatra, and once said I'm like the Dos Equis guy. No wonder I love Blair.

the list

10 Reasons Why I Want to Marry an Asian

They Age Well.

Even to this day, I'll walk through Chinatown and still double-take matured asian women. The strange thing is, when you go over to an asian girls house to meet her parents, the mom is usually just as attractive as the daughter. I can only assume this is due to years of drinking green tea instead of coffee, holding umbrellas when it's sunny out, and special attention to personal appearance. On top of that, they don't gain weight. I've seen 80 year old ladies who are probably the same weight as when they were in high school.

Her Rich Parents.


I can honestly say I've never met a poor asian family. Sure, I've seen them on the streets before, but I bet even the poor looking ones have a lot of money stashed away in old bags of white rice. They (as a race) have such an incredible work ethic and only really accept success from themselves, and their peers. It's the same reason why Asians own, have made, designed, or sold you pretty much half of everything you see and own. The dominant two businesses I've caught on to (in terms of families with money), comes from either owning convenience stores or restaurants. I've had friends who's parents have owned one of those (or multiple franchises) and drive Lexus' when their 'Cedes are in the shop.
Her parents will support her and I in times of need, and in times when we don't need it at all. Her dad will take me to his rich golf course and I will kick his ass off the tee, but his Asian precision will kill me on the green.

The Future.


Let's just say that when the Asian populace has power over everything, I'll have a head start. I can't really decide on any more jokes for this bit, so I'll move on.

The Cute Kids.

For starters, I have no idea what my kid would look like if I procreated with an asian honey. I'm counting on the strong asian genetics to wipe out any trace of gingerism my kid may have, which is cool. I'm not really keen on the survival of my own race, because I'd rather be a dying breed than part of a thriving sun-burnt populous.
All I want is a fat, asian, buddha baby. Even more than that, I want a pregnant asian wife. She'll passively complain about her back and holy shit will I be there to help her. I'm pretty sure my asian kid would never learn how to walk because I'd never put it down. I'm also sure I'd never have to buy my baby clothes either, because my asian in-laws would smother it in weird fobby shit and my parents would buy it even more baby clothes, just so it wouldn't have to wear that weird fobby shit.

The Food.

Simply put, asians love their food. There's not a single asian on this planet who doesn't love to eat. Not only do they know how to eat, but they know how to cook. They don't really have a choice. Do they? I've always assumed that every asian has had a crazy grandma around them since birth, constantly holding a hot plate of food. I'm almost certain that a knack for cooking is just an inherent gene they all have. Aside from that, I'm sure her parents will own a restaurant anyway. A restaurant that would openly feed me at no charge until 5am.

The Fun.

I've always been a great admirer of the asian culture. Not so much that I brush up on my Japanese characters in my spare time, I just like to observe. One thing that I've always known: Asians love their fun. They usually travel in huge groups, soberly running down the street laughing in smiling, probably coming or going to karaoke and bubble tea. And I don't blame them. Not only is most of that clean shit really fun, but the ones doing it are usually hilarious. The fine balance is finding a wife who can not only lay into the booze now and then, but can challenge me and not cop-out after two cups of sake.

The Sex.

I can only deduce that it would still be good after years of marriage. We'd eat, go for a run together, and then bone. Rad.

I'm Not Picky About It.

I've seen every shape and form of asian girl, and none of them really sour the relationship thing. Everything from straight-up American-apple-pie-accent, to the straight off the boat variety; it's all kinda cute. Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Korean. Kim-chi, Sashimi, Pad Thai, Egg Roll. I'm not picky about it.

The Smarts.


Asian or not, my wife has to stand on her own feet intellectually. The last thing I want is to do all the talking for the extent of our marriage. I don't want to talk about how donkeys have the loudest farts in the animal kingdom for the rest of my life. I need a lady who can teach me a thing or two every once in a while. So why not marry an asian? Lord knows they've got the brains. I think that's the beauty about being with somebody who's career relies mainly on smarts. She'll come home all stressed from work and I'll make dinner, kiss her on the forehead, pinch her butt, put on an album, and then paint her something. It's a Ying-Yang thing.

The Respect.

I want to one day be walking down the street with my Asian better half, see another white guy doing the same, and then hi-five each other as we pass. No words will be exchanged. We just both know we did it. Later that week, I'll show up to a backyard party with my Asian better half, and get glared at by all the other white dudes who married Plain-Jane white chicks with brat kids. Those same brats will tease my Asian youngster. My kid will really want to beat up those kids, because daddy taught him/her not to take shit from anyone.

If only it ever learned how to walk.