Holy Shit

You know, I really didn't know that people still actually clubbed baby seals. I know they used to, but for some reason, I thought this had wrapped up back in the 80s when all that 'save the whales' crap was happening. Clubbing baby seals. On man. That is SO un-Canadian. Where's Michael Moore bragging about Canada NOW, huh?

http://www.slate.com/id/2139026/

At least now one doesn't have to stop saying things like, "Yes, I work for a multinational corporation that provides free asbestos to pregnant single women in Afganistan, builds cheap landmines (now with extra maiming power), and mines diamonds in Africa, but at least i'm not CLUBBING BABY SEALS TO DEATH".

Methinks the Canadian Seal Clubbers Association might wish to "rebrand" their little annual shindig. Here is some free PR advice, you dumbass seal-killing canucks.

1. Instead of saying "clubbing baby seals to death", or using any combination of the words "seal", "baby", "immobile", "club(bing), "spike" say, "engaging in,and benefitting from, economic and environmental synergies

2. Stop showing pictures of baby seals like this!







Instead, show the true nature of the seal, scourge of the arctic, killer of innocent penguins. Clubbing seals ensures that THIS will never, ever, EVER happen again. That poor guy starred in March of the Penguins and now he's dead. Eaten by a killer seal. Should have clubbed that bastard. See? Enlist peoples sympathy and then smack away!



3. Tie your brand in with ancient customs and culture. People LOVE that shit. So, for example, stop calling your club a club. Call it a "whisoonellainiteenatu" (translation - stick of love to bring happy seals eternal happy seal life) and gaze wistfully off into the sky when you say it. Also, stop wearing jeans, you dumbasses. Wear 'ancient seal warrior garb'. Stare a lot, like you're looking into the beyond.

4. And the best way to rebrand the seal hunt? Stop bashing innocent baby seals on their noggins, you sick f**ks. Jesus!

The Onion

Yes, I know you can read the Onion Online for yourselves, but in case you weren't planning to, the below is hysterical...DMG and PT, reminds me of our ill-fated canoe trip of aught one. ____________________________________________________________________
No Canoe Can Hold Me
By Dennis Puttkamer March 29, 2006 Issue 42•13

Care to take a relaxing, uneventful canoe trip down the lazy river, the sights and sounds of nature soothing you? Want the warm midday sun to bronze your shoulders as you calmly drift across the water?
Well, you'd better call someone else to join you. Because when Dennis Puttkamer steps into a canoe, there's going to be trouble.
They have yet to build a canoe that can contain Dennis Puttkamer, Canoe Tipper Extraordinaire. No matter the brand or make—Grumman Double-Ender, Michi-Craft T-17, Pelican Dare Devil—give me enough time, and I'll find a way out of it. Whether I'm recklessly standing up to scout for potential dangers ahead, or throwing all my weight unexpectedly over to one side after seeing what I believe to be a beaver, I will upset the canoe's delicate balance.
Not even the Alcatraz of canoes, the impregnable Old Town, can hold me within. I am a modern-day Harry Houdini. When it comes to canoes.
For instance, I've been known to decide, mid-voyage, that I'm feeling a little "seasick," and need, urgently, to switch places in the canoe. Using my patented "Not- Thinking-Things-Through" technique, I will then begin stumbling toward the bow before you have a chance to react, toppling us both into the freezing river water below. You won't know what hit you, although if past experience is any indication, it will probably be my paddle.
You can put me in a canoe all right, but you can't keep me in a canoe. And if you try, I promise you this: I will escape, most likely after dropping my paddle in the water and reaching out precariously to retrieve it, though it obviously sits well outside my meager reach. And when I do, believe you me, everything you hold dear—camping supplies, fishing poles, beer cooler—will get what's coming to them.
Come hell or high water, although it's usually the latter, I will emerge victorious. There's no rock too far out in the distance that I, in wholly unfounded desperation, won't violently steer away from, crashing into an unseen piece of driftwood just feet to my left in the process.
Yes. I'm that good.
And it's not just canoes, either. Same goes for foot-powered paddle boats. And kayaks. Especially kayaks.
Think I'm lying? Why don't you try asking the picnic basket my lovely wife packed for our anniversary outing last year? It has an answer for you—300 feet below the surface of Sebago Lake!
How many people can say that they're on a first-name basis with emergency rescue crews from three different neighboring towns? Besides me, and possibly my fishing partner Dale, no one.
The life-jacket industry would crumble if it weren't for Dennis Puttkamer.
And I'm not talking about raging rapids or dangerous waters here, people. I'm talking canoes on calm, ripple-free waters. Waters as flat as a goddamn sheet of glass. Hell, even my grandmother would panic and tip the canoe if she was caught in fierce, swirling currents.
Canoe builders, listen closely: If you want any chance of imprisoning me, you're going to have to try a lot harder. For starters, how about widening and lengthening the frame by 18 to 20 feet so my weight is more evenly distributed. Next, go get yourself a clue, then come back and raise the sides about eight feet. Finally, stop crying about what failures you are, and start erecting some sort of closed structure at the top, maybe out of—I dunno—high-grade steel?
Once you're done, take a step back and behold your creation. It's what is commonly referred to as a "boat!" Because, you see, you cannot, by definition, build a canoe that can hold me!
Long live Dennis Puttkamer

Woah. Cool

http://www.slate.com/id/2138847/

Airbus 380 evacuation test. 873 people out of a plane in 90 seconds. Amazing. Can you imagine volunteering for that, though? Don't think i'd do that. 'hey buddy, wanna get possibly trampled by a horde of screaming germans exiting a double-decker plane in under 90 seconds?'. Nein!

Seriously though, i can not WAIT to fly on this thing. Dig it.

French Protest Labor Law

Hmmm...I think the below quote says it all..

"'Nothing in France lifts the mood like common cause and a good street protest,' said Serge Romain, a 62 year-old retiree: 'it's in our blood.' he said."

That's the PROBLEM Serge. That's why your country, with it's antiquated notions of what it is to be French, is having some of the worst social/economic problems in the 'western' world right now. You've got millions of pissed-off immigrants, a lot of shitty peugeots just ripe for the burning, and high unemployment. Perhaps time for the system to change just a tad?

Even the Swiss, Germans, and most other European nations are like, 'dude. you guys are idiots. Get with the program'. I mean, I don't think Angela Merkel called up Chirac and was like, 'dude', but you get the idea.

'wee ahhh ohn zztrike, you feelthy cap-i-tal-ist peegs'

Dig it.

OH MAH GOD

Dude. I am FAILING my french final tomorrow. At last count, I'm wading through 10 tenses, endless pronoun rules, and, of course, the bane of all french study, EXCEPTIONS to every possible rule you memorize. so. You're good for a while, right? Keeping track of it all? T-DAM!! JUST KIDDING. you only do that for this instance, and if you do it in another instance, the French will sneer at you, you dumbass american. That's what the book actually said. Swear. I'll letcha know how I do. werd.

Pictures

So P-dog and J-rad just spent a few days chilling out here. Total blast. They got a few days of skiing in (i joined them for one), and otherwise we just rocked it Swiss style. Pawel was so psyched to be back among his people though. He kept saying, 'man, i gotta move to europe; it's so much better than jersey.' well, duh. hahahaha.


When coming to Switzerland, most people use guidebooks, or buy maps. Pawel draws maps of Switzerland on airplane stationary, and then uses this all weekend to get around. Too bad it didn't help when he and Jared skiied into FRANCE (sans passport against the advice of YR) and got lost. We should be glad no international incidents occurred. Hilarious. But good times had by all, highlighted by our visit to eurotrash club central on Saturday evening. Jared and I were having a great time, but we were worried that pawel's head was gonna explode with euro-y joy. wow.

So some pictures.
F**k yeah, man. Euro-style.









This is a picture of YR racing in the annual company GS. He is dominating. In fact, i was skiing so fast, that Pawel couldn't TAKE A DECENT PICTURE...sigh. But I did place 13th (not bad for an old guy, huh)?

Stay Tuned - Lots to blog

Aight. Stay tuned. More posts to follow when I have a bit of time, but first and foremost, the official winner of the 'great DMG poetry contest of aught six' is...

WHELAN!! I will reproduce said poem below. Abstract, direct, profound, and clearly about DMG.

Happy B-day Dave
The Slope ages with you, Bud
You owe me a steak

Mr. Whelan will become the beneficiary of a large pice of chocolate that DMG himself will smuggle back into the states. There was a bit of an international incident the last time I sent chocolate, as the Americans have a weird rule about sending food in. So I just declared that it was three handguns and it was no problem, but from now on, I'll be shuttling chocolate home myself, or with various guests. Whelan, expect the prize sometime in early april, unless DMG gets hungry on the plane.

So Tired....So Fat

I'm sorry. I don't know why I find this so funny.

From the 'unintended irony' department.

http://edition.cnn.com/2006/US/03/14/beauty.queen.death.ap/index.html

A glorious ode

It's DMG's b-day. Write him a poem in the comments section, and get some free chocolate (i promise). Winning poem gets a GIGANTIC toblerone.

A birthday ode to DMG

by BJR

A very happy birthday to one DMG,
A gent for whom ‘one more beer’ tends to means three.
And drags dear friends along for the ride,
No matter the time, or obligations beside.

With shouts of “don’t be a Shirly, you great big Mary,
C’mon, take off your skirt and drink, you fairy”
So you’ll drink three more beers, as quick as can be
And that’s where the trouble will start, you’ll see.

Trips to the hospital become common fare
When he falls through roofs that clearly weren’t there
Rescued by the fire department, a lesson well learned?
Not particularly. As you all well know, the hospital looms at every turn.

Returning home another time, bleeding profusely,
Asked how this happened, the response ‘no idea, absolutely’.
So calls get made at all hours of the night,
To girlfriends and others to join in and see the sight.

The waiting room in a hospital is a grim place to be,
But our dear friend DMG tends to think its one huge party.
Cracking jokes with the nurses and insulting the surgeons,
“you didn’t graduate med school???!!” is a common recurrence.

But he goes through it all with good cheer and raucous glee
Life would certainly be a lot more boring without DMG
So best birthday wishes to you, and I wish you best of luck
And please do your best to not get hit by a truck.

A Magical Fantabulous Photo Essay

Ah, Switzerland. When people visualize it, some may see green rolling meadows, impossibly tall and craggy peaks, and maybe the sight of cows being driven through towns by men in a timeless ritual. Others see fresh cheese and milk and honey, as far as the eye can see. A land of Fair Lasses, and even Fairer Lads. Strong and stoic people they are, yet jovial and friendly as well. Well, I hate to break it to you but the cows have been eaten, the mountains are melting, and Heidi is now a porn star.





















And in case you get hungry and are tired of all the fresh food one could ever hope to find, you can swing by Hooters and have "Der Bezten Wings in Interlaken"


Seriously. F**king. Appalling. My good lord.

I cheat death, baby

So. Quick hit post. Back from a lovely weekend in Interlaken with Laura. CRAPPY skiing yesterday (see below), which was a shame. Well, the view was crappy. There was, like, 12 fresh inches of the gnarly pow-pow, bros. Seriously? Pretty awesome. Too bad I couldn't see. It was like floating around in a cloud. Remember that level in Super Mario Bros.? It was like that. I s**t you not.

So where did I cheat death, you ask? Well, Wengen is home to the world-famous Lauberhorn World Cup Downhill race every January. It takes place on the (duh) Lauberhorn Downhill course. It is considered a 'classic' (laid out in 1930), and is exempt from 'normal' course safety requirements. All the famous sections are named after people who died on it.

The crazy bastards at Wengen let you SKI the actual course itself, the same one that Daron Rahlves won this past January. It is, without a doubt, the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life. Words can not describe how insane this course is. Yes, it's skiiable. But let me put it in perspective for you. I am a good recreational skiier. I've been skiing many years. There were pitches on this thing that were actually scary as in "jebus h. christ. I might fall down this CLIFF and DIE" scary. Seriously. It takes real racers about 2 minutes, 40 seconds. It took me, no lie, like 15, I'd say. And those jumps those guys fly off? F**K that, with a capital "F". Oh. And they had gates on it. See below:









So. Let me break this down for everyone. You go into the start house and actually stand where all the racers start. Then you start. There are only gates on the first 1/8 or so of the course I'd say. This is also the least steep part, though you are going pretty fast. They kindly break the course up into 5 sections, so you actually stop at the top of each section and read about how crazy these guys are...Anyway, so you're cruising along, like "oh, whatever, this isn't that bad". And then the course narrows to 20 feet, you make 1 ninety degree turn, another, plummit down some ridiculous pitch, into a TUNNEL (a roller coaster is less scary at speed, I think), and then just proceed to drop into the valley below. The 4th part is a speed trap where the resort lets you tuck down a pitch and then they radar gun you. I will not let you know how fast I was going. I would have said 60 MPH. It was not, and let's just leave it at that. The real guys are doing about 80-85 there. Finally, the last part was the only time where I was like, "I don't know if I can ski this sheet of ice" because, oh yeah, the whole course was iced up nice, just like for the big boys. Whew.

Anyway, it was an experience, and I'll do it again if anyone else wants to. But even crawling along the thing, it killed my legs and I just could not imagine skiing it for real. I don't know how those guys do it! Anyway, more pictures later.

werd.

Friendster

Alright. I know Friendster died a very uncool death like, 2 years ago. But all of you bastards are on it. All the time. So what's the deal with not writing me a testimonial? I want verses. Homerian epics. Verbal tapestries of wit and adoration. Bring it, 'yatches.

Also, check out this blog
Very cool, and for a very good cause.

BJR

80% moved in

S**t. I've reached that magical "80%" moved in status. You know that one? Where the BIG stuff is done, but you've still got more to do to finalize the place? I hate this phase. Sometimes it lasts for months. I don't think I can build any more furniture, people. Though I DID buy a nice little bed for the guest room, so whoever visits me will be crashing in crazy Ikea style, yo.

Otherwise, a very quiet week. It's Swiss School Holiday where the entire country is on vacation. I like it just fine; it means I don't have to fight someone to the death to get a parking spot in the morning. Speaking of parking, I'm dreading losing my car, so I'm hoping to get a used one within the next few months. I'm leaning towards a Peugeot 206, and painting the sucker red, white, and blue, and making the horn tone be the theme from Rocky. Just kidding, just kidding. There are all sorts of fun little cars over here, including this brand SEAT (Spanish national automaker, analagous to FIAT and Italy) that I've never even heard of.

So not much to report from gray Lausanne. I gave the finger to this driver the other day because I was crossing the street and usually everyone stops. Maybe this guy didn't like how good looking I am, because not only did he not stop, I was forced to run to avoid getting hit. So in a very reflexive manner, he got the new york salute accompanied by "Asshole" at a high decibel level. Obviously, for all he knew, I was doing a rain dance. Mental note. Learn offensive gestures in french.

In the news...Iraq is burning, we apparently need to kill all the birds in Europe ASAP, and apparently Yale has relaxed its admissions standards to admit the Taliban. I told my mom I should have taken the T-SATS (that's the Taliban SATs to you). Sample question:

DRIVER is to CAR, as:

a) Kill all the infidels is to Kill all the infidels
b) Kill all the infidels is to Kill all the infidels
c) Kill all the infidels is to Kill all the infidels
d) Kill all the infidels is to Kill all the infidels
e) All of the above