Tag Archives: awkwardness

How Inappropriate!

Why is it that every time we see a dog humping someone or something we are wildly amused? I cannot tell you how many times I have been at the dog park, accompanying my friends who have doggies, and witnessed some little (or big) go-getter attempt to get it on with a fellow, (and typically disinterested) K9.  Everyone just sort of stands there voyeuristically observing and laughing…

It’s not unlike this:

– Sylvia “Is-Going-To-Be-Late-For-Work-on-Account-of-Watching-Videos-of-Animals-Fornicating” Stout.

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I asked my friend My Man McCann about what he felt I should post today. I have been running around all day like a chopped chicken, and MMM frankly saved me from hours of internet surfage and content deliberation.

It may not be Friday, but this shit is off the hook

Sneak Peak:


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Speaking of Long Weekends…

My mother and her significant other have a property north of the city just outside of Elmvale. Collingwood is close by, Thornbury is just on the other side of Collingwood, Stayner isn’t too far, Creemore is a bit of a distance, but you could take a day jaunt over that way. The one town that is by far the closest (yet still far enough away, thank fuck) to my mothers six bedroom property is the one that I almost never mention: Wasaga Beach.

The following is going to be a shamelessly judgemental rant about the trashy underbelly of civilization that haunts the arguably dilapitated shores of the the main beach, and the absolute gobsmacking horror I experienced while driving through town this long weekend. I just read this line aloud to my mother with a snicker, and she poo-pooed my opinion and launched into her own defensive rant about her home away from home:

“Sylvia! My God! How did you ever become so judgemental?! You certainly didn’t learn it from me!”

“I’ll have you know that Wasaga Beach is the fastest growing community in Ontario, and it is within the top ten fastest growing communities in Canada. Although it is traditionally known as a resort town, young families and retired folks alike are moving in and changing the face of the community. Certainly the beach on long weekends is crowded with young partiers, (think Jersey Shore), and I do my best the avoid it at these peak times… But during the week and in the off season, Wasaga and the surrounding areas offer picturesque scenery with a plethora of things to do.”

… “So there!” (sticks tongue out)…

Following this, mother stated that the total facade of WB is about to change, and for the better. Apparently the main strip and some of the surrounding waterfront property acreages have been purchased for roughly 11.7 million by some big wig developer, who plans to advertise and thus capitalize on the fact that WB is the longest fresh water beach in Canada: “Miami North”. Apparently, this plan includes some form of gentrification, because big developer man and his company want to market this niche to the rich.

I could be completely off base, but I am fairly certain that people with lot$ of money prefer for the most part to surround themselves with other individuals with lots of money. Or at least they prefer to keep company with people who either look like they have lots of money, or can pretend and pretend well that they make up a part of the upper crust. Those belonging to the lower socioeconomic strata will no longer be welcome, me thinks. They won’t be able to afford the new rental rates, and no amount of dollas can buy class, so the rejection will be double edged.

Frankly, the locals really can’t be blamed for wanting some change around these parts. The current state of Wast-aga Beach is laughable. I have never in my life seen so many shirtless, swearing, spitting, belching, tan-oil greasy, crude, obnoxious, scantilly-clad, sideways hat and pawn shop bling wearing, black and green Honda Civic driving, Wonderland season’s pass holding, DTF/GTL beef artist, 905’er scags in one place, in my entire life… Not even at the Sound Academy.

I must have held a snear of disgust upon my face for the entirety of the drive through this unfortunate hole of a vacation getaway destination. I had to roll up my windows and suffer through the sweltering heat of the un-airconditioned car, just to avoid the embarrassment of being cat-called and whistled at in front of my parents… Muthafuckas please.

The decorum has seemingly degraded over the years. I know my close girlfriends and I used to come up here during our summer break from high school, and pretend to be scaggy-trash for the weekend so we could get our underage selves into ‘clubs’ like the Dard (now The Dardanella), and Bananas beach Club. But these people are the real deal now; ambling through the sandy streets with shameless and trashy abandon. Yuck.

I hope the local sundries shoppe stocks shelves worth of condoms because the last thing we need is for these people to get too drunk on Budweiser and procreate.

Sylvia “Snooki-and-Pauly D-belong-trapped-in-the-boob-toob” Stout.

… And this just cause it is summer served fresh…

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Over brunch this morning at the Drake, while sipping our much needed Caesars and mowing our Benedicts, we discussed with great hilarity the phenomenon known as shirtcocking. I have actually experienced a shirtcocker in the flesh, unfortunately for me, many years ago while riding the very busy 501 across town. Quel sue-prise.

The streetcar was stalled at Leslie, and from my seat in the back I could hear a commotion taking place at the ‘cockpit’. (Pun most definitely intended.) A man — I want to recall him as being homeless although it is entirely possible he was just your run of the mill weirdo — was trying to pay his fare to the driver who was demanding the man exit the car immediately. “You can’t ride the streetcar like that, sir, please step off.” At first I didn’t even bother investigating; as not much is worthy of such an effort on the wretched albeit at times entertaining 501.

My attention only piqued when the man refused the driver’s demands for immediate departure, and began vehemently defending his right to ride the streetcar as he was. I could only see part of him from where I was seated so I leaned sideways in my seat and had a gander. My first thought was, “What the fuck is the hold up here, he seems fine to me.” However,  as my eyes scanned the vagrant from head to toe, I realized abruptly what the issue was. He was wearing a collared shirt, perhaps even a jacket, but that was all. No pants, no underwear, and apparently little regard for the societal requirement that at all times when in public, we wear at least one of these things, if not both. This man was getting his shirtcock on.

The thing about shirtcocking, is that is catches you off guard; startles you abruptly into looking directly at a man’s bits with little to no prior warning. Blatant public nudity would be more forgiving because at least your brain can immediately register the offense, but with shirtcocking you almost feel like the asshole with your pants caught around your ankles. I am interested to know who else would agree with this, but a penis and balls out and about without context is a bizarre and oftentimes unsettling sight.

Of course at the time I had no such name for this shirtcockery. It was Sarah who brought to our attention that the term had some early linkage to the Burning Man festival. Burning Man welcomes individuals from all walks of life, and freedom through self expression is encouraged in every form. Except one. While at Burning Man, thou shalt not shirtcock.

Seth Stevenson wrote an article about Burning Man for slate.com that you should read here. The following excerpt highlights the ardently frowned upon act of shirtcocking at the festival:

“There was, however, one form of nudity that everyone seemed to agree had no place within the Burning Man community. This is the type of nudity known as “shirtcocking.” Shirtcocking is when a man wears a top but is naked from the waist down. I have also heard this look referred to as “the toddler,” or “Porky Pigging.”

For reasons that are hard to fully explain—if you’ve witnessed the phenomenon you know this is true—shirtcocking is disquieting to the observer’s soul. Visually disturbing to an extreme degree. People at Burning Man are so averse to shirtcocking that I saw several posted signs vehemently denouncing the practice. And yet there were shirtcockers.”

So maybe the man trying to board the TTC that fateful day was neither a homeless man, nor a garden variety weirdo, but a harmless shirtcocking exile from Black Rock City.  In any case, this observer’s soul was disquieted.

Rock out with your cock… in,


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What is up with puking? The act of barfing must be one of the most (momentarily) unpleasant side effects of being a human.Wikipedia describes vomiting in the following way: “Vomiting (known medically as emesis and informally as throwing up and by a number of other terms) is the forceful expulsion of the contents of one’s stomach through the mouth and sometimes the nose.” SOMETIMES THE NOSE!!?? Fuck. Things are pretty fucking dire if puke is coming through your nostrils. You can’t clean that mess up with a toothbrush and toothpaste, that’s for damn sure.

Some people claim not to mind vomiting; we have all heard ‘those people’ posit that tossing cookies is not the worst thing in the world; “Ohhhhh!! But it is wayyyyyy worse to avoid it, you feel so much better when you just get rid of what ever is ailing your guts!” No. Disagree. I mean okay… yes theoretically, I have had those pukes where it happens and I do feel much better in the time following. Those rare few that take very little from your overall well being and  only manage to slow you down for a brief period of time, (“because you have strong stomach”, “a strong will to continue”, etc),  BUT – what about with the flu? How about then? You feel awful, your temperature is elevated, your normally well functioning body can’t decide whether it is really hot or really cold, you shake through incessant boughts of chills and nausea only to ultimately concede to that watery feeling on the back of your tongue. You rush to the closest vestibule (or lean over the edge of the bed, if it is THAT bad), and wretch and gag until you puke up that evenings meal, or acid laden bile, only to lay sweaty and broken, shaken and disturbed, on the cool washroom floor to await your next puke, which is coming down the pipe at you faster than what seems reasonable.You never feel better, only slightly less malaised until you just feel horrible again.

Drinking alcoholic bevies to a point where your stomach responds with an, “unh-uh, no fucking way, my blood is polluted, I can’t fight this battle alone, expel… EXPEL!”, is also terribly unpleasant; not as bad as flu-pukes, but bad nonetheless. You have the spins (the devil created the spins FYI), one foot resting on the floor, watery mouth, you are a hot mess really. You pray at the alter of the porcelin god, or the garbage can on the road, or the road, or all over your freshly washed sheets, in space,  brush your teeth, and then fall into bed, now able to at least burn the evenings libations off to headache status.

All in all I absolutely loathe and deplore throwing up. Throwing up due to the flu (or some equally body taxing ailment like food poisoning) is the worst, but throwing up sober or drunk suck, in equal measure,  balls of a gross and abnormal size.

There are different ‘types’ of pukers. There are the aforementioned non-fussers that don’t seem much bothered by this nightmarish act, and then there are people like me. I will put that shit off. I will try to meditate through it before I will concede to it. I will sip water, pace around, purposefully inhale and exhale, try to focus on something stable, so on and so forth, before I will even consider taking out the trash.

The physiological elements associated with barfing are actually quite fascinating. You should read this wiki article, so at least the next time you puke you will know exactly what is going on inside your vessel. For example: Did you know that the increased salivation production we all experience right before we vomit is the parasympathetic nervous system’s way of protecting the enamel on our teeth? Okay, I had some idea this was the case, but still.

So… What kind of puker are you?

– Sylvia.

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Sketchy-Ass Easter Bunnies

Happy Egg Nyte! Aside from shamelessly scarfing mass quantities of cheap, foil wrapped chocolate eggs, the only other notably exciting thing about today is the fact that the liquor store has reopened. In celebration, we have posted these pictures of uber sketchy and down-right nightmare inducing Easter Bunnies.  Pop on over to Buzzfeed to view the whole line-up.



















































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Cinnamon Challenge

For more about the Cinnamon Challenge go here.

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Die Antwoord – Umshini Wam

Here is a short video by Die Antwoord, a freaky deaky hip-hop duo from South Africa. Ninja and Yo-Landi are BFFs. Some parts of the video are NSFW.

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you shure do got a raight purdy mouth!





















Check out 31 more pictures you must see before you die here!

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If you are not one of the 40,466,533 (and counting) people who have already watched this, you should become one. It’s better than a million melonssssss, even better than mangoesss!

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7:51 Well Spent

My favourite part is in the comments:

“I have $20 says all the people in this video vote Republican.”

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Der Papi LongLegs

I couldn’t help myself.

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The Black Keys – Lonely Boy

Fresh Keys. The Dancing Man is in his best form here.

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Unhunh. Yep.

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