Everything Found In 'Thinking About Stuff' Category

Shit. It happens.A friend of mine is really in the shit right now. He has some bad shit to deal with. I don’t like to see my buddies in the shit, so I offer to help him out with his shit. Ease his shit-burden a little. Shit happens, so let’s deal with it. That’s what friends are for, right?

So we shoot the shit and discuss all kinds of shit. Don’t worry, I say. Your shit is my shit, and we’ll work to clean this shit up together. That’s what friends are for.

So I take some of his shit and add to it to my shit. My friend feels the burden of shit lifted from his shoulders. He ends up giving me all his shit. He’s shit free. But now I have all his shit, plus my shit. I’m totally in the shit. My friend then leaves town without his shit. No shit.

Moral of the story: never do anyone else’s shit. It’s their shit. Let them deal with it. You have your own shit. If everyone dealt with their own shit, and left everyone else’s shit alone, we’d all be a lot happier. And a lot less covered in shit.

This post is dedicated to Halifax Harbour.


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That, plus 85.

Never mind the last bunch of losers, nutcases and dicks, here’s some more people I’m avoiding right now.

1. A cop wearing only one shoe

2. People who order skinny lattes but aren’t sure what skinny lattes are

3. People who believe Sunday is the first day of the week

4. People who insist a tomato is a fruit

5. A lap dancer that smells of cheese

6. Eighty-seven Goths

7. A door-to-door tampon salesman

8. A Christmas Parade Santa with a weak bladder

9. A vicar clenching a potato between his buttocks

10. An underage ambulance driver

11. A one-armed pizza chef

12. A dwarf dressed as a pixie

13. Anyone who bought a ShamWow because they liked the TV ad

14. A superhero with Tourette’s

15. A door-to-door door salesman

16. A bishop with a squirrel under his hat

17. A lawyer who lives in a trailer

18. A heavily perspiring Hooters Girl

19. A pixie dressed as a leprechaun

20. A Wal-Mart greeter with an erection

Have you met anyone you don’t want to meet recently?


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Is it possible to perform a Google image search without finding a dirty picture? Yes, I know Google search has a filter. But turn that bugger off and you should prepare yourself for a journey of unimaginable sexual discovery.

I’m proposing a new game called Google Fuck Bingo. To play, enter a really innocent word like ‘bicycle’, or ‘pigeon’ in Google image search.

So much for little Jenny's science project!

Count how many images are displayed before the inevitable double-penetration/cumshot/naked transsexual photo appears. Player with the most fuck-free images wins.

In the unlikely event you tire at looking at pictures of fake tits and multiple naked gay pile-ups, you could also try Google Bingo with the following variations:

* Dead Cat
* Motorcycle Crash Leg
* Car Bomb
* Hideous Facial Disfigurement
* Foreign Object in Rectum
* I Can’t Quite Tell What I’m Looking At But I Think It’s Dead

In the event this game scars you for life or gets you fired, you didn’t hear about it from me, okay?

Thought over!


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Geoff Brown: A mystery. An enigma. A sandwich eater.

A seat. A ferry. A mystery.
An unknown scribe carves a strange message into the plastic seat of the Halifax to Dartmouth ferry, and disappears back into the shadows.

Who? What? Why?

“Geoff Brown eats sandwiches”.
Who left the message? What could it mean? Would Tom Hanks be interested in starring in the movie adaptation? I decided to investigate.

1. Who was Geoff Brown?
I asked around my fellow ferry passengers, but no-one knew of this man. I spotted an overweight, scruffy-looking guy eating a sandwich on the upper deck. “I am not Geoff Brown,” he declared. “Please go away, you are spoiling my lunch.” This investigation was going to be harder than I thought.

There was only one thing for it; summon the God of information, Google. In its wisdom, it responded that Geoff Brown could be a website developer, a snowboard instructor or a stand-up comedian. None of them fitted the profile of a mysterious cross-ferry sandwich muncher. Google, you let me down!

I called the local police to ask if they could check their records. The police lady on the other end of the phone wasn’t very helpful. She just kept repeating “Look madam, is this an emergency or not?” How the hell was I supposed to know? Supposing Geoff Brown was stealing baked goods from Halifax-area cafes, and consuming the evidence on the ferry ride home? This message could be a cry for help from an out-of-control ciabatta criminal, like those serial killers who leave calling cards on their victims’ corpses. Honesty, I try to help the police, and all I get is abuse…

2. What was significant about the eating of the sandwiches?
The identity of Geoff Brown, be he friend or foe, remained a mystery. In the interests of wild speculation, could the next part of the message provide any clues to his identity… and what was so great about these ruddy sandwiches?

Like the idiot who scrawled “TIGGY IS GHEY” on my office’s washroom wall, perhaps the graffiti artist was trying to spread nasty rumours about poor Mr. Brown. But why would his love of sandwiches be such a shameful secret?

Just shut the fuck up about the sandwiches, alright?Maybe Geoff Brown was a kung-fu wrestling smackdown champ. Rather than gorging on raw meat and tree trunks for lunch, he secretly consumed delicate cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. For a guy who spent his days grappling with sweaty semi-naked men, any claim of effeminacy would be pretty hurtful. Maybe his opponent was conducting a dirty-tricks campaign of psychological torture… by scrawling insults on a ferry seat. Well I don’t frigging know, wrestlers are a strange bunch.

Then I had a breakthrough-supposing the message was incomplete? Perhaps the scribe was caught in the act, and thrown overboard before he could finish his carving. This opened up lots of new possibilities. Maybe it was supposed to read “Geoff Brown eats sandwiches from Tubby Jack’s Sandwich Shack! Try their Beef & Bacon Mega-Sub today!” So the graffiti was nothing more than a cunning advertising campaign? Or perhaps it was one of those stupid subliminal ads, which never actually tell you what it is you’re supposed to be buying.
I think Tubby Jack should ask the ad agency for a refund, to be honest.

3. Why was I spending so much time thinking about this?
Well, aren’t you wondering now?

Despite my thorough investigation, the mystery of Geoff Brown and his sandwich fetish remains unsolved. The scribe will take the secret to his grave, Geoff Brown will continue to consume/steal/advertise his beloved lunchtime treat, and Tom Hanks hasn’t returned any of my phone calls.

I think I might take the bus in future.


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