duct tape, lingerie of the Great White North

Maybe you have Victoria’s Secret stores where you live. Oh fine, gloat. They’re illegal here, or sumpin’, for lo, we have nothing so much as a dearth of Victoria’s Secret stores here in Canuckistan. What does this mean? It means that inhabitants of the Great White North, male and female, must make do with what they have and, in many cases it means that we must make do with such lingerie as is available from Lee Valley.

Victoria’s Secret supplies, in addition to reasonably-priced suiting lines and blog fodder, and as you may be aware, a diverse range of lingerie, including push up sports bras, strapless contraptions in sizes larger than you’d think prudent, and much more. And, frankly, however overpriced they may be, they all work.

But up here in Canuckistan, we are deprived. We can do the online thang. We can do the mailorder thang. But if we do not do the credit card thang we cannot do the Victoria’s Secret thang in any way, shape, or form.

Except…

Except in the most Canadian form of all. Let me tell you a twofer of tales that will tell you that, when it comes to continence or glamour, Canuckistan will take a back seat to no-one.

cut to Gilligan’s Theme music.

Once upon a time, like last night, mine hosts told a tale, a tale of a fateful shit. That started from their friends’ baby, and that was all of it. The baby knew the diaper was the way to own its’ parents, so nightly she’d divest herself of it’s malevolence. No way! No hope! The diaper shed, no matter what the ‘rents would do. Halfway through sleep they would awake and toss that fateful poo.

ENTER RED GREEN

So the baby took its diaper off for attention: solve the problem the Red Green way, by duct taping the diaper in place. Until baby can handle a switchblade, you’re good to go!

So ends Part the First.

Part the Second: I taped my tits for this?

Surely I can’t be the only woman who’s admired a photo of a fortysomething celeb whose boobs are still perky enough to put out an eye. The secret, as I learned from my in-the-know friend Sandy, is Duct Tape.

I am a fortysomething not-yet-celeb, and I have, as I may have mentioned, long since transcended human dignity. I was also a woman who had to attend an avante-garde art opening in a strapless bodysuit.

I used the duct tape.

Three days and six showers later I was unsticky. I think I have finally figured out the secret to Brandon Davis’ unique attraction: no matter how coated with adhesives you may be, you’ll slide right off his grease-streaming carcass.

Show me the luv, people: the Bloggie Awards: nominatez-moi!

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The Darwin Awards for 2006

Charles Darwin, yo!These are the most popular nominations, by public vote, for the year’s best examples of removing yourself from a grateful gene pool by sheer force of your own innate (or learned) stupidity. Interestingly, the overwhelming winner is contentious enough that they are considering removing the category altogether; it seems that there are quite a lot of people who believe strongly that pounding on RPGs with a sledgehammer or rolling an unexploded bomb downhill is not stupid behavior if the alternative is poverty. In these cases, however, the alternative was a life in poverty, which is surely the smart choice under these or, indeed, any circumstances.

Seriously, people, economic imperatives only override physical ones when the intellect fails; this is why they are called the Darwin Awards. You can’t provide for your family if you blowed yourself up real good; species who favour food which is poisonous to them tend to die out. Simple.

Donald Trump or Stephen Harper, feel free to disagree and to take your disagreement to the nearest RPG or bomb on the top of a hill.

Stories Ranked by Vote

Hammer of Doom 8.0 (2421 votes)

Stubbed Out 7.8 (1838 votes)

Star Wars 7.8 (1664 votes)

High on Life 7.7 (1423 votes)

Score For Goliath 7.3 (2150 votes)

Copper Kite 7.3 (1006 votes)

Faithful Flotation 7.2 (1804 votes)

Technical Difficulties 5.9 (46 votes)

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It’s ten o’clock. Do you know where your stats are?

I certainly know where mine are.

blog stats dec 28 06

In the toilet.

I suppose it’s a function of being offline for oh, say, three weeks off and on. Thanks to a unique combination of impecunity and historic windstorms in Vancouver, my apartment has been internetless for some time.

Naturally, I had to evacuate. I’m currently blogging from Ontario, which is, I admit, a little far to go, particularly since my neighborhood is dotted with free public computers; the problem is, of course, that these computer sources, being staffed by civil servants, aren’t open during the holidays or after four pm, which is when anyone really worthwhile really just gets going. Also, of course, I am in Ontario and not the Downtown EastSide now, so it would be really inconvenient for me to be using those computers, even supposing I could wake up early and everything.

But not to worry: Operation Global Media Domination will not be deterred by a momentary blip caused by the unique Perfect Blogstorm of the combination of the anniversary of the Birth of Jesus, the Windstorm of 2006, the Blight of Odeo, and the Great Internet Famine. Indeed, I’ve got a beaver shot coming that will be heard ’round the world, so stay tuned!

Refresh early, refresh often! 

pic o’ the day: the Aurora Borealis, seen from space

Gawd knows where I stumbled across this, but I had to post it. If this is what it looks like from the space shuttle, imagine what it looks like from directly below! I had the coolest parents when I was little (it was only when I got to be older that they became a PIA); they would wake us up if there were a particularly beautiful set of Northern Lights, so we grew up with the Aurora for our show and tell items, because we were the only little kids who were awake at midnight to watch them.

I also remember a night in Winnipeg, record cold, too, when, just as my mother finished setting the table and called us in for dinner, a huge snowy owl flew right into the living room’s picture window. SMASH! I tell ya, we even turned off Tommy Hunter, even though he had Glenn Campbell on that night! Yep, it was that special.

By the time my father got outside to investigate, the owl was gone. Not the first or last guest to come to temporary grief and lasting headache over the cocktail hour chez raincoaster, alas, but perhaps the prettiest.

We think he was making for the poodle, but we will never know for certain…

Aurora Borealis from space

pic o’ the day: snowglobe warning

Snow Globe Warning!

This is sheer brilliance! Unfortunately, as Gawker reports, it’s not an actual sign but an ad, an ad which Entertainment Weekly refuses to run, thus endangering at least 50% of Hollywood over the holiday season. I wonder how long before some wag at Whistler puts these up just for the hell of it?

Snowglobes: no laughing matter! Betcha anything Canadian Tire will be stocking Therma-Curves before the winter is out.

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