Happy Valentine’s Day!

Longtime readers know how much I adore this, the Hallmarkiest Holiday. Over the years, I’ve commemorated it with bouquets of dead flowers, Partridge Family anthems, and a lot of old-skool punk macros. Today, I have a roundup of the valentines which I received (TWO! Infinitely better than last year! Literally! Look how excited I am!) and those which I merely saw and wish to share.

From KAL301 on Twitter, I got an ASCII rose.

And from longtime blogging pal Disembedded, a street art heart.

Joe NYC Valentine

Joe NYC Valentine

And now, from around the internet:

Happy V Day from JA

Happy V Day from JA

Valentine's Day at Batman's

Valentine’s Day at Batman’s

Valentine Doge

Valentine Doge

My new imaginary sweetie Vin Diesel being adorbs.

A morbidly romantic safety reminder from Australia’s Dumb Ways to Die juggernaut.

And lastly but far from leastly, comes a Cthulhu Kissing Booth. Yes. An ACTUAL. CTHULHU. KISSING. BOOTH. But don’t get fresh and ask him who will be eaten first; not unless you’ve at least bought him dinner and flowers.

Cthulhu Kissing Booth: Pucker up and hang on to your sanity...if you CAN

Cthulhu Kissing Booth: Pucker up and hang on to your sanity…if you CAN

If that doesn’t get me on Reddit, fuck the aspie lot of ’em!

Party On, Rude!

And fuck your manscaper too!

And fuck your manscaper too!

spend more time on your eyebrows bro

fuck you too

Those are the immortal words of the unnamed shutterbug behind my new favorite Tumblr, “FuckYouPartyPhotographer.”

In an effort to appear badass, and perhaps attempting to top their appearance on DouchebagsLoveGreyGoose, douches and douchettes all over the Vangroover club scene are begging someone to take their picture, only to flip them off when they do.

Yes, I said “Vangroover.” Never was a more perfect coinage minted, for that is where these people live: a strange, ill-lit land where everyone is desperate to give the impression they’re not actually from Surrey.

White Rock means never having to say you're Surrey, Simba

White Rock means never having to say you’re Surrey, Simba

Now, one man is striking back. One man, alone, armed with nothing more than an apparently eye-catching and high-quality photo rig, and a permanent place on the VIP list. And it is glorious.

Fuck you, Combover Boy

Fuck you, Combover Boy


who are you, Prince William, duke of assholes ;)

If you go out clubbing in this city and fly the colours for the party photographer, and the colours read “Fuck You,” you can be pretty sure that, sooner or later, you will end up on this Tumblr, and NO, he will not take it down.

What are you gonna do, swear at him?

PS I’m pretty sure that on a lot of those tongues flapped out, Miley-style, that bump isn’t a tongue stud, it’s HPV.

The Strange Range Tweetup!

The Gold Range from Celebrate Canada

The Gold Range from Celebrate Canada

Attention, Yellowknife! In particular those parts of Yellowknife with a vested interest in the survival (or otherwise) of the most infamous dive bar in the North! In furtherance of Week Five of my Infinite Week Plan, and because we don’t have much time left, we present: The inaugural Tweetup at the Range!

So, you may have heard (in fact, you almost certainly heard it, and well before me, in fact) that the future of the Strange Range is in doubt.

  1. It may cease to exist.
  2. It may get a moderate upgrade and a handout and stagger on as before.
  3. It make get a facelift and some lipo and run around trying to pass itself off as a thirtysomething hookah lounge. God only knows, really. Once they start with a nip and tuck, there’s no telling where they’ll end up.

Sooooo, I got to thinking. I’ve only been there once, but it seems to me that Yellowknife without a dive bar (and a famous one at that: it has a Wikipedia page! Can the same be said of any of the people wanting to close it down?) isn’t quite as…Yellowknifey, if you know what I mean. When Devin and the others from Kellett took me there in the Springtime, whispering blood-curdling warnings all the way, the tense atmosphere lasted exactly long enough for my eyes to focus in the gloaming and me to realize it was WAY UPSCALE from what I was used to on the Downtown Eastside. Not even any glass shard embedded on the tables!

And then an Elder walked over and said, “I just want to thank you young people for coming in. It’s good to see you here” and that was it, I melted. And then I told everybody about the time I went for coffee with Willy Pickton, just to restore the goosebump factor.

Which is neither here nor there. So here:

Who? You, me, and whoever else dares!

What? A Tweetup: meaning a casual gathering around a loose purpose, in this case to discuss/experience the Strange Range for what might be the last time. Tweetups are called via social media, that’s where they get their name, but you don’t have to be geeky to attend. Pay your own bill, order what you like. What, you think I’m your liver doctor?

When? 6pm Thursday, August 18th, 2011.

Where? The Gold Range Tavern. Don’t worry, you’ll recognize me. I’ll be the chubby, short blonde one with the black laptop with the sticker that says “SPEAK TRUTH TO POWER“.

Why? To tell stories, to hear stories, to become part of the legend of the Strange Range before it’s too late.

Yea though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil.

For I’m the meanest Sonofabitch in the Valley.