Thursday, June 29, 2006

Conversations with Cootch - part: whatever

Okay, okay, here's the dealio, yo. Its around 1am. I'm half asleep on my couch covered with about a million Mr. Freezie wrappers and watching the most hardcore kung-fu movie ever - Master of the Flying Guillotine. In fact, this movie is so hardcore, I've told myself "Hootch if you ever find a chick who digs this movie, you are going to instantly go down on her for as long as she wants". Doesn't matter if she's unwashed, hasn't trimmed the hedge in a while, or has oozing warts the size of Nebraska. You are gonna go down and lap up those juices till either she says "stop" or till you fall asleep down there, cuz any girl who has willingly experienced the majesty and artisitc beat-downs of the one-armed boxer vs the blind master of the flying guillotine, deserves whatever the fuck she wants.

So this is what was happening in my house when the phone rang. I pick it up. Its Marianne, ripper extraordinaire. Her driver has left her high and dry and she needs a ride home from work. A cab ride would cost her $55 and 90% of the girls she works with fuckin hate her so they wont give her a lift. So...she calls me and asks for a ride home. Although I know the prospects of sex, at this juncture in our relationship (on the downside), are more or less zero, I convince myself they still exist. I tell her I'll pick her up outside her club at 2am.

At 2:10 I show up and here's what goes down:

Marianne: Finally. What took so long?

Hootch: Good, thanks. How are you? Naw dont mention it. It's no trouble at all. I'm always up at 2:30 in the morning.

Marianne: Dont be mean okay, mister. I've had a rough day.

Hootch: Uh-huh.

Marianne: Here, gimme a hug.

Hootch: You okay?

Marianne: No. It was shit in there today.

Hootch: Since when have you worked Wednesdays.

Marianne: Since I've been almost 2 months behind on my rent. Oh look, there's Amanda. (calling out) Amanda...Amanda, do you need a ride home. (to me) Can we give Amanda a ride home?

Hootch: No, I fuckin hate Amanda. She thinks she's deep and mystical and shit. Tell her to fuckin hitchhike.

Marianne (to Amanda): Here, come on in. We'll give you a lift.

Amanda (to me): Hiya stranger. I havn't seen you in a while.

Marianne: I was just telling Hootch that it was shit in there today.

Hootch: What happened to that casting and modeling agency I set you up with?

Amanda: You set Marianne up with a modeling agency!? Why haven't you done something like that for me?

Hootch: Cuz me and you have never slept together.

Marianne: AH EXCUSE ME!! We have never slept together either, mister. Be nice.

Hootch: Okay, okay. So what happened with the agency.

Marianne: I dunnooooo. they always call when I'm busy or working.

Hootch: Thats long as you wanna keep on ripping for the rest of your life.

Marianne: What?! I go sometimes. Last week I was an extra in a movie starring John Candy.

Hootch: Ahh, John Candy is dead.

Marianne: OH MY GOD!! When? And I just saw him last week. What happened?

Amanda: Isn't it trippy when one day you see someone alive and the next day they're, like, dead or something??

Marianne: I know.

Amanda: Life is, like, a precious gift that we all have to cherish. Its like, today we are alive but tomorrow we may be dead, like John Candy.

Hootch: John Candy died years ago. You were in a movie with somebody else.

Marianne: Wait. I think I have his autograph in my purse.

Amanda: Oh yeah, you're right. Wasn't John Candy the skinny black, jewish guy from the rat pack?

Hootch: No. That was the Candy Man - Sammy Davis Jr. John Candy was fat and white.

Marianne: I found the autograph!!

Hootch: Here, lemme see? (I read it) Man, that says Robin Williams.

Marianne: Oh ya, Robin Williams.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Life Lessons From Hootch, the Bitch

so... I asked the anime girl out yesterday. I know I originally said it was a bad idea but when has that ever stopped me from doing something I shouldn't have.

Anyway, she said no.

Thats sucks.

Some business about going out with her family. I dont know if that's true or not, but I know enough not to press the issue.


I ran into the anime girl again, later on that day in the lunch area. She was eating with her friends. Mostly other pixie-sized chinese girls but also a few calculator watch, pocket protector type fellas. I sat at a table on the other side of the room and took out my lunch and book and started reading. As I was flipping through my book trying to find my place, I noticed the guys at the anime girl's table were blatantly clocking me. I dont think they were being confrontational or were members of the fuckin Triad or anything, but still - it bugged me. "Yeah, thats right pocket-protector guys, I'm the douche that tried to make time with your group's #1 chick. Now would you stop eyeballing me? I got some serious unfinished business here with my fuckin peanut butter and jam sandwich".

To help ease the pain of rejection, I focused on all the anime girl's characteristics I dont find so hot. Her ass - flat as a pancake. If round ass cheeks ever became an evolutonary requirement the anime girl's lineage would surely go the way of the dodo bird. Ok what's next? Oh ya, her waist. Even tho her arms and legs are pretty nice and regular sized, the anime girl's waist is practically non-existant. I think I can grab her hip to hip with my one hand. Thats pretty fucked up. I mean, how is she supposed to give birth to my son, the next Michael Jordan, with those skinny birthing hips?

When I got home yesterday I planned an evening of licking my wounds and taking out some of my disappointment/frustration on the punching bag in my garage. After a little warm up, I turned on my portable stereo and started wailing away on the punching bag, BOOM., BOOM, BOOM, BOOM – like thunder from my garage, it was that loud. I had my feet planted on the ground, shoulder-width apart, I turned my hips and crashed my fist into the punching bag – BOOM. I turned my hips in the opposite direction and crashed my other first against the semi-hard plastic-vinyl bag – BOOM. I felt a little stinging in my knuckles. I took a quick glance. Bits of my skin were beginning to rip off 2 or three knuckles on each hand.


Drops of blood were beginning to surface on my knuckles.

Even better.

I continued to wail away on the bag eager to see what I would succumb to first – the pain in my knuckles or the sheer exhaustion from going full tilt for more than a few minutes. The answer was neither.

"Hey" a voice from behind me said. It was my next door neighbour, Jeff. "We just got back from the doctor's office," he said. "Jenn (his wife) has cancer again."


Jenn was diagnosed with cancer around 3 years ago. When I first moved in to my house around 18 months ago she was in remission. But I guess her battle is not over just yet.

Life lesson #1: Hootch, dont be such a bitch. Shit can always be worse, dude.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

I'd Be The World's Worst Porno Star + Several Lists of Things You Never Wanted To Know About Hootch

I’d be the world’s worst porno star. I know this admission of inadequacy must come as a shock to many of you. Especially the young ladies out there who have often fantasized and daydreamed about mounting Higgins (my penis) and riding him off into the sunset. But its true. I’m not at all the sexual wonder-kid you envision me to be.

My first day on the job as a porno-star would start off well enough tho. I would've bought the entire movie crew the regular morning pick-me-ups. You know, bagels, muffins, coffee and an industrial sized container of flavoured astro-glide.

As I'd dispense of these morning treats I'd walk around the set introducing myself to my co-stars:

Hootch: Sylvia Saint, its an immense honour to meet you. My name is Hootch, but for the purposes of this movie you can call me Secret Agent 007, James Bone. Listen Sylvia, I just want to let you know I'm committed in making this movie something truly special - something that we can both be proud of. I want our movie to be emotional. I want it to be tender and gentle, I want it to be a heart-warming affair".

Sylvia Saint: Yes, me too. I want it to be tender, Hootch.

Then the director would join us. I would explain to him the direction in which I want the movie to take.

Hootch: Mr. Director, what do you need from me and Sylvia in order to make this movie a sincere love story about two vulnerable souls.

Director: What do I need from you and Sylvia to make this movie a touching love story? Hootch I'm gonna need you to lay down on that bear-skin rug, and Sylvia when I yell action I'm gonna need you to sit on Hootch's face.

As I’d lie on the bear-skin carpet I’d be thinking "okay Hootch, you are about to make history, amigo. You are going to show the world that a male porno star doesn’t have to objectify his female co-stars. He can show them the respect and tenderness, love and attention they truly deserve". And as I would be thinking these thoughts I’d also be thinking "I can’t wait for Sylvia to rest her snapper on my moustache".




But with the cameras rolling, 10 seconds into the endeavour, disaster would befall yours truly.

I’d see my female counterpart disrobe 10 feet away from me and hear her moan something like "ooohhhhwwwwyyyaaaaa Hooootch" and right then, my friends, the jig would be up. Even before insertion of any kind, I’d set off an ejaculate fireworks show to rival that of the fourth of July.

My dream of becoming a wildly successful porno star would come to a crashing halt.

I don’t want to finish this post. Its too depressing. Damn you Higgins. Damn you.

I'll tack on a thing-a-ma-jig I was forced to answer on another site:

Everything you never wanted to know about Hootch. Ready? Not yet, you say? Tough shit. Here we go.

Four movies I would watch over and over:
1. House of Flying Daggers - craziest fight scene ever over a girl - CRAZIEST, YO!!
2. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly - more of a comic book on film than even Sin City; plus a ton of great lines like - "You see, in this world there's two kinds of people, my friend: those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig."
3. Resevoir Dogs - When Quentin was still unspoiled
4. True Romance - 2nd craziest fight scene over a girl. Plus this great line from Clarence "I always said, if I had to fuck a guy...I mean if I had to, if my life depended on it...I’d fuck Elvis".

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. Summer sports camp dude
2. Air Duct Cleaner at the Toronto Zoo - What up to all my African Pavilion motherfuckers
3. the world’s only honest telemarketer - I didn’t last long at this job
4. Administrator within the finance sector - code for slave

Four TV shows I love to watch:
1. Curb Your Enthusiasm
2. The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
3. Family Guy (the earlier seasons)
4. The Colbert Report
Honourable Mentions: Ali G and the Chappelle Show

Four Nicknames I've been given:
1. Voy
2. VoyToy
3. Gypsy - my sister thinks its funny when she calls me this.
4. Mr. Belvedere - Truth be told, this is actually my penis’ nickname. Although sometimes it prefers to be addressed as Higgins or Magnum

Four of my Favorite Foods:
1. Chinese food from the "Superlicious" food court by my work - that shit is gonna kill me
2. Ice Cream. Doesn't matter what kind or from where, just gimme gimme gimme!
3. Fruit Loops - it’s an excellent nutritional source of yellow, pink and orange "O" shaped thingies
4. Captain Crunch - the only way you can improve upon Captain Crunch is if you added marshmellows (sp? - this cant be how you spell marshmellows)

Four biggest influences in High School / University:
1. Dostoevsky - this mofo was all gangsta
2. Jim Morrison - gave me a good excuse to get loaded
3. Kurt Cobain
4. Jack Kerouac - I had it bad for this one hippie chick. Bitch couldn't stand me. Go figure.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Kim, The Chick With The Tits, In A Completely Unstructured, Unedited and Shitty Part III

Alright. Its time to wrap up some of these dumb-ass half-finished stories I started. I'll start with the one from the wedding. You remember the chick with the killer tits?

Okay, so the complex where the reception was taking place was fuckin huge. It held 4 very large halls. And on that particilar saturday all the halls were booked with weddings, so the joint was packed with wannabe gangsters and Eurotrash chicks. Me and the girl with the tits (Kim) had decided to take a walk and investigate the other weddings that were taking place. Each hall we stopped at we made sure to hit the bar and grab at least a couple of drinks. By the time we had reached the last hall I was rocking a pretty good buzz.

As we were approaching the doors to walk into the last hall I saw a "friend" from the past. The last thing I wanted to do was make small talk with the guy. He was also walking towards the door for the hall.

"Aww fuck" I said.
"Whatsa matter?" Kim asked.
"Nothing, nothing. Just lets hurry up and get inside"

Once inside I explained to Kim what the deal was. I told her that guy was named Gus and in grade 11 or 12 we were best friends. We did everything together. One of our favorite activites was climbing into Gus's IROC and heading down to the corner of Church and Jarvis where all the grade "A" hookers in Toronto looked to score their tricks. At first we just drove by at regular speed trying to catch a glimpse of some cleavage or something, but then we became more "brazen" and decided to slow our roll in order to catch a good peek (I felt like we were on a fuckin safari). I tried to convince Gus to park the car and approach the hookers on foot just to shoot the shit to see what they'd say. But naww, he nixed that idea right away.

I remember one time we got caught at a red traffic light. It was a hot summer's day and I had the window rolled all the way down. There were 2 or 3 hookers just hanging out on the corner, no more than 15 ft to our right. I was loaded. I leaned out the window and said "hellooooo ladies" (or something stupid like that). Gus grabs me by the shirt and hisses and shits himself "what are you doing? Dont make them come over here!! They might have AIDS. Dont let them breathe in the car". And as he was saying these things he was hitting the automatic controls of the IROC attempting to roll up the windows as I was pissing my pants laughing trying to keep them open.

Anyway...what the fuck was I saying? Oh yeah, we were best friends. That is until one summer when Gus fuckin back-stabbed me. Quickly, we both liked the same girl (we'll call her shit4brains) but we also agreed neither of us would make a play for her. The very next fucking week I see him and shit4brains holding hands. My heart instantly dropped to the pit of my gut. I asked him "yo, Gus. What the fuck, man?" He just looked at me and said "oh ya. Me and shit4brains are going out. Didn't I tell you?" They went out for two years until Gus cheated on shit4brains with her bestfriend. Since then, acording to speculation and rumours, both shit4brains and Gus have had a series of really shitty relationships.

I explain all this to Kim, without making myself sound like the douche I sound like now and we continue to drink.

The DJ starts playing a few slow songs. I ask Kim if she wants to dance. She says "yes". We move out on the dance floor. I wrap one hand around the small of her back and place my other hand on her waist/hip. Mid-way into the song she says to me "dont turn around". Of course the second she says this I turn around and find myself face to face with Gus. He is dancing with some miserable cow (Its called Karma, motherfucker, now eat it!!)

Holy shit this post has gone on way too fuckin long. Time to wrap it up quickly (if anyone is stilll left reading).

scene: in the parkinglot. I'm waiting for my sister so we can go home. Kim is waiting for her family to take her home.

Hootch: Maybe I can get your number so I can call you and we can do something soon?
Kim: Sure. Lemme program it into your phone (she grabs my phone)
H: So this is your number? If I call this number tomorrow its not gonna be some pizza joint or something, right?
K: Its my number.
H: Cuz if I call this number tomorrow, thinking its yours, and some motherfucker picks up the phone and says "Mario's pizza, can I take your order" I'm gonna fuckin die.
K: Would you chilax. Its my number I told you (she gives me my phone back).
H: (I look at her number) Hey, where exactly in Toronto do you live? The first three digits of our numbers are the same.
K: (kim laughs) Holy!! You still dont recognize me do you. I've been giving you hints all evening!
H: Recognize you?! What do you mean?
K: I live across the street from you, stupid. I'm Roy's daughter!!
H: (on the verge of hyperventalating) Roy's daughter!?! You cant be Roy's daughter. Roy's daughter is, like, 12!!!
Kim: Whatever. I just turned 21.
H: Holyyy fuck. You're Roy's daughter?!?! Why didn't you tell me? If your father finds out he would fuckin kill me.
K: No he wouldn't. My dad likes you.
H: Yeah, thats because I dont fool around with his 12 year old daughter. If I was your dad..if I was your dad, I would fucking kill me.
K: Would you stop calling me 12. If you call me 12 again I'm gonna tell my dad that we fucked.
H: (I find this funny and laugh) Yeah, I can just imagine "dad, you know all those mornings when you thought I was going to school or work? Well I've really just been going across the street to Hootch's house where we fuck all day and watch cartoons"
K: Maybe I can come over next weekend and we can rent a video and smoke a little joint, or something?
H: What?!?! Wait a second. Who is that young guy with the shitbox car thats over at your house almost everyday?
K: Who, Tommy? He's my boyfriend.
H: (laughing) You kill me, Kim.
K: So what about the weed and the movie next weekend.
H: Yeah, sure...thats whats happening.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Look Ma, no grammar!!!

There was this one girl, in my 2nd year 19th Century literature course, who knocked my socks off. Her name was Roisin (Row-sheen). At first, Roisin was easy to miss in a crowd. She didn’t dress slutty and she didn’t wear make-up but once I spotted her in amongst the Eruro-trash and Ameri-sluts I went to school with, my heart was in lock-down mode.

I remember for the first few weeks in our class together, Roisin would never sit at the same desk twice. Each week I would watch as the different guys she sat near would try and make time with her. The skaters, the punks, the metal-heads, the pot-heads, the slackers, the yuppies, the jocks - everyone wanted to get down with Roisin. I’d watch from the back corner of the lecture hall as the boys made their play for her, but Roisin wasn’t having any of it. She was all business. For the most part she’d ignore whatever advances the guys made and then during break or for the next class she would just change seats. I even remember one time thinking "Oh snap, that was cold", as she changed seats right in the middle of the professor's lecture as some neo-conservative Tucker Carlson looking fag tried to pick her up. Some people were making the arguement that Roisin was kind of a bitch, and maybe she was, but I didn't care cuz she was fucking puuurty.

One morning I arrived a little early for my 19 Century Literature course. I was still a little drunk from the night before so as I made my way to the upper far corner desk and put my head down I was hoping the professor wouldn't notice or wouldn't care that I was on the verge of dying of alcohol poisoning. I closed my eyes and I must have fallen asleep because the next time I opened them everyone was packing up their belongings and getting ready to leave.

"Did I miss anything?" I said half-jokingly.

"Na, not really". I heard someone answer beside me.

I turned to see who it was and I couldn't believe my eyes. It was Roisin. She had sat beside me during the entire lecture while I was asleep. "Quick", I thought, "say something clever or witty or charming that'll make her instantly fall in love with you". I mentally went over my repetoire of fool-proof pick up lines:

"I'm a little hungry. Wanna go for oral?"

No. Next.

"Are you Jamaican? Cuz jamaican' me horny."

No. Next.

"Baby girl, your father must be a thief cuz he stole the stars and placed them in your eyes. Lets bone".

No. Next.

"Sweetness, you must be the fastest thief alive because you stole my heart the second I saw you. Lets bone".

No. Next.

"Honey, lets bone".

No. Next.

"Lets bone"

No. Next.


Ding ding ding ding ding!!! We have a winner. Alright, Hootch, no use beating around the bush. You know what you're after and she probably wants the same thing. So hit her with that magical one-sylable pick up line that all women find irresistible and prepare yourself for a night of unparalled debauchery.

I turned and faced Roisin. But aww man, as soon as she turned to face me, I was lost. She had set my eyes on fire. That imagine of her looking at me was permanently burning itself into my mind. I stood there frozen. For a second there I even thought I had forgot how to breathe.

"See ya" She said and turned around to leave.

"Mmppffffll" I said back trying to force some sort of meaningful response.

Crash and burn.

For that entire week I was as misable a bastard as there ever was. God had given me this one opportunity to make nice with Roisin and I was too busy sleeping off the vodka and 7s from the night before. I was dreading going back to 19th century literature. I knew seeing Roisin sit beside any other douchebag, besides me, would be tough to endure.

I sat down in my seat in the upper corner of the lecture hall and started flipping through the book I was supposed to have read for the class. It was some bullshit by Honore de Balzac. As I was trying to figure out what the fuck the book was about I was greeted by the person who was pulling up a seat beside me.


I turned around to see who it was.

It was Roisin.

Next: Part II of Roisin, Roisin the melting of the Irish Ice Queen

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Exercise and Love Making Tips from Hootch

I cant stand this one guy at my work - Mr. Know-it-all. He used to sit behind me, but now he has moved to another department. He walks around the office like he's the top shit and runs the operation. But he doesn't. He has the exact same job title as everyone else in the office - corporate slave.

Yesterday, I heard him offering weight training advice to one of the new hires. WEIGHT TRAINING?!?!? Motherfucker, you have more rolls on your flabby ass than an Italian bakery. And you say you've been working out for 5 years?!?!?

Sit back and listen, jr. Let me tell you something about weight training. When you push weight and exercise, you gotta do it like you think the world is about to end and you're fucking for the last time ever. You gotta get all dirty and sweaty. You gotta do it till you think you're gonna pass out from physical exertion. You gotta go at it like an animal and not even care if it hurts or feels good, cuz the payoff is gonna come when that bolt of lightning strikes you straight on top of the head and you shoot your load uncontrollably and are now blissfully paralyzed from the 10,000,000 volts of electricity that just coursed through your body.

Excersize, just as sex, doesn't count unless you are dripping with sweat and absolutely spent. Thats how you exercise. Thats how you fuck, punk.

So, if you want you can go to the gym, hop on the treadmill, set if for 0.001 mph and discuss cooking recipes with the grandma beside you, just dont tell me you are "working out".

Monday, June 19, 2006

My Day At "Work"

Me and X, my great Tunisian, cool-cat hipster friend, work in the investment sector. And in doing so, we must follow strict policies and procedures to protect Shithole Co., our employer, from fraud and money laundering schemes. We have been told many, many times "if you have even the slightest doubt about the validity of a transaction, do not process it until all concerns have been addressed and all your questions have been answered.

So, with that outta the way, I'll go on explaining what went down at my work today.

It was a little before noon and I had already turned off my brain for the day. I had just decided to surf the internet for black babe on white dude porno till the end of my shift. I was about to run a search on Google for "once you go black" when X ran into my cubicle laughing so hard there was hardly any sound or laughter coming out of his mouth. He stood at my workstation for 15 - 20 seconds pounding his fists on my desk, trying to regulate his laughter so he could take a breath.

"Whats so funny, man?" I asked. He held out a cheque and handed it to me. It was from a shareholder.

" it". He said with great difficulty as he was still laughing pretty hard. I looked at the cheque. It was a purchase request sent in by a shareholder. The shareholder's name was Hector Busetinio.

"I dont get it. Whats so funny" I asked.

X regained a little composure and explained "I dont think its the same here, but in Spain, the word busetinio is slang. It means little pussy".

"What do you mean", I asked again, "like small vagina?"

"No, little pussy like little fag, kind of, but its not really intended as a mean-spirited term. Its something you might call your friend when you just want to tease him, like - Hey busetinio, whats going on today? In Spain there is no way someone would keep such a last name. Such a name would only be used as a joke or if someone wanted to set up a dummy name/account".

"What if thats what this guy is trying to do?"


"What if this guy is using a fake last name to set up a scam account?"

"No, I dont think so. I'm sure its just coincidence".

"I think you should tell Y (x's manager)".

"And what am I supposed to tell her? I can't set up this guy's account because his last name means little pussy in Spanish!?!?"

Me and X looked blankly at each other for a couple of seconds. We were both contemplating what he had just said... and then we broke out into hysterical laughter. Tears were rolling down my cheeks I was laughing so hard. Each time I thought I might be able to regain my composure, I imagined myself walking up to the President of our company and having this conversation with him:

"Excuse me, sir?"
"What is it, son."
"I'm afraid I have some bad news".
"Out with it, now. No use beating around the bush. What is it?"
"I wont be able to execute this buy order on behalf of the shareholder".
"Why not".
"I'm afraid his last name means little pussy in Spanish. I think we better alert the authorities".

After about 20 minutes of pissing myself with laughter, I decided I couldn't stay in the office any longer. I had to get out. Me and x decided to call it a day and go watch the soccer games.

We went to a nearby bar and waited for the Tunisia vs Spain game. Our waitress was very friendly and pretty good looking also. You could tell she was digging X.

"So, who are you guys gonna cheer for?" She asked.

"We got Tunisia's native son sitting here." I answered poking X in the ribs with my elbow.

"Really?!? Wow, thats interesting" she said, her smile all sunshine as she eyed the lithe Tunisian by my side.

Apparently the waitress was telling everyone in the bar that X was Tunisian. Every once in a while we'd hear someone call out to us "Hey friend, where is Tunisia, exactly?"

X would answer "ahh, its in Northern Africa, between Algeria and Libya". Me and X would look at each other for a several seconds and again break out in uncontrollable laughter.

"Holy, shit!! Nice fuckin' neighbouring countries you have!!"

"Everyone here probably thinks we're terrorists"


Ahhh...maybe you just had to be there. So, all in all, today was a pretty good day. Sure, Tunisia lost 2 - 1, but I got a couple of good chuckles in and X is probably boning the waitress about now.

Friday, June 16, 2006

To The Big, Black, Drug Dealer Living On My Street

To the big, black drug dealer living on my street,

Thank you for not killing me.

Thank you also for always being polite to my mom. I remember one evening I was walking with my mom and she saw your pimped out Lexus in front of your house. She read the stenciling on the front windshield of your car and asked me "Hootch, why does he have Herbalist written on his car?" I told her " I dunno, ma. I think he may be a pharmacist". my mom thinks you're a pharmacist. If she ever asks you for any medical or pharmaceutical advice please do not give her any crack or xtasy. In exchange for doing me this favour, next time we play basketball, I promise not to beat you so bad. I also promise not to tell anyone you have really shitty taste in music. I mean, the reggae you play from your island homeland is pretty cool, but when you try and switch it up and go North American top 40 pop...thats when the train falls off its tracks. Blasting Ryan Cabrera from your kick-ass stero is not cool. Heck, I know I have my guilty pleasures, like digging Ashlee Simpson, but alot of that can be explained by my not so secret desire to bone her. So, really, in my mind, there is no reason for you to like Ryan Cabrera's music, unless of course you want to bone him - which is completely insane because you are really big and muscular and black and we all know there is no such thing as a really big, muscular, black, gay drug dealer. Right? I mean, homosexuals are supposed to be thin-framed white guys with no muscle mass to speak of with their shirts tucked into their neatly creased dockers. Right? I mean, come on, tell me I'm right. You are not gay, right?? Right??


oh Lord.

To the big, black, gay, drug dealer living on my street,

Please do not kill me.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

farewell to a good friend

I have this great Tunisian, cool-cat, hipster friend. We work in the same office together. He came to Canada a little more than a year ago on a work Visa. Next Friday however he is leaving to go back home, overseas. I'm thinking about giving a little speach on his last day at work to let him know how much he will be missed. It'll probably go something like this:

"Everyone, as you all know, today is X's last day here at Shithole Co. And I thought I'd commemorate the moment by getting two whores for the afternoon to accompany X wherever he goes and to fellate him under his desk as he's working on his computer. Whores, would you come in please? (whores come in waving hello to everyone). Everone these are the whores, whores this is everone".

"What are the whores' names?" some overanxious soul might call out.

As an unflappable MC, I would address the question without skipping a beat - "okay, well, this one is Jessica and that one is Kathy...or is this one Kathy and that one Jessica??? Either way, they both suck a mean head so I think its only wise to get the paramedics on standby in case the whores drain X of all his bodily fluids. Does anyone have a spare bottle of gatorade, by chance?"

"In closing, X, you should know you are very special to us. You're much more than a co-worker, more than even a are family, brother, and we all love you. I hope you enjoy the whores".

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

I Hate Weddings - Part II; Plus Some Unrelated Shit

To recap the incredibly deep and complex happenings of Part I: I went to a wedding. There was this girl there with magnificent tits.

Part II

Early on in the evening I decided to get fucking loaded. On one of my trips to the bar, I found myself standing in line beside her.

"This is a good song to drink to", I heard her say beside me.
"Yeah", I kinda mumbled not knowing if she was talking to me or the million other guys in line.
"I'm Kim", she said and thrust her open hand in front of my own.
"Hi Kim. I'm Hootch", I said as I shook her hand.
"Hi Hootch".

So, now is the part of the conversation where, if I was cool, I'd know exactly what to say to make this chick dig me something serious. But I'm not, so I didn't. Anyway, just then the DJ started playing "Promiscuous" by Nelly Furtado. Kim, the girl with the tits, shrieked gleefully and started dancing and singing with the song, just enough for me to notice. I turned around and caught a glimpse of the expression she was throwing as she was singing and dancing. She looked super-hot, cool and trampy. It was then I knew I wanted to bend her over the dessert and sweets table.

As she continued to enjoy the DJ's musical selection, we made our way up to the front of the bar. It was our turn to order.

"Lemme buy you a drink", I said.
"I thought it was an open bar".
"Lemme buy you two then".
"What are you having, Hootch?"
"I dunno. Probably a vodka and 7".
"Ok. I'll have one too".

We grabbed our drinks and started walking together away from the bar.

"Where are you sitting?" she asked
"I dunno. Nowhere fun". I answered.
"Wanna go for a walk?"
"Sure. Lets swing by the dessert and sweets table".

too tired to go on with this account for now. I'll continue tomorrow or the next day, maybe. But to keep you further bored and perplexed as to why you visit my blog, I will now present you with some unrelated shit:

unrelated shit item #1: Eating vast amounts of Lucky Charms over the past two days has turned my shit bright green. Either that or I'm turning into the Incredible Hulk from the inside - out.

unrelated shit item #2: I think someone at work today spiked the raisin buns with a type of laxative. After two of those suckers I had to run like fuckin Carl Lewis to reach the shitter in time. Thirty minutes after doing my "business", Jawad comes from the same bathroom and says " yo, someone just left a green turd in the toilet".


And with these charming thoughts, I bid you adieu, for now.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

I hate Weddings; Part 1

Shit. I gotta get ready for work, but lemme see if I can fire one off before all recollection of saturday's wedding disappears from my mind. Okay, here we go:

There was this girl at the wedding I went to on saturday. I noticed her right away because she looked like she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were magnificent. I'm not really a tit man, but goddamn, these were nice.

The best part of a chicks' tits are not how big or small they are - its the shape and curve of them. And these were shaped just perfectly. They reminded me of the last girl I slept with - X. When X was on top of me her breasts were bouncing up and down as though they were super-balls and someone had just whipped them off the ceiling - stupid comparison, I know, but thats what they reminded me of. Anyway the chick from the wedding looked like she had those type of tits.

next: Part II, Hootch strengthens his solid track-record of making fucked up decisions

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Memories of University

I remember this one girl from university. Her name was Amy. She was pretty ugly, but thats okay cuz i was pretty desperate. Amy was also kind of a bitch

Anyway, there was this pub on campus I used to hang out at after my friday courses. I liked hanging out there because during the early part of the evening they used to play alot of the music I was into - Sonic Youth, Janes Addiction, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion etc etc. As the evening progressed they switched to more Brit "alternative" music like Pulp, The Stone Roses, and Blur. Thats when the cool kids arrived. The skinny white boys with their sunglasses, fitted jackets and jeans; and the really really pretty girls that would make my heart stop...then EXPLODE into a million pieces. Oh ya, I forgot, Amy would be there too.

For as ugly (and mean spirited) as Amy was, the girl ran with a fine looking crowd. This was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because she introduced me to alot of pretty pretty girls I otherwise wouldn't have got a sniff of, but a curse also because every time Amy invited me to join their group she would be all over me. All the energy I should have been expending trying to bed her friends, I was using trying to thwart her advances. I mean, some of the excuses I gave her were pretty ridiculous. They were probably no better than this:

Amy - Hootch, lets fuck.
Hootch - Ahhh, yeah. I'd love to Amy but I was just about to leave to meet some anonymous black guy and have unlubricated anal with him in the boys bathroom.

I mean, Amy should have got the hint, but she didn't. I even remember asking Amy to hook something up for me with a friend of hers. I cant remember what her friend's name was but she had crazy lazer blue eyes.

Hootch - Amy, yo. Hook it up with me and LaserBlueEyes.
Amy - Hootch, you dont want to be with her. She's a slut. She'll fuck anything that moves.
Hootch - Ahhh, thats what I was kinda counting on.
Amy - Why dont you and me go to my place?
Hootch - Ohhhh...ahhhh...I cant. I promised that dirty and unwashed looking fella over there I would suck his balls tonight.

One of Amy's friends I got along with really well was this girl named Marika. Marika was really fuckin pretty and super cool and friendly. She had it all...including a douchebag boyfriend.

Late one night after the pub was closing for the day, Amy invited me to a party the gang was going to. The party was at this guy Gay Elvis' house. I knew Marika was gonna be there so I said "yes, I'd go". At Gay Elvis's house we were alll having a pretty good time. We were all drinking laughing and eating. Gay Elvis was the perfect host. He even insisted I take a tour of his house. The tour ended in his room upstairs.

Hootch - Nice place, Elvis.
Gay Elvis - Thanks. Here sit down. I'm just gonna step in the bathroom for a moment, then we can go back down again.
Hootch - No prob.

As gay Elvis walked in his upstairs bathroom I walked over to his stereo and cd collection - Morrissey, The Smiths, New Order. As I was looking at Gay Elvis' Cds I heard the bathroom door open behind me.

Gay Elvis - Ahem!! I thought I told you to have a seat, not to rifle through all my personal belongings, Mr Nosey.

Elvis sounded kinda pissed. I turned around ready to apologize for something I thought wasn't a big deal, and there he was with a big grin on his face, standing buck-fuckin naked.

Gay Elvis - So, whattaya think...interested?
Hootch - Hoooaaaa, I'm flattered but I promised Amy I'd 69 with her tonight.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

The Chicks I Struck Out With

I remember once in University I was in a fake science class. Part of the required reading in this fake science class was a book by Thomas Kuhn called "the Copernican revolution". When we finished the book, the professor of this fake science class handed each of us a piece of paper with questions concerning the text. Each person had a different question on their piece of paper to answer. The questions were fairly straight forward and just solicited our opinions regarding the issues raised in the book. We were to write down our answers and hand them into the professor when we were done.

The question on my piece of paper was "What do you think Thomas Kuhn's opinion of Copernicus was?" I wrote down "I object to the racist term Kuhn".

I thought this was the funniest answer ever. I tapped the girl, who was sitting beside me, on the shoulder and showed her my answer. As she was reading what I wrote I thought - Damn Hootch, you sly dog, after such a witty response you are bound to get laid by this chick. Heck, she might even start going down on you right now in front of the entire class!!"

Suprisingly, things didn't unfold as I expected. The girl looked me dead in the eye, told me I was stupid and changed seats.

swing... and a miss.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Chicks I would throw it to

Chick I would throw it to: Ashlee Simpson

Now, before you all start yelling "ASHLEE SIMPSON!?! Ah Hootch, she's a nasty skank and an emotional cripple who is obviously trying to fill a spiritual void in her life by engaging in drunken debauchery and meaningless sex", I have one thing to say to you - exactly.

I dunno. I just dig Ashlee Simpson. I even like the way she dances in her videos. Sure, her music is kinda shitty but the girl has got spunk, no?

Anyway, Ashlee Simpson was spotted in a downtown Toronto McDonalds a few months ago. She was reportedly stinkin' drunk. She started climbing on top of the counters and yelling obscenities until she was escorted off of the premises. I wish I was there. I wish I was there because then I coulda made my play. I would have approached Ashlee Simpson and said "hey Ashlee, do you want to play this game with me? Its called - guess what my nuts taste like.

Then she would say "That sounds like fun. How do you play?"

"Well, its really quite simple. You just suck on my nuts until you can figure out what each 'nad tastes like".

From there, I see the events unfolding in either one of two ways. One - Ashlee looks at me and asks her entourage "Who the fuck is this fag?" or two - she says "MMMmm, thats sounds like lots of fun. I played another similar game with my boyfriend, its called - lets pretend Wilmer Valderrama's dick isn't the smallest thing I've had in my mouth since that tic-tac this morning".

Either way it goes down I'm alright.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Honey, We're Killing The Nazi Douchebags

You know that new show on TLC called "Honey, We're Killing The Kids?" Well, I'm working on a show of my own called "Honey, Lets Kill The Kids". Except in this case "Kids" will be code for "Nazi douchebags with a collective over-exaggerated sense of entitlement". I was thinking about calling the show "Honey, Lets Kill the Nazi Douchebags with a collective over-exaggerated sense of entitlement", but that may be a little tight fitting in the TV Guide listings.

Anyway, the show would be about me administering ass rapes to neo nazi douches. As a change of pace, during the holiday season (new year's, thanksgiving) I would have special guest appearances by huge sweaty black motherfuckers, like Patrick Ewing, to dispense of the ass rapes.

I'm also working on this other show based on the judges from Canadian Idol. Its about a group of four talentless fucks who still think they have their finger on the pulse of whats cool because they wear tight clothing (hint to the three male judges on the show - super-tight clothing is generally not a good option for you, especially if you're rocking 75% body fat and have fucking huge bitch tits). The name of the show is called "One withered Cootch and Three fat fucks with bitch tits".

Sunday, June 04, 2006

This is Your Brain On Zima

Let me set one thing straight. Let me get this one thing out in the open because I cant live with the secrecy any longer.

I love the Gilmore Girls.

Okay, there...I said it. I know some people think its shit and a faggy show, but not me. I like it. I like the characters and I think its funny. This being said, I still think the show can be improved upon.

If I was responsible for the Gilmore Girls the first thing I would do to improve upon the show is cast myself as a reoccurring special guest. Fans of the Gilmore Girls shouldn't worry though. My character wouldn't do or say anything to upset the integrity of the show. My character would primarily only appear in "shower scenes" with Rory. And I'd occasionally be seen masturbating on the couch while watching Knight Rider on tv. But trust me, it will be tastefully done and wont alter the principles upon which the show was founded on.

The second thing I would do to improve upon the show is recast the role of Rory and give it to someone who looked more like Sylvia Saint. Dont get me wrong. I dig Rory. I dig her alot. I dig the fact that I could probably have a conversation with her and discuss all sorts of cool shit. I can so easily imagine myself having a conversation with Rory about Foucault's influence on the movie the Matrix. Of course, it goes without saying, while we were having this conversation I would be banging her in the ass, but still...the conversation in and of itself would be interesting.

What was I saying again? Oh yeah, recasting Rory. Yeah, Rory is alright but I need my co-stars to look more slutty. Sylvia Saint would fit the bill nicely. She probably would know fuck-all about Foucault, but hey, you cant have everything.

Anyway, this post is pretty retarded so I'm gonna stop.

Friday, June 02, 2006

Look Ma, No Brains

okay. alright. I just ate dinner at my mom's and for some reason I'm all hyper and fidgety and shit. I'm wondering whether my mom slipped me a hit of Ecstasy in with my mashed potatoes.

Anyway, I'm sitting in front of my computer at home listening to Dallas Green, who should be a million times more popular than James Blunt, and thinking about what I did at work today.

Okay. What did I do, what did I do? Well, I spent roughly 6 hours at work thinking about asking the girl beside me out to a movie - chick looks exactly like a fuckin' anime cartoon. Anyway, she's about 50 pounds and hardly speaks a word of english, and thats not really my scene, so I eventually nixed the whole notion of asking her out, but I did spend the remaining three hours of the day picturing her naked. And ahhh...that, I guess, is my day at work, in a nutshell.

Oh yeah, and I suppose it goes without saying I was also trying out different names for my penis, while at work. So far the front runner is "Higgins". You know, like on Magnum PI? I think Higgins would be a fitting name for my penis because it always seems to be indignant and outraged at some business or other.

Higgins, my penis: Good god, man!! You are planning on sticking me in where?!?!


Higgins, my penis: Good god, man!! When was the last time you moisturized your hands?

Yeah, maybe I'll bounce (the name) Higgins off of a few women and see what they think.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Look Ma, No Editing!!

Alright. So listen.

I'm sitting in front of my computer, today at my job, pretending to work, when all I'm really doing is imagining the women in my office naked. Yes, even the ugly ones - naked. Absolutely, even the ones I initially thought were men - naked. And yes, even the ones I'm still not entirely convinced actually have vaginas - buck naked.

Now, to the casual observer it may appear that I am focused on the task at hand and fulfilling my corporate slave responsibilities, but those who know me well would be able to detect the tell tell-signs of my slacking.

Tell-tale sign #1: breathing. Yes, there it is dear reader, if I am breathing you can rest assured I am not doing what I'm supposed to be doing. Even now I am supposed to be drafting a proposal for a multi-million dollar deal but instead I am inappropriately touching myself and thinking of names I can give my penis. All my friends have given their penises (peni?) names, why the fuck shouldn't mine have one? My penis going without a name for so long has actually caused quite a few uncomfortable moments.

Uncomfortable moment #1: Just the other week, me and my male friends had gathered at my best friends house to watch the game. As we normally do on such occasions we said our "hellos" and our "how are yous" and then started undressing each other. And just as all guys do when they gather to watch the big game, we sit around the big screen, naked, hold hands and talk about our feelings:

friend#1: Bobby, you ok. You look a little sad?
Bobby: No, I'm okay...Its just remember Samantha, my girlfriend? Well just the other night we were in bed and I asked her to ...well... you know...go down on my one-eyed cyclops and she said "no". She said it was "ugly and smelled like dirty Kentucky Fried Chicken".
friend#2: Oh, that bitch!!
friend#3: It does not smell like dirty Kentucky friend chicken, Bobby. I always thought your penis smelled like a bouquet of daffodils.
friend#2: Bobby, if it'll make you feel any better...I will suck you off. Your feelings mean that much to me. I WILL SUCK YOU OFF RIGHT HERE MISTER, IF THATS WHAT IT TAKES!!
Bobby: Thanks guys. Its not just that. Its the fact that she also said "one-eyed cyclops" is adumb name for a penis.
friend#3: Whaaat?! You got a terrific name for your penis, Bobby. Tell him hootch.
Hootch: Well...ahhh...I may not be such a bad idea to at least consider changing your penis' name. I mean, one-eyed cyclops doesn't really even make much sense. All cyclops have one eye. It is kind of a dumb name.
friend#!: NOOOO HOOTCH!!
Bobby: Well at least my penis, unlike yours, has a name, Hootch!
friend#2: Wha?! Whats he talkng about Hootch? Whats Bobby talking about? You haven't named your penis? What kind of animal are you. No. That cant be. Tell him Hootch. Tell him your penis has a name. I mean you promised me you'd name your penis, Hootch. You promised me.
Hootch: Well...actually I haven't got around to naming my penis yet.
friend#2: You wha!?!
Hootch: I was gonna tell you, man, honest I was, but I couldn't find the right time.
friend#2: No. Me and you are through. I have no more Hootch in my life. How can you do this to me. How can you.....HOOOOOOOOOTCH!!!!
I cant believe I made myself late for work for the above.