Video Advent Calendar

After last year’s successful 25 songs in 25 days special Advent Calendar 2015, I’m back in 2016 with a video Advent calendar that will blow your bows off. Let’s do it!

Check back each day and you’ll be treated to a new treat as new videos get added to the playlist, or go back if you’ve missed one–there’s no right or wrong way of doing it. Unless you don’t do it at all. That’s wrong. Thanks, GLenn

My Swear Jar & My Prayer Jar

I can’t blame you for imagining every surface of my home being taken up with olives and gems. While I certainly dedicate a large portion of my counter tops, floors, and shelves to all things brine and shine, I do make plenty of room for the goblet of serfdom–the humble jar.

It’s my philosophy that any combination of jars in the home should feed off each other like a celery garden at the foot of a waterfall that eats celery. Of course my most famous jar combo–the one that earned me Jar Star ’03–is my Swear Jar and Prayer Jar. I’m frequently asked at banquets how I manage my jars and as a strong believer of free information and sharing of resources I’m happy to oblige this once, if not to prove I’m a worthy recipient of a Lifetime Achievement Jar’ward at this year’s fete.

⇒ Swear Jar ⇐

My swear jar is different than the more common, profit-based models that take money out of the crumb-infested pockets of foulmouthed youth and into the mint-addled purses of the parenthood. My Swear Jar contains innovative new swears that I hope will add a bit of “oomph” to our language, and thus our art.

It’s very straightforward, but to give you a more inside look here is what was in my swear jar the week a big dog bit me:


♣ Prayer Jar ♣

A prayer jar is a file system meant to keep track of one’s demands toward whatever God they constantly seek the autograph of. I find these jars an excellent opportunity to try out some of the new swear words from the swear jar. Here’s what you would’ve found in my prayer jar that week.


Lost Wallet

It’s Halloween and I should be fearing things like worms and poison, but instead I’m completely frIgHtenTend of losing my wallet, the brown bill buddy that contains my most important inanimate elements (except my jock strap, eh boys?).

On a normal day–one of those 1.5 poos, 3 meals, watch the trailer for John Candy’s Delirious again kinda days–you don’t even notice you have a wallet because it’s always there, like the prevalent hope that gravity will be dethroned as the force that dominates our physical world. Another example would be how you never stop and think that your face is technically all zits until one actually wriggles its way to the surface seeking the light of the moon.

I’ve been made more aware of my wally because last week I lost it for six hours, and in that six hours I couldn’t even think straight let alone follow through on a dare I was issued, which was to shoot a ham like a basketball into the CEO’s office toilet screaming out “PAY DAY, SON”.

Now that we’ve established today’s theme it’s time for…


Cue music…

Cue smoke…


Cue dust…

giphy-1Hey, that’s not real dust


that’s better.

What was that other stuff?


…Baby powder!

fresh. Go for pundits.

Cue Jett


Evolution has failed us when it comes to the wallet. Why have our hips not developed credit card-sized slots in which to store wallet stuff like credit card-sized credit cards, identification and vintage soup can labels?

Cue Paun


Frankly I think we’re more due to evolve socks–a homegrown human wool would be great, feathers even better. Can you imagine how much less laundry we’d have to do? Anyway, I feel the pertinent issue is that the fat cats who run big money have made keeping our wallets near or below our equators the norm. It leaves our cash and cute little notes to ourselves susceptible to thieves and fairly tall dogs. In response I’ve begun taping my wallet to my neck.

Cue Geera

Why is that our bank cards contain more computer technology than our wallets? At its core a wallet is simply the part of the cow that doesn’t taste good and yet it houses the stuff that buys the cow? Sorry, wait, not sure that’s relevant.

Back to you, Grant!

Modern Paradoxes

Now that we in the First World have hit “Peak HD”, we can no longer rely on crystal clear images to blow our minds. It’s this sailor’s opinion that we must look back upon the brain blasters of old to reignite our imaginations, ensuring we’ll never been short of ideas for Pixar movies.

Looking past the amazing properties of yeast, and snakes getting boners, I’d like to table a re-ignition of paradoxes that once dazzled the olive-soaked, unexposed-to-canned-chili brains of robe-clad youths in Ancient Greece.  Here are two modern examples suitable for transcription into your next yearbook quote.

The Bourne ΡΛΓΛÐ⊗Χ


It’s the fourth of July and you throw a party called “Bourne On The Fourth Of July” where you watch Jason Bourne movies on the fourth of July, but you also want to celebrate the “Bourne On The Fourth Of July” celebration by watching “Born On The Fourth Of July” on the fourth of July during “Bourne On The Fourth Of July”, while also honouring the fourth of July.

The Soil ΡΛΓΛÐ⊗χ


The verb “soil” means to “make unclean”, and is often used in regards to human piss, thus to “soil” something could refer to “pissing” something, notably pants or underpants.

The noun “soil” is the brown crumbles that cover our planet and help plants grow. Many plants grow above the surface of the soil, thus soil could be referred to as “underplants”, a colloquial term that makes reference to human underpants.

If I were to say “I pissed my underplants” that would mean I’m watering my plants, but if I were to say “I soiled my underplants” I could mean I watered my plants but ALSO I added my soil to an existing mass of soil.


TLDR: Soil is dirt and to piss, underplants is soil, soil the underplants, piss the soil


I’m not sure I know what a “paradox” actually is but at least I’m contributing to the Internet and not lookin’ at it like you.

I Miss The Lord of the Rings

Ever since the last LOTR movie disappeared from the big screens of regions across the crust, the only way I’ve been able to re-capture feelings of action and adventure is by doing barrel rolls in the turnip patch next to the motorcycle repair shop.

“You’ll always have the books, Glenn,” whispered Gandalf, removing his hat and lowering himself atop the tiny oak toilet in Bag End, signalling the end of another long quest.


I know that, but whenever I read I always imagine my male protagonist having the face of Judge Reinhold and the talent of Joe Montana. Granted, that just about equals Viggo Mortensen but it’s not all the way there, and he’s the ONLY sword swinger I want to picture prancing the prairies when I’m paying my respects to the Lord.

Isn’t it weird that books can last forever but movies have a shelf life similar to that of a line of cheeses that have different shelf lives depending on what level you purchase? Cracker Barrel C1, Cracker Barrel C2, Cracker Barrel C3…, each one would have different strengths and weaknesses in terms of flavour and shredibility like the asexual characters of the Mario Kart universe.

This has been your introduction to CHEESE & WHINE & WINE… now onto the main event:


Today I’m grating some whine into a glass of “Penis Gnar”, the latest unconventional pinot noir from those rebellious vintners at Statutory Grape Estates.

The whine I’m pouring is “Politics”, which I’m only plopping on so there’s record of my opinion on the matter should I win the raffle that explodes all my personal electronic devices in exchange for unlimited touching at the world’s best museums.



If my carefully curated social media channels are to be believed, Donald Trunp is a tit honkin’ fuck face who hates everyone except his family, whiteys with thick wallets, and women who aren’t regular. If he truly is that bad, wouldn’t he have eaten somebody by now? Does this mean I need more varied friends? I like to think I’ve got a gaggle of great grownups geared toward good gravy, goofy gigs, and green gags but do I ever learn anything? Of course I do, I love all those guys. If I’m going to try new things it’s not going to be friends; my thing fling will be with new types of noodles and a deeper understanding of Photoshop’s lasso tool.

That’s it, I’m done! I packed roughly three features into one important post. By doing so I’m now qualified to enter the Burger King Blog King Derby where the winner receives a custom 3D printed straw relative to the size of their lips, and keys to their local BK. Honestly, all I want are the keys themselves because they’re made from a tooth of the only known dolphin with an overbite, and that sort of thing makes for good stories if you’re like me and don’t know how to talk casually to your dentist.

Tear Tiers


Tier 1 – Tiny Tears

Low sodium trickle capable of hydrating small mammalia with low intelligence; inconsistent intervals not ideal for timing board game turns.

Common Instigation: A guest sauced your last roll of toilet paper.

Tier 2 – Low-Level Tier 3 Tears

Brine-rich droplets; shape comparable to rain forest dew formed on back of juvenile log hogs; average viscosity; known colloquially as ‘prismatic blue berries’.

Common Instigation: Your group learns the hieroglyph for “stooge” looks a lot like your right sideburn.

Tier 3 – Salt Sob

High emission duct spawn capable of travelling long distances; anthropologists dubbed them ‘pop tears’ as they are depicted in famous works of art, and Portuguese food labels.

Common Instigation: The DJ called you a “sack” on air after you requested a song you swore your dog loves.

Tier 4 – Fear Tears

Autonomous cheek eroders with ocean-like cellular structure ideal for the growth of single cell organisms and training surfers to feel more at home.

Common Instigation: Someone ran an Austin 3:16 shirt up your flagpole on Remembrance Day

Tier 5 – Mom’s Dead

Nutrient-rich lip food of the geyser genus; Shakespeare lived off his own Tier 5’s while penning King Lear, thus the appellation, ‘Bard’s Buffet’.

Common Instigation: Mom’s dead

Tier 6 – Tearing At Your Soul Tears

From Plato’s ‘Republic’:

“Tears tear through time tickling all trace of face, wring robes to make sea…”

In modern literature: ‘The old homemade soy sauce’

Common Instigation: Dad killed mom


Friday Flip Sides

As a personal website that prides herself on transparency, we feel it’s prudent to disclose that the following content has arisen out of demands from shareholders who were displeased with our Q3 results. They’d prefer we move toward an editorial model that encourages social sharing, which we’ve agreed upon and will make an effort to strive toward with every exclamation point we tap. By no means will this affect our core value of “Go Fuckin’ Bonkers Or Ski Home With A Snake Tied Around Your Neck”, and are hopeful this slightly new direction will allow us to broaden our audience to beyond mustard lovers.

The following is the first in a series of blogs to be released every Friday, right when your mind starts drifting away from spreadsheets and emails, and toward dead meats and females, eh fellas? Mmm boy. Gather your family around the computer and throw your dog in the closet, it’s time for the first ever edition of FRIDAY FLIP SIDES.

On Friday there’s a palpable buzz in the air…


…But on the flip side, you’ll probably never know what a lion tastes like, and you certainly won’t ever experience a lion gravy.

On Friday the promise of a full weekend is in your grasp…


…But on the flip side, there’s no emoji to let people know the cancer has spread.

On Friday night you can go to bed as late as you want…


…But on the flip side, if your penis is small enough to fit up a nostril, you’ll probably never get married.

Friday is pay day!


…But on the flip side, if good aliens come, George Clooney will probably make friends with them first; they’ll stay at his Italian lake house and no one else will get to try their serums and mind melds.

On Friday, the city streets swell with fun-seeking youth…


…But on the flip side, you can’t control the guest list at your own funeral unless it’s part of your will, but if it takes awhile for you to die you’ll have to update it often because friends come and go. Your lawyer will get annoyed and claim a funeral guest list is unprecedented, and you’ll end up wasting much of the money you were supposed to leave to your family on lawyer fees. The lawyer will use the money to purchase ozone-damaging petroleum for his or her luxury vehicle just because you want to make sure your sister doesn’t invite cousin Shane to a party in your honour that you won’t even be alive for.


Movie Review — Ghostbusters

The Ghostbusters don’t have dicks anymore because the new Ghostbusters are 100% women. Their new adventure begins, middles and ends much like the adventures of their tit-loving 80s counterparts: The Ghostbusters notice there are ghosts around; they bust; people think they’re bullshit; bigger ghosts come; they bust; people believe them. They carry the same brand of laser, hate slime, and are pretty horny just like the first Ghostbusters, so there’s lots to like and plenty of fresh spooks and camera angles to keep you and your master happy.

Any movie about ghosts is going to have an aura of fear surrounding it, and this major project is no different. For instance, the makers were so scared that people would get pissed that the old Ghostbusters aren’t the new Ghostbusters that they haunted new movie with the old Ghostbusters to make you go “A ha!”, and your dad go, “Thank goodness 80% of them are alive”. These appearances don’t make the movie any better, and quite frankly I would’ve enjoyed seeing more of today’s hottest comedy stars in their stead–male, female, grandpa, whatever, just give me a movie that doesn’t remind me that I’m so dumb for watching a movie that’s already been made.


Horn dogs will be disappointed to know that the new Ghostbusters wear comfortable, work-appropriate  jumpsuits, with nary a bra strap flashed. Don’t worry you Mountain Dewds because this baby still looked great with primary-coloured ghosts, a big car with real lights, and New York City being its rude rude self.

One of the only men in this was Chris Hemsworth who you know as exotic fighter Thor from the Spiderman movies. They wrote him as an idiot, which made for big laughs because even though the reasonable part of the world treats races and genders the same, we’ll all still willing to laugh at a fuckin moron all day long.

I don’t know about you, but I like my summer crammed with pineapple flavour, weekly dips, no snakes, and plenty of fresh movies to keep my summer mind off the bads, and on the rads. If the world is a refrigerator then this movie is a carbonated, artisan blend of tropical fruits, but it’s still made by Pepsi, you know? I’d give this movie seven who cares it’s just a movie out of 10 watch it but don’t think about it and would recommend it to anyone who doesn’t have air conditioning seeking respite.

Crotch brainstorm

My team and I spent a good chunk of the afternoon brainstorming some ideas around the human crotch. It was for internal purposes that we cannot reveal at this juncture, but would nonetheless like to share some of our thoughts to encourage conversation and inspire innovation. Let us know if you have anything to add!

    • A crotch does not require genitals but genitals do require a crotch — significant? How did this agreement begin?
    • If the bicycle is pro-crotch, then a skirt is the anti-crotch. Uncomfortable wearing skirt on bike? The numbers work out.
    • Crotches exist in the natural AND unnatural world i.e. a section of road under a bridge forms a crotch / a window has a crotch when the curtains are cracked
Theo, Lonnie, Han, and Inka busy at work, right before I bought everyone dough for lunch.

Theo, Lonnie, Han, and Inka busy at work, right before I bought everyone dough for lunch.

    • Today’s crotch is no different than yesterday’s crotch, and though the crotch of the future is unknown, it is likely to remain as such
    • The crotch forms a natural “V”–Roman Numeral “5”–22nd letter of the English alphabet–5+22=27–27 letters in the alphabet (right?)–everyone has a name–every name has a letter–everyone has a crotch
    • Sex CAN be the joining of crotches but is not NECESSARY for sex
    • May I call my urine “Crotch Scotch”?
    • Running OR jogging is dynamism of the crotch
    • Will a traced crotch correspond with the movement of the planets, mathematically?
    • A crotch begins rotting at birth, no denying this


Embarassing moments at the Intergalactic Conference

Oh boy, where to begin? In short I was chosen to participate in an Intergalactic Conference and it was a complete disaster. Maybe my expectations were too high and this type of experience is the norm. Basically it boiled down to this:



Here are only a few incidents out of many. Some I can’t mention not for any legal reason but because they technically haven’t happened yet due to a rift in space-time that I caused  (long story but it involves my driver’s licence and a card trick).

Got caught fishing a crystal shard out of a toilet by the same being who shat it out.

Was the favourite in a swimming contest because of Earth’s large amount of water. Got smoked by a fish woman and received many death threats (telepathically) from things that lost money betting on me.

Met the being who built the best parts of the Great Pyramids and he was like, “Hahaha that was my grad prank”.

Every time I smiled someone would say, “Your bones are showing”.

My bow tie looked exactly like one of the keynote speaker’s wives.

During a “pupation break” those of us who don’t pupate were forced to watch a nine hour film on new stars narrated in a language that sounded like a goat eating a modem.

Half the species in attendance could see my farts.

This was seriously the photo they put beside my profile in the guidebook.

Ever time I coughed a guest died.

When chewing gum nervously, aliens kept approaching and asking where I got the invisible food. I ‘d tell them it’s just something we chew in Earth and assured them there was no invisible food, but later I found out there was invisible food and those I “lied” to filled my space craft with flying worms.

During a fun get-to-know-you game, I got partnered with a poisonous horn.

Mistook the children’s playroom for a plate of hors d’oeuvres and ate many delegates’ young children.

At dinner I  sat beside something whose skin was magnetically attracted to my hair.

These guys begged to see my dick

Was playing with my iPhone 6 and hoping someone would notice it but everyone was way more interested in a lava man who brought a book with him.

Speaking of which, the thing that wrote the Bible got an award for satire and forced me up on stage when a reporter asked, “What do the buffoons in your book actually look like?”

Went to get my picture taken with Earth in the Hall of Planets but something slimed it.

A security guard recommended I leave because a lot of attendees wanted to eat my eyes. I took its advice but left too early to get a gift bag that apparently included God’s autograph.