GLENN W. MACAULAY

Recently I watched the movie Her but didn’t review it because I didn’t want to talk about a movie about computers on a computer. In the movie the main character–who gets so horny he starts having sex with a voice–works at letter writing service in a future where people get back into the idea writing letters but can’t do it themselves. I guess it sort of makes sense because I’m into eating duck but it’s not like I’m out there strangling them myself.

I realized the whole letter writing thing would be an easy way to make a living and that I’d try it myself, only I’m not going to charge anything because this is fake and a part about charging you would make it longer. Not only am I giving these letters away for free but I’m doing it during Valentine’s time, when anything love related is worth its weight in chocolate-covered iPads. Unfortunately, most of these letters are from the male perspective but that’s okay because all women need to do to get a man is a wink in the nude. Here you go, use at your own reward:

Dear Baby,

What would you like to do to me tonight? I won’t know what I want to do to you until I see how dry your skin is this day.

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Dear My Baby,

I made you a treat, it’s in the oven (turn off the oven).

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Dear Hot Stuff,

I want you so bad  but it’s not Christmas yet and that’s really the only time I like getting presents.

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Dear sweetie,

What size bra do you wear? I told the clerk that your breasts are smaller than my last girlfriend’s, which was helpful because she is my last girlfriend. Anyway, I know how much you love mind benders so this is your present.

Dear Hottie,

I got 20 Nuggets — 12 for me 8 for you. I was thinking about how badly you want to lose weight so that’s why I get more than you. A lady at work said you can lose weight by having sex a lot but I’m pretty into our current arrangement of doin’ it every time your parents call to ask if you’re pregnant yet.

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Dear Beautiful Honey,

I cried last night imaging you being born and I even self-censored myself and blurred out your mom’s privates. I then thought of your recent vagina and my tears went away. See you at the grocery store.

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Dear Snuggles,

These last three years have been way better than the three years before I met you. The three years before THAT were the best though because I dated this crazy, rich chick who had a wood burning oven and go-karts with GPS systems in ’em.

Dear Pretty You,

My heart feels so good when you’re around that I’ve decided to start abusing caffeine again. I’m about to drink a hockey helmet full of espresso so don’t be surprised if when you get home I’m up on the roof trying to eat clouds again. 

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Dear Sugar,

Our relationship is fuckin’ unstoppable unless YOU fuck it up. Look at me, I’m 34, I work in a forest known for its huge bees and I don’t like shaving because it’s boring. You’re a banker and still have all your grandparents — I ain’t goin’ NOWHERE. Whenever you feel like getting married just let me know, I’m ready whenever.

Dear Terry,

Here’s a poem:

Roses are rad, violets are bitter
Let’s save our money and buy a new shitter

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Dear Sexy,

There are a thousand words to describe your beauty. Unfortunately, one of those words is “stretched” but most of the other ones are positive. Is “shiny” good or bad for a girl? The woman at the drug store wouldn’t tell me.

My friend/mentor/comedian Chris Locke just released his new album on iTunes and if you want to get it, you can. I was able to be there when it was recorded and unless he overdubbed everything because he thinks he sounds like his dad, you’re in for a scream. Buy it and support one of Canada’s best and hardest working comedians!

I submitted this shareable list to the folks at BuzzFeed but they rejected it, claiming it was too “Al Bundy”. I really think this could make a nice go at it around college campuses, but hey, I’ve been wrong before — I thought Bobby Flay would’ve landed more acting gigs by now.

ButtFeast’s 99 Reasons Why I’m Intimidated By You

You don’t have a wallet. You wrap your bills around your debit card and throw your change in the garbage, even the high silvers.

Before you learned my name you called me “Slim” right to my face.

Your keychain doesn’t have keys,  just tools to fix a guitar.

Your signature is worth more than Brian Mulroney’s and no one knows why.

You built your own pinball game and every high score says “ME” and instead of coins you have to insert homemade cookies that you bake every morning.

Your go-to joke is to open a fortune cookie, eat the fortune then pretend to read the cookie, using the punchline “I can’t read Chinese”.

Your dad has all his hair and loves going shopping with you.

Your dentist is also your barber and your tattoo artist and every service is free because you introduced the guy to his wife who owns a bakery and they have a little daughter who has already been on more trips than me.

You have a Swiss Army knife with a working, miniature Nintendo controller in it.

Your phone screen has a crack in it and you don’t even seem to care.

The yellowed paperback peeking out of  your back pocket looks so natural and I thought it was kind of bullshit until you started reading it in the middle of your own birthday.

You ordered something that isn’t on the menu without apologizing to the server.

Your bike was painted by a graffiti artist and it doesn’t have a chain but it’s still faster than my bike.

You don’t know anything about me but I know everything about you.

Every week you get a handwritten letter from a girl from another country and 68% of the girls are surfers.

Your glasses frames are made out of rebar from the Berlin Wall.

The names of the bands in your record collection sound like the guest list to an alien’s wedding.

I have absolutely no idea where you purchased the underwear you’re wearing as a bathing suit.

You won’t listen to anyone who disagrees with your opinion that tea is actually bad for you.

You get caught in the rain and don’t seem to care that you’re nowhere NEAR a set of dry clothes.

Every Halloween your only accessory is a little gold crown and everyone wants a picture with you instead of me even though I made my own custom Indiana Jones as a transformer that transforms into a sphinx costume.

You know the owners of like, two stores.

You bring milk to the movies.

You tip everyone, including the guy who got out of your way at a Raptors game.

You keep a pencil behind your ear and it stays there.

You write your grocery list on the money you’re going to buy your groceries with.

Your browser has 100 tabs open at all times and the only one I notice is this Wikipedia entry and your Gmail that has 2,435,775 unread messages.

You have a rare disease that actually isn’t half bad.

You were swimming in the Hudson River when 9/11 happened.

Your laces are never tied but your shoes stay on and the laces don’t even flop around.

You’ve heard of every Laura Dern movie except Jurassic Park.

This was all a trick, I’m actually describing the ideal man! Happy Valentines Day to all the men and women in our armed forces. 

I didn’t make this but I’d like to spend some time in the billiards room of the person who did.

The average North American throws out approximately 5 tons of stuff per week, a staggering number considering the recent popularity of bread bowls and edible books. The following guide will give you a better idea as to what shit you should be replacing and what you should fix. This will save you money and ensure garbage dumps are filled with old lettuce and batteries instead of power drills and hideous yet still functional scissors. While I’m on the subject, don’t repair lettuce despite what lettuce repair kits claim. The glue barely sticks and the colour of the patch matches romaine but not iceberg, which they don’t tell you on the package.

Shoes – Repair

A good pair of shoes is worth its weight in shirts, and while a fresh set of twins looks good on the mantle, there’s a bond one forms with an old pair that goes beyond style and into a spiritual realm where the only rule is to have shoes on. Two hundred years ago the idea of throwing out a pair of shoes would be more ridiculous than the idea of the Internet, which would garner reactions of “so it’s like standing in a crowd but if you want to see someone naked you can?”. Shoes used to be the kind of apparel that was thought to improve with age mostly because everyone back then was pretty stupid. Poor kids generally wore new shoes and rich kids wore moccasins stolen from the pregnant wives of native chiefs. Sorry for the history lesson, I know this ain’t nationalgeographic.co.uk. Anyway, next time a heel comes unglued or a weasel makes off with one of your laces, consider an appointment with you local cobbler before blowing this month’s arcade budget on a new pair. The best part is that they know their glues and screws better than any American President and are more than willing to fill you in on boot trends and where the fastening gliterati go to get their gravies.

Coffee Mug – Repair

A coffee mug will last forever unless you drop it on a surface that is harder than what the mug is made out of; that’s why all my mugs are made out of ceramic, the hardest substance in the world next to frozen blood. If you do happen to break your mug and it’s so special that the thought of it sitting alone in a trash pile amongst rotten… eels, then by all means, glue that daddy together. I would buy the best glue you can. Do not use the glue that comes in the lettuce repair kit as that shit is only suitable for sort of gluing lettuce patches on lettuce and for administering to sick toddlers instead of whisky and cotton. Get the kind of glue that is so fuckin’ harsh that it must rest inside a child-proof pill bottle, forgoing a logo in order to fit all the warnings about using it on lettuce and nipples and stuff.

LETTUCE – REPLACE

Don’t be tempted by those DIY lettuce repair kits, the glue… sorry, I addressed this in the opening. Forgot about that.

I get it, it’s stupid to want to repair lettuce in the first place, but there’s obviously a demand if there’s a company willing to manufacture a whole repair kit. I’ve been going crazy the last few days thinking that maybe I just didn’t see the extra patches in different shades of green.  I do remember throwing out the package quickly after removing the glue and the one patch so it’s very possible I just didn’t see them. Does anyone have any experience with this stuff? Am I in the wrong here?

Toaster – Replace

Every toaster should come with an odometer that measures toasts instead of kilometres, that way you’ll be more likely to get rid of your old one once you see how many slices it totally tortured in its life. Warning: whether you’re drying it after washing, making chips or simply warming it up to spread some butter on, do not put lettuce in your toaster. It will break both your toaster and your lettuce and you may be forced to replace both depending on your aptitude for lettuce repair. There are home patch kits but they don’t offer much in the way of patch col… sorry. Just ignore the parts about the lettuce. I get paid by the vowel so either way I’m fine. I’ll just wrap it up real quick:

That should just about cover every major item in your house except your toys, which I have no business commenting on. If you didn’t read the article and only scrolled to the bottom to get today’s hidden image, I’ll sum it up with one piece of advice: before you throw out your broken or old items, consider how many salads are wasted every day just because the lettuce is a wee bit brown or full of holes that look like a worm made them.

Today’s Image (when you’ve collected all 89, print them out and send them to me via post. You’ll then receive a code, also by post, that will grant you access to the Diamond Edition of the site)

Since I started this website out of my garage way back in two thousand and it doesn’t matter using nothing but a bullhorn and some sparklers, I’ve had my share of stalkers. I’m not talking about the kind of people who collect celery and worship rhubarb–I’m talking about those who love someone so much that they don’t even care about their own birthday anymore. Obviously I don’t enjoy being stalked or else I’d tape lemon meringue pies to my butt with a sign on my back that reads “FEAST”, but since it’s an inevitable part of being an “unmasked hero” I can at least let all the obsessives out there know what I’m looking for in a mate. I don’t care if you’re a girl or a boy. I’m in no danger of falling in love with you because I’m already hair-deep in a marriage that oozes so much tenderness that motherfuckers think we’re Popeye’s fried chicken. Plus, I have something to offer both sexes as I’m actually a very well-rounded human with a passion for women’s bodies, men’s activities, women’s TV shows, men’s lack of emotion, women’s love of gossip, men’s love of women and women’s love of lemonade and little salads with seeds.

I don’t care if you lick my stuff. As long as I don’t know about it and you don’t have any diseases that would cause my eyes to turn inside out so I can see my own brain causing my brain to scream and activate an undiscovered gland that secretes yet another goo, then have at it. You can lick my bathtub no problem because in my world it’s the one piece of your house that cleans itself with every use.

You can be gross. I don’t mean gross like you sneak into our place at night and replace my Shreddies with dried snot squares that you meticulously scratch your email address into–I mean like, you can eat my used toilet paper. In fact, take all of my garbage, I don’t care. I’ll even give me my old socks and underpants. Come to my doorstep on the 23rd day of each month and I’ll leave a treat bag full of stuff SOAKED in my DNA, and I’ll label it “Mixed Globs”.

Take my picture, I don’t care. I don’t take enough pictures so by all means, be my documentarian. I don’t even care if you catch me naked because there really isn’t anything about my body that you haven’t seen before unless you’ve never seen a cactus with a snake wrapped around it.

Me and my earliest stalker caught on camera by my second-earliest stalker

You don’t have to be attractive. In fact, it’s probably better that you aren’t in case one of my single friends gets interested in you and wants to date you, and you agree only to get closer to me and then they find out, get mad, revoke our friendship and BAM–there’s one less person to give feedback on my ketchups. I mean, imagine Ringo had’ve married Mark David Chapman? You’d have to scroll to the BOTTOM of the guy’s Wikipedia page before John Lennon is even mentioned.

I’m fine with you researching my family. There’s a lot about the gang that I probably don’t know so a little intel could save me some time when I eventually have to write someone’s eulogy. Apparently my great grandparents were from Scotland but what shape were their eyebrows and how many dogs did they hate?

Remind me of what I did, my short term memory isn’t very good. I’m not adverse to meeting with you once and awhile so you can fill me in on what I’ve been up to. I’ve found that my long term memory isn’t exactly of “Japanese” quality. For example, I once assumed I had been to the Grand Canyon when I was a kid but it turns out it was an IMAX movie. I also can’t remember what that Japan reference means. I sort of remember watching Miss Saigon but it might’ve been Madame Butterly except neither are about Japan unless I forgot what Japan is as well.  If you meet the above requirements, don’t bother applying, just go ahead and start freaking me out!

During an editorial meeting in 2011, one of my eager photographers–let’s call her Mega Daphne–pitched a Street Style segment to the team and we all went butts up for the idea. Modern blogging is all about quick, easily digestible, shareable, image-based content and since we’d only generated four dollars and a Corona bikini since launch, I was very interested. I green-lit the segment and gave MD four dollars, the bikini and a new strap for her camera that looks like a shrimp ring and is a shrimp ring, to show how committed I was.

Almost three years and seven countries later, Mega Daphne returned to the office with sixty-three full memory cards and a fiancé from Iceland who thinks our donuts taste bitter. I was expecting pics of the most stylish fuckers in the world, ready for me to caption and share with our readers, but what I got was a total pile of unusable bullshit. Either I misunderstood her or she’s a fuckin’ dolt, but whatever the case, I can’t afford to not run the feature. So here’s the first edition of StreetStyle (she took over six million pictures so expect the feature to return) that might be interesting to city planners or goddamn ancient grandmas who haven’t found another human attractive since there was still paint on the Pyramids.

StreetStyle1
Photos by Mega Daphne (real name withheld because I’m in love with her sister)
Captions by Glenn (nickname withheld for reasons of it’ll give away the extra body part I have growing inside my nose)

Name: Douglas Avenue Avenue
Occupation: Being paved
Salted, uncracked pavement, snow banked scruff, regulation sidewalk in classic grey, split-level and bungalow trim, shadows by TREES

Name: Calle el Bueno
Occupation: Being shitty to cars
tracks by old worker, dotted line paint, cobblestone accents, vintage cable car, bus lane graphics, vintage apartments

Name: Candy Cane Way
Occupation: Luring Tourists
concrete with slush, christmas tree walls, modern vintage sign hang, vintage buildings

Name: Biter’s Avenue
Occupation: A good route to get to a better street
fresh asphalt, parking designed by ROGER (city planner), garbage bin topper, stone walkways with cobbled zings, medium tree lashes

Name: Rue Bono
Occupation: Postcard Model
vintage stone home lined , modern hatchback parking grid, mix of vintage and modern surfacing with fresh paint, flower buckets for spring, rolling hill hat, slight curve neck

StreetStyle1 is brought to you by glennmacaulay.com and the guy who lets us rent his toilet and knows a whole lot about HTML.