Tag Archives: summer

Wet or not wet

Everything on Earth can get wet if you want it to. What’s worth getting wet this summer? Don’t bother thinking about it, we’ll tell you:

Dad’s Swiss Army Knife
Not Wet


First off, if daddy finds out you went digging around in his sock drawer he might never let you turn the shed into an arcade so I’d avoid the knife altogether. But if you must grab it I know it’ll be tempting to wet your knife to see if it grows a new tool. Unfortunately that only works with a strain of water only found in the Swiss Alps that’s protected by a faerie who’ll trade you a cup for a smoke.

Funny Beverage Coaster


A coaster’s job is to get wet so that whatever’s under it stays dry. Don’t let your coaster live the dry life for very long or it’ll start thinking it’s a bookmark. If you ever find yourself forgetting whether a coaster should be wet or dry, remember that it serves the same purpose as a Slicker* at an orgy.

*A Slicker is any dry person at an orgy who enjoys being sandwiched between two wet nudes.

rodent WHEEL 


We all have memories of lying in the cool summer grass and spotting a dew-covered hamster wheel shining in the sun across the yard, beyond the viper pit. Whether you play it safe by constructing cute little SCUBA gear for your hamster or live dangerously by whippin’ it in there, nothing says summer like a
whet wheel.



A wet pig may be a sign of good luck in 38 of the world’s 59 countries, but if you’re wondering how moist your pigskin should be, keep it on the dry side. A true football should have the feel of a halfway-to-raisin grape.

Pack of playing cards


Let’s say a magician stops you at the mall and asks to use your deck of cards for a trick–if those cards are dry he’ll be able to fully execute, impressing the crowd enough that he can legally call the deck his own. Wetness will create a slick surface that will make the simplest tricks–say a Peaky Joker or a Diamond Heist–a lot more difficult. Let him embarrass himself, take your cards back and tell the crowd “Guess this guy can’t come to the beach with us” then lead them to the beach.

Framed vacation photo
Wet and Not Wet


This is obviously a matter of preference and will depend on the nature of the vacation depicted. I prefer to wet my not wet vacation photos and keep wet vacation photos not wet to avoid redundancy, but I know quite a few people who bring pics of the desert into the shower with them to create a special effect.



If you carry a gun it’s probably because you’re scared someone else with a gun will get mad at you and want to start a gun fight. Keeping a wet gun means that if that person manages to shoot you and leave you for dead, you’ll have a supply of water to keep you alive until a dog sniffs you out and gives you a sailor’s death by eating you from the toes up.

bag of screws


I once built a treehouse using nothing but wet screws. After three weeks the water seeped into the central nervous system of the structure, giving it life. The treehouse then bonded with the tree creating a new being that called itself Blawnard the Judicious.

Alternatives to seasonal jumps

The other day I saw this little kid jump into a pile of dead leaves only to emerge covered in dog shit and old cigarette butts, making her look like some sort of leprosy-ridden Chewbacca. Every season has its own unique thing to jump into that we associate with childhood innocence but at what cost? Here are some alternatives to the most popular things to jump into, organized by season:

Major Jumper – Swimming Pools

rogue-pool-slide copy

For centuries summer has been the hottest season of the year besides the heat generated by the non-stop action of PGA Tour season. The easiest way to beat the heat besides replacing your heart with a fridge motor is to swim in water that’s colder than the air. This form of bathing also affords adrenaline junkies the opportunity to test out air-based tricks like flips, dips and tornadoes but it’s all a bit played out. If you’re having trouble following what I’m talking about, simply remember this nursery rhyme: Summer is hot, pools are cool, the world is brown, pools are blue

Alternative – grass clippings


Pools don’t grow on trees but grass sure does, and with so much unwanted grass clippings littering city streets and parks, it makes sense to use them for something other raccoon bait.

Major Jumper – snow


Snow is a very safe, all-natural substance whose white colour reminds us of innocence and the boring part of our eye that doesn’t do anything. It’s also edible so if some gets in your mouth while you’re jumping into it you won’t have to force yourself to puke like you would when jumping into the bean pit during post-summer. I don’t think we should limit ourselves to just one kind of winter pile though.

Alternative – pile of salt


Every foodie dreams of diving into a pile of salt and in most seasons this is completely unreasonable. But come winter big piles of chunky salt are utilized to season our ice and snow in case aliens come and we need to trick them into it so they leave our meat and seeds alone. Salt is rougher than snow but if you come home covered in salt your cat will give you the licking you’ve always sought.

Major Jumper – Mud


Besides being a a dead ringer for poo, mud is a sign that winter is over as well as a source of nutrition for our nation’s nomads. You wouldn’t want some guy swimming around in your almonds, would you? Stay out of the mud!

Alternative – nests


You shouldn’t feel bad about gathering bird’s nests into a clean pile because birds love making them. Besides, for all the hair and old string we contribute to every nest, the least they can do is not peck us when we take one.

major jumper – dead leaves


Humans have a natural need to jump into piles of skeletons because that’s how our ancestors proved they weren’t pussies. Over centuries we’ve evolved to jump into the next best thing to dead humans: dead leaves. By frolicking in what’s essentially a tree’s dead children, jumping in leaves is a pretty big “fuck off” to bark boys considering we use their oxygen all year. Plus, what if someone’s phone number is written on one of those leaves?

alternative – alive leaves


In grade four I ran away from home for six hours and was briefly raised by a local hobo named Meals. He taught me to pile up alive leaves and jump into them, giving one the sensation of “swimming through a lake full of skin” as Meal put it. And fuck trees anyway, right? You never hear them whisper “save the humans” or anything and here we are feeding them CO2 all year long.

The dog day of summer


It was early September, not hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk but hot enough to heat up leftover eggs on the sidewalk. I was knelt down, filling a juice jug with water from the sprinkler, a ritual I had been performing all summer in order to make my summer certified lemonade that was selling like photos of nude women to the recently pubic. To complete the full experience I presented the drink to customers not in glasses but rather hollowed out eggshells I painted red stitches on to look like baseballs in keeping with the summer theme. If it seems like I got eggs on the brain it’s because I was born around breakfast. Anyway, if you want to read about my lemonade, pick up a copy of Business Week, this story is about dogs.

As I was kneeling there I caught the scent of dog and my eyes immediately darted down toward my belt.  When I had buckled it twenty minutes earlier, I thought I might regret wearing the one made of  beef jerky but my leather belt was currently being used by my wife to measure how many of my waists could fit into the basement in case the cloning project got funding.

Before I knew it I was surrounded by at least 25 dogs of various breeds, some with collars, some without, some barking, some sniffing, all staring at me, mouths agape and hungry for preserved meat. I decided to test their focus by casually walking up the block toward the failed Asian fusion restaurant that had only succeeded in fusing the parts of the brain that detect bad value and mediocre noodles. Sure enough, the dogs were on my tail, snout first, their own tails happily flapping away as if fanning butterflies away from a pile of raisins. They weren’t necessarily aggressive but I didn’t like how all of them were so interested in me, a creature who didn’t speak the same language or even like the same type of girls as them.

I decided not to run because I didn’t want to provoke the dogs and have them start running themselves. To me, a dog running is like a bee stinging only a dog doesn’t die after it runs unless it’s old and has a bad heart, or if it runs into a bee and it’s allergic to bees. I made a mental note to call my next band Dog Heart and continued at a brisk pace toward the graveyard where I figured the smell of bones would distract them enough to lose them. If not, at least I’d be able to finally check out that cemetery I’d never been to.

I was sweating cats and dogs and could sense the dogs reacting to my new smell like a cat reacting to a sweaty dog, so I did a quick barrel roll and left a sweat stain on the sidewalk that actually kind of looked like a dog–I’m not sure though, it was a quick glance and I might have just caught the shadow of one of the dogs. I walked 16 steps (I know the exact number because I had already decided I wanted to tell the story and needed some cold, hard facts) and gathered enough courage to look back where I saw the mutts licking at pavement, just as I had intended. I ducked into a pet store and waited until the coast was clear. Before leaving I left my belt in an iguana tank and that iguana eventually went on to star in over thirty children’s stories written by this slow kid who lived above the pet store.