Momma don't let your babies grow up to eat mayonaise sandwiches

A sandwich-making get-together sparked a vivid re-living of a tragic experience I had as a youngster.




*FLASHBACK to the Year 1991*



It was 11:30 AM on an expectedly perfect summer day in Victoria. My three older brothers and I were playing soccer on our neighbours’ front yard with a couple friends. They had a FULL size soccer net in their front yard, which pretty much took up everywhere where there was grass, so everyone except the keeper played on the street. (This made for some crazy insane bounces off the curb) Either way, this game of soccer appeared to be more fun to me then anything else ever possibly could.

Suddenly, at the peak of my momentary enjoyment, my Mother calls us in for lunch!

Oh the nerve.

How dare that woman ruin my fun with something as meaningless and arbitrary as food.

Not all was lost though, for I had a trick up my sleeve (as many 5 year olds do). I would fool this destroyer of joy. The scheme was set; all I had to do was implement it.

So I ran inside with my brothers to make sandwiches. Once inside this prison, I hurriedly snatched 2 pieces of bread and put mayo on them. Now instead of going with the regular cheese, meat, and lettuce routine, I closed the sandwich and headed outside. I was speed walking to the door, confident in my mayo sandwich debauchery, when the warden yelled, "You can't just eat a mayonnaise sandwich!!!”

"Yes I can!” Then I opened the door to pure happiness, and closed the door on the time wasting sandwich makers.

"Those FOOLS" I thought. I am saving SO much time by having a sandwich with only mayo on it. Therefore I will have more fun than ALL of you!

I ran down the steps, across our yard, and thought, "I wonder if this sandwich is any good?" Slowing to a jog as I crossed the neighbours’ driveway, I took a bite of my mayonnaise sandwich. Before I even had time to give my official judgment on the sandwich I tripped! I lost focus on the importance of the soccer game and placed it on this pitiful sandwich, so much so that I forgot how to walk.

I started to fall forward and so I did what any hungry boy would do... protect his food. In the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do, and now that I am older and wiser, I would say that it still was the right thing to do, only that I needed to have better sandwich grasping skills. You be the judge.

I held out the sandwich to protect it from the fall. My forehead struck the gravel-laden cement. One of these pieces of gravel decided to lodge itself in my forehead. In my pain, the mayo sandwich was released and became un-edible. I exclaimed with tearful eyes, "MY MAYONNAISE SANDWICH". Soon after, the gravel was removed, blood came out, stitches were put in, the sandwich was tossed, and my brothers laughed. 

This traumatic day is all but history now, however the scar on my forehead remains, constantly reminding me of how dangerous and deadly mayonnaise sandwiches really are. Please, do not take them lightly.

Brain Storm, not Tumor.

A hilarious dinner conversation yesterday is the inspiration for this list, which i have out of necessity thought up in the past 10 minutes.

Drop cholesterol, not bombs.

Stay fit, not home.

Break dance, not my face.

Foreign food, not policies.

Three prong plugs, not attacks. (I know, it's a stretch.)

Throw a party, not a punch.

Pet animals, not strangers.

Pick noses, not fights.

Watch sports, not muggings.

Bette Midler, not on horses.

And finally, the one that started them all,

Roast Chicken, Not babies.

A Surprising Film

I have been binging as of late... Movie binging that is.


Early last week I stumbled upon a site which gave its opinion of the top 50 movies of the past decade, so I decided to go through the list and watch the ones that deemed worthy of two hours of my life (give or take two hours).

So far, I would compare the accurateness of their top 50, to the accurateness of how close my 2-year-old niece gets to correctly pronouncing hippopotamus. Sure many of the letters that come out of her mouth are in the word itself, but no matter how close she gets to actually saying the word,

She fails.

Now I understand that this comparison is highly limited due to fundamental differences between the two sides but still, I disagree.
People these days seem to give too much credit to certain movies that are 'trying' to be unique/artsy, when in fact they are not.

ALAS, I am not here to rag on them! In fact, it is through this list of movies that I have discovered my new favourite film.
I present, Mary and Max.
Now if you were to take my advice, I would not watch this trailer. Do not watch it. Go watch the movie.
Seriously, do not.





Oh and here is the full song which makes he movie so sensationable.


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The business of bad business

Question: How many outsourced call centres does it to take to help me with a billing problem?

Answer: Zero. It's apparently impossible.

Companies in North America seem to be under the assumption that outsourcing their customer support to other nations, (cough)India(cough), will cut costs while still providing satisfactory service! Call me stupid, but here is how i see it...

Step 1. I buy a product/use a service of a company.
Step 2. I have problems with the said product/service, and contact customer service/billing support.
Step 3. The agent that is 'assisting' me is having problems understanding me, and i them.
Step 4. The words i pick up from our conversation are "it is impossible sir", "please hold", and "policies and procedures."
Step 5. I clearly get nowhere with the first agent, and then wait on hold for 30 minutes to speak to a "Supervisor".
Step 6. Rinse and repeat.
Step 7. Never will i again buy from/use this company. They have H1N1 as far as i am concerned. Stay away, don't breathe on me.. Don't even CALL me.

Now... Is it just me, or did that company just lose a customer? Holy moly they DID! Yep, definitely saving money there. Idiots...

Anyways, my point is that companies should better evaluate the cost of outsourcing their customer support, because i am pretty sure the cost of one dissatisfied customer is that they will tell eight to sixteen people about their dissatisfaction.
Statistically speaking of course.