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During University of Guelph summer holidays, Gazza, JV and I used to wash windows in Oakville, Ontario. We’d get up at 5:30 and usually work through until 7 or 8 at night. Long hours, but $600+ a week was a fortune to a student, and we’d usually get to take the entire month of August off. Those two summers were hectic – there were good experiences and bad experiences on the job. We once washed a house made entirely out of glass which was pretty cool. But then there was the time we were scrubbing siding with TSP and paint chips began to flake off like confetti. They clogged a storm drain and then flooded a very nice lady’s finished basement. That went over like a belch in church.

My point being, summer jobs in O-Town can be stressful – but never once did I consider mutilating a co-worker (alright, so maybe there was that one time Gary yelled at me after I shattered a toilet tank by dropping a window pane on it). Apparently times have changed. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the Jesus Chainsaw Massacre DVD has now outsold Return of the King. Even the church is getting into torture and dismemberment. Gratuitous violence seems to be the order of the day, and in Oakville – it was yesterday.

Long story short (I have real work to do) crew of landscapers are working at a job site at Lakeshore and Navy Street near Sharkey’s. Female landscaper makes comment to male landscaper who also happens to be doing treework with a loud, smoking Husqvarna. Male landscaper loses his sheehiznit and buries chainsaw in female landscaper’s back. Read it for yourself here.

I also find it odd that Gazza submitted this story, and was recently photographed with the chainsaw man himself, Leatherface. And by odd I mean really disturbing.

Being a Republican in Hollywood can be tantamount to career suicide. It used to be the other way around. 1947 saw the HUAC hearings that would eventually lead to the creation of the Hollywood Blacklist. But nowadays, most of the powerful studio heads, agents and opinion-makers seem to be… wait for it… leaning to the left. And you thought I was going to say “Jewish”. Shame on you.

It comes as no surprise then, that conservative stars tend to keep quiet – while liberal icons never seem to shut the f*ck up. Leonardo DiCaprio went on tour with Michael Moore to promote Farenheit 9-11. Danny Glover was arrested last week at a protest outside the Sudan embassy in Washington. Martin Sheen continues to make a nuisance of himself whenever out-of-doors and I won’t even bring up Sarandon and Robbins out of fear that I may spontaneously combust.

It’s for that reason that I can’t help but salute the Republican superstars that risk all and rear their ugly heads from time-to-time. But are the vocal ones really helping the cause? Ted Nugent is free to advise me on the correct way to skin a boar if he’d like. And if Brooks and Dunn want to give me a hands on “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” lesson I’m game. But on matters of politics I’ll look elsewhere for advice – and to more credible celeb-citizens to stand up for the party.

I recently found a great list of self-professed Republican celebrities and wanted to share it with you. There are some surprises and then there are some… “duh!”s.

Given: Hank Williams Jr., Clint Eastwood, Oak Ridge Boys, Pat Boone, Tom Clancy, George Steinbrenner, ZZ Top, Mel Gibson, Don King, Robert Davi, Dale Earnhardt Jr., Crystal Gayle, Charlie Daniels, John Tesh, James Caviezel.

Shocker: James Caan, Adam Sandler, Norm MacDonald, Paul McCartney, John Travolta, Charles Barkley, Sean Astin, Sharon Osbourne, LL Cool J, Dennis Hopper, Danny Aiello, Vince Vaughn, Marilyn Manson, Mike Piazza.

Regardless of their stature, I wish more of them would speak up and drown out some of the silly twats that are currently influencing the way America’s youth is going to vote in November. MTV’s Rock The Vote (for Kerry) and Choose (Kerry) or Lose campaigns have swamped media outlets that cater to the 18-25 demographic with partisan advertising that is currently scaring the hell out of me. But regardless, thank God Lil Kim registered this year.

Prisoners get creative. There was The Great Escape Tunnel, The Shawshank Redemption chess set and the paper mache dummies from Escape from Alcatraz. And I remember many episodes of Oz where the prisoners would drink some concoction called Pruno that they distilled in a remote janitorial closet. In between ass-rapings in same said remote janitorial closet.

But if there were an Oscar for creative brig intoxication, it would have to go to a group of cons in Grafton prison in New South Wales – where a group of inmates have been milking spiders for their venom, diluting it with water and then injecting it into their veins. And we’re not talking about a few daddy-long-legs here. These lads kept four deadly Aussie Redback Spiders as milkable pets. Think a cow with eight legs. Or a spider with a little mini-udder. Actually completely forget that I just went off on that tangent, please.

Alright, “deadly” doesn’t really begin to cover it. These little bastards are a close relative of the black widow, and are even responsible for the odd down-under death. “The venom acts directly on the nerves, resulting in release and subsequent depletion of neurotransmitters.”

There’s a Flaming Lips tune called “The SpiderBite song” which I always thought was a euphamism for heroin induced needle tracks. So I found this spider milk article strangely ironic. But after a quick bit of research, I found out that Wayne Coyne actually based the song around the time he provided a hungry arachnid with a snack while cleaning his garage and had to go to the hospital. So that angle went out the window like a Great Depression stockbroker.

One politician, from the current NSW government’s opposition, remarked “NSW prisons are more like a holiday farm than a prison system.” I’ll take Cabo and a cold sixy of Corona over spider spit anyday thanks, mate. But maybe the politicians should be worried that the practice of spider juicing could spread beyond Australia’s prison system. Or already has – that theory would explain Savage Garden, at least.

Looking eerily like K.D. Lang, Pye in the Face reader and friend Michael Moynihan held court recently at a Think Tank Timbro forum on the sad state of Swedish journalism. Mike is a Libertarian living in Sweden and began publishing his own conservative newspaper, The Spectator, back in April. The aim of which is to provide an alternative to the country’s current flagrant liberal media spin – and the paper has recently exposed examples of plagarism amongst some of Sweden’s more prominent political columnists.

To say that Mike’s paper has been getting a lot of attention in Swedish journalism and political circles would be putting it mildly. “The paper comes out April 1st and my apartment should be on fire April 2nd.” The perception of a Libertarian in Sweden can be compared to a fully-regailed Klansman at a Jay-Z concert, so I applaud him for sticking up for his beliefs and for putting a remarkable dent in Sweden’s former anti -U.S. comfort zone. Shake ’em up, Mike.

I can remember being called a joker, a clown and a buffoon at various times in my life. But never a cartoon. That is…. UNTIL NOW:

We had these done for our website at work, and before seeing it this morning I was very skeptical as to the outcome. I had one done at The Perth Garlic Festival a month ago where I looked like one of the Gallagher brothers from Oasis and it was scary. The cartoonist asked my sister what I like – you know, so she could incorporate it into the drawing. Janet replied “beer and cheap women”. Now, while I’m not exactly protesting that description, the caricature came out like ka-ka and I was left wondering “Do I really resemble the same person who wrote Wonderwall?” It was a shock, as I usually get Ron Livingston or Brendan Fraser which I can deal with.

And about three years ago I went to this strange party in the North End. This independantly wealthy, and very strange, socialite was having a party in her apartment which was a converted warehouse across from Joe Tecce’s. She’d paid a cartoonist to come in and draw all of her guests. Now, I don’t know if said artist was stoned out of his gourd, or if I actually resembled a handicapped Aztec that night – but the drawing was another disaster.

I quite like this one. I’m going to use it as my blogger profile image, methinks. If anyone needs similar Boston area caricature work done for whatever strange reason, email this guy. He’s good.

I’m currently building a website about Personal Injury Law and lawyers, and I’ve run across some insane settlements and lawsuits. Employers, drivers, babysitters beware. In fact, maybe don’t go outside any more.

– $875,000 was awarded to a man who broke his leg in a car accident. I broke my leg once at a keg party at Tony MacPhee’s house in 1992. Tony I know you read this site – I want some cash, please.

– $1,800,000 went to a construction worker who fell off a defective lift and hurt his back. I hurt my back playing football against Deerfield academy in 1992 (OK, so it was a rough year). Deerfield, cough it up. Lots of it.

– $200,000 was pissed away by a company for a woman who claimed she’d gotten arthritis from using a mouse every day for 5 years. Somewhere, there’s a Personal Injury Attorney sipping a Pina on a beach who paid for the trip with that cash. Incredible. I’m on my computer so much, I should be entitled to twice that. And a girlfriend.

– $1,000,000 was forked over to a man who suffered a freakin’ dog bite. That dog must have been loaded. Rolling in cash. And it’s own feces. I was bitten by a nasty little dog named “Pawnee” when I was a kid in Prince Edward Island. I bent over to say hello and the little bastard jumped straight into the air and snapped my nose. The dog’s owner apologized and gave me a lobster (I actually liked lobster back then) and that was good enough for me. I’m a personal injury attorney or lawyer’s wet dream. In retrospect, apparently they should have given me a house.

Folks, you should sit down for this. Apparently there exists someone with even more free time than myself. Below are some of my favorite blurts from a recently compiled list of the funniest commentator/athlete quotes from the 2004 Olympics. And with no further adue:

Tennis commentator: “One of the reasons Andy is playing so well is that, before the final round, his wife takes out his balls and kisses them . . . Oh my God, what have I just said?”

At the rowing medal ceremony: “Ah, isn’t that nice, the wife of the IOC president is hugging the cox of the British crew.”

Dressage commentator: “This is really a lovely horse and I speak from personal experience since I once mounted her mother.”

Weightlifting commentator: “This is Gregoriava from Bulgaria. I saw her snatch this morning during her warm up and it was amazing.”

There are few things on this earth more breathtaking than an amazing snatch. Read the full list here.

I have previously vowed to keep this site bi-partisan, as political commentary is being done to death on every other blog in the Universe – and being done better. But I must reneg for a moment (heck, I gave the DNC plenty of coverage in July) and talk about Zell Miller’s speech last night in New York City at the Republican National Convention. He’s a Democratic Senator from Georgia and I don’t care who actually wrote this speech, but I’m linking to it because I’d like for y’all to read it. It echoes my own opinions on the state of the world right now, and why I firmly believe that regardless of your political leanings – change for change’s sake is an incredibly foolhardy idea at this moment in human history. Dig it.

“But don’t waste your breath telling that to the leaders of my party today. In their warped way of thinking America is the problem, not the solution.

They don’t believe there is any real danger in the world except that which America brings upon itself through our clumsy and misguided foreign policy.”

And I’m the King of France. And speaking of France, here’s my favorite excerpt:

“Senator Kerry has made it clear that he would use military force only if approved by the United Nations.

Kerry would let Paris decide when America needs defending.

I want Bush to decide.”

Read it for yourself.

It’s commonly accepted that beach volleyball originated in Santa Monica when nets were put up on a beach near the playground in 1920. Since then, its popularity has grown in leaps and bounds – and on September 21st 1993, the International Olympic Committee granted Beach Volleyball Olympic medal status. Much to the chagrin of feminists and sandcastles everywhere.

Earlier this year Margareta Winberg, the former Swedish minister for equality, said of Women’s Olympic Beach Volleyball “This is not sport. This is sex-fixated entertainment”. Well, duh.

She’s got a valid point. But the men play in Speedos, the male equivalent of a bikini, and I don’t hear any women complaining about that. So I looked into some statistics: Men are allowed to play volleyball in shorts and speedos, while women are not allowed to wear bikini bottoms that have side seams that are broader than seven centimetres. So the rules for women don’t set a limit on the skimpiness of a bikini, but rather the opposite – they are required to keep their attire sufficiently jiggly and revealing. Those vicious Olympic bastards.

I’m not quite sure how I feel about this. OK, I’m lying. I’m a big fan. Did anyone else see the issue of Playboy with the nude pics of Gabriella Reece in it? Women Volleyball players have exceptional bodies. Kerry Walsh (pictured above) has a six pack that would make Schwartzenegger jealous. Since Walsh is from California, maybe Arnold could invite her to the Governor’s Mansion and get a few quick crunch tips. That is, of course, if she could stand all the Austrian grab-ass that would be sure to ensue.

Dead or Alive Xtreme Beach Volleyball had pre-pubescent boys drooling all over their X-Box’s last year and became one of 2003’s top selling titles, and their fathers and older brothers were undoubtedly in the next room watching the real thing intently on ESPN8. But let’s not forget about Mom and Aunt Bunny upstairs in the den watching the men’s competition and sucking on Rocket Pops.

This reeks of a reverse double standard. I say equal-opportunity salivating is completely acceptable. If the men’s uniform was a three-piece woolen business suit, Mrs. Winberg – the Rocket Pops would be on me.