Title: A little alternative history lesson
Juniper was a crazy little man with a shrub atop his head (instead of the more popular hair). He enjoyed Men Without Hats, Sonic Youth, and Tom Jones. He spent all his free time digging holes to China. As you can see, he was just your typical guy.
On his twenty-third birthday, Junip (as his friends called him behind his back) felt different -- and not b/c his head was a popular houseplant. No, he felt different for other reasons. It was that day (of all days, really) that he noticed a peculiar spot on his left knee.
"Where did that cyan spot come from on my left knee," he said to no one in particular. However, someone in particular heard him, his mom-turned-vagrant Crazy Sally. Crazy knew all about that spot...
It all started back when Junip was a toddler. Those were better days, when Crazy could afford a dumpster on the hill. Those were the days when gold teeth lost in death matches were a dime-a-dozen and the proceeds of dumpster digging were rich enough to give the duo three square meals a week.
One day, in her dumpster-diving travels, Crazy encountered a worn-out microwave complete with food stuck to its inside walls. "This is a gold mine!" Sally exclaimed and with that she collected her son and ran to the nearest public outlet to heat up their new-found leftovers. Just as the final seconds counted down, Sally heard an odd whirring sound.
"What dat, Mammy?" two-year old Juniper queried.
Too late she realized what was about to happen. As the microwave exploded into a million tiny, toxic pieces, Sally threw herself on top of her son to protect him from the flying shrapnel. Unfortunately a piece went through her body (entering by the left buttock) and went straight into Junip's knee.
This wasn't just any piece of shrapnel by any stretch of the imagination. No, this was the worst kind of shrapnel in the whole entire universe (and I'm told it's rather extensive) for it contained the DNA information to change Junip's rather striking honey-coloured 'fro into a the striking (for altogether different reasons) berry-covered bush that it was on his twenty-third birthday.
Of course, Crazy could never repeat this to her son, for that would mean showing him how evil she truly was. You see, although the piece of shrapnel was in her body for just under 3 seconds, it had also made juniper bush DNA course through her veins. Within minutes, her glorious, dirt-encrusted locks were replaced by green juniper leaves. Being well-versed in the ways of microwave shrapnel, she knew the only way to rid herself of the juniper plague was to eat a one ounce piece of maroon shrapnel within five minutes of infection. Unfortunately there was only one such piece around and without thinking of her son's now-dim future, she swallowed it whole, leaving Junip with a juniper bush for hair.
Since then, she had been so utterly ashamed of ruining her precious Junip's future that she had not mentioned his brush with the evil piece of cyan shrapnel and her consequent ingestion of the sacred magenta piece.
"Gee Junip," Crazy began as she stared off at a far-away 100 watt light bulb. "I hadn't even noticed that. All I do know is you didn't have that thing on your knee when your were born. No sirree, the 'doctor' that delivered would have said something."
Junip vowed right then and there that he would get to the bottom of it. Of course these things take time.
On January 9, he began his journey searching for this clue. He encountered a cheeky monkey named Tephaniesay who claimed it was her birthday. Tephaniesay had no idea where the cyan had come from. All she knew was that it didn't come from a boat tour of the Ottawa river...
Junip accepted this and was grateful he knew it didn't come from a tour. He meandered through the earth for a little while longer. On May 6, he met Fromeo, the love machine of the Great Canadian Shield (along with the rest of the nation of course) who incidentally also claimed it was his birthday. Fromeo was very busy (smoking pot, cussing, and consuming pornography of course). All he could muster between tokes was "Guy, that cyan thingamajiggy didn't come from doing any of my favourite pastimes. *toke, toke* Go find someone else to bug, I'm busy, yo! Where my bitches at?"
Horrified and slightly confused (Fromeo used to be such a nice guy, what happened?) Junip continued his search. On June 7, he thought he had found his answer (or a means to get said answer). Going to sell juniper bush extract to Scentiments a high-end parfumerie (it's the equivalent of giving blood in the States, but more lucrative) he met a lovely girl named Pindsay who thought that perhaps a little regression hypnosis would be a step in the right direction.
By talking to some cult members selling crazy dreams, Junip found that hypnosis was fairly expensive. To be able to sit down with a first-class shrink, Juniper would need mucho dinero. That meant that this regression hypnosis would take time since Junip's only form of income was can collecting in down town Ottawa (and returning them for five cents a piece in the more dirty Hull).
During his travels he encountered an odd fellow dressed in orange with contrasting blue hair. The date was August 19 and the "odd fellow" told ppl to call him Mike-the-Lootard (but when slurred quickly, Mootard), magical magician. Again, he plainly stated that it was his birthday and for a moment Junip wished his mom remembered the day he was born. He also wanted to find out where his dad was so he could trace his Juniper roots. However, Junip was smart enough to figure out that Mootard could help him immensely. You see, Mootard was not an exceptional magician. In fact, many ppl called him utterly inane and threw cans at him during his "magic" performances. When all the cans had fallen, Junip collected them all and got a fair bit of cashola. He had decided to follow Mootard around for all his magical exhibitions until one day when a fairly flamboyant fellow came up to Moo (as his friends reeferred to him) and said Moo was 'one hot guy'. Later, he returned to invite Moo to a bar.
"Don't worry baby," the flamboyant individual exclaimed. "I don't bite. I just lick and nibble." With that, he kicked his foot high into the air and trolloped away. But alas (for him anyway) a $1000 bill flew from his skin-tight jeans pocket into Junip's waiting hands.
"Well," thought Junip, "I can finally afford regression hypnosis. So long Moo. Thanks for all the good times." And with that he too kicked his foot in the air and skipped away (being careful not to lose his new-found wealth, of course)
The only reputable regression hypnosis therapist to be found in all of Ottawa was listed under "massage therapists fi' dolla'" in the yellow pages. He called the number (1-800-scam-artist) and made an appointment with Llisa (you know, like Llama), the only masseuse not booked until September 2004. Unfortunately, her earliest booking was September 10, 2003(conveniently her 23rd birthday), so Junip would have to wait a while longer. As the years rolled by, all Junip could do was think of the magical words that Llisa would speak to him, forever uncovering the origin of his unique cyan spot. However, Llisa ran away to Europe with a very, and I mean VERY, attractive man named Sparrow that she met at her fancy-pants new job.
This was a major setback for Junip as he couldn't find Pindsay (since it was NOT her birthday, June 7). He again roamed the streets looking for some inspiration. He found himself in front of the east end Costco on November 20, just as a saucy brunette named M. Arlene came out of the warehouse doors(it was her birthday and she was celebrating by pigging out on free samples). Struck by her gorgeous eyes, he stood mesmerized until she pulled a few berries out of his head giving him an awful headache which in turn pulled him back to "reality".
"Hey guy," M. Arlene said. "Don't look into my eyes unless you're willing to let me read your palm and tell you the future for a small fee of $1000."
Well, Junip still conveniently had a 1000 bones stuck in his speedos so he did what any sane individual would do, he asked her to check his past instead. Undaunted, M. took his crusty money and sat down at a nearby Tim Horton's to begin the task at hand.
"Well," M. told Junip, "I can pinpoint that spot as something coming from your younger years, perhaps when you were too young to remember. Yes, when you were five."
"But I remember everything that happened when I was five," Juniper told M. Arlene.
"Did I say five?," M. Arlene asked incredulously. "I meant when you were two."
"That's possible, I have no recollection of when I was two at all."
"Yes, it was most certainly at the age of two that this happened. That will be $1000. Please come again."
Dazed and Confused, Junip walked out of Timmies doors. M. took pity on him and screamed after him "You know, it may have something to do with a dumpster-digging experience. Maybe you could go see my acquaintance [email protected]. He knows a lot about this kind of thing. The only advice I can give is to go on November 28, he'll definitely be in town, it's his birthday."
So Juniper thanked her and went on his way searching for answers so few ppl had. As instructed, on the 28th, Juniper found DumpsterD and asked him about the cyan spot. For a while, Derek did nothing but stare at the spot and occasionally poke it with his poking dead squirrels stick.
"You know, son," Dumpster began. "I believe this was a microwave shrapnel experience. It was very popular in the early 80s when microwaves were the new hot meal gods. If only you had ingested a piece of magenta shrapnel right after this had happened. You wouldn't be in this situation at all. No matter. I have some advice for you."
"First, you must locate the oracle J-No who only speaks to individuals in your situation on April 25 (yes, you guessed it, her birthday). She lives on an enlightened plain along with great beings in history like Jim Morrison, Jonathan Sharkey, and Moses. She will be able to confirm my microwave suspicions."
Juniper thanked Dumpster and as a show of comraderie or appreciation gave him two bones from his speedos. Not knowing what to do with himself, he waited around Main street hoping something would come to him.
And somebody did. On March 15 he was approached by a birthday girl named Andie who asked for the time. Unfortunately, he didn't own a watch so Andie cursed the day he was born and went looking for another stranger to bother for the time. She was late getting to the Beer Store, dammit, she needed to know the the hour in case she was late for work.
Puzzled, and not for the first time, Junip continued waiting until it neared April 24, when he met no one, b/c no one I know has a birthday that day (except maybe someone's mom, but like I remember who)
The next day, Juniper followed a yellow brick road and came upon the all-knowing J-No and her beau du jour - Henry VIII who had mellowed considerably since his head hunting days - and together they showed him the events surrounding his microwave incident, including a flashback of his mother and the 100 watt light bulb for good measure. In an instant, they were gone in a puff of smoke (with a very distinctive odour, Junip couldn't quite place).
In flash he was asleep and dreaming the most wonderful dreams. He saw a beautiful golden dumpster overflowing with cans he could redeem for more money than he could use for the rest of his life (and definitely more money than would fit in his speedo, he'd have to invest in a new wallet). Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the image of a minotaur pointing to a juniper bush painted with a great big red X. Along side was an ugly 80s microwave filled to the brim with pale green and indigo bits of food. Then the minotaur started rushing Junip and he awoke in a cold sweat and the feeling he could once again recapture his glorious 'fro.
"I've got it," yelled Junip to no one in particular. It was July 18 and someone in particular, DirtyAndrew "Whatta you got, little guy?" Dirty began. "I may want some of that."
"Well," Juniper said. "I know where my cyan spot came from and its crazy DNA-altering properties."
"Is that all," Dirty replied. "I was hoping you had keys to the Playboy mansion or something. I can help you find a microwave filled with pale green and indigo stuff to make your real hair come back if you want. I live in the city dump and I know where tons of them are. Follow me."
So Dirty and Juniper sauntered down to the local dump (which smelled unpleasantly of kitty litter and other similar foul odours). Junip didn't care, all he wanted was his wonderful hair back. For one thing, his juniper bush really itched.
As if by magic, an 80s microwave complete with the correct-colour fragments rested atop the highest peak of garbage. Just as Juniper began to scale the peak, he heard Dirty screaming.
"NOOOOOOOOO. Junip, it's too dangerous for you. Let an experienced climber like myself get that there microwave."
And so Andrew clambered up the mountain of discarded waste and within seconds had reached its peak. Just as he lifted his bounty, a strong wind blew, compromising the mount's structural integrity. Too late, he knew that he was a goner. In a last heroic effort, he threw the microwave in Junip's general direction and with a scream (that sounded suspiciously like "I luv porn") he was overwhelmed by a pile of rotten banana peels.
And the rest is history (fake history anyway). Junip ate four ounces of the indigo and pale green goo, changed his name to George W. Bush, and got himself a good job(in his eyes anyway).
End
Title: Not really a story, I'll name it when I'm done
Since I have decided that no one will be reading this, I'm going to blather on until the cows come home. People only visited once and now they're going away in droves. Little do they know, I continue chugging on and using all my spare time to impart a few pearls of wisdom to the masses.
So, here's a few ramblings for the day.
Title: I've decided that I will write whatever comes to mind in this "story". Bear with me...
Hey everybody, here are my thoughts for the day. Perhaps I will make this a daily occurrence, but I will probably tire of it sooner or later. We'll see...
As I alluded to yesterday, I took a mud bath yesterday, in the privacy of my own bathtub! Can you believe it? It's labelled "forced relaxation in a bottle". Of course I almost fell asleep in the tub while covered in murky water complete with little bits of muddy gristle, I was totally bored! It plainly states on the container that "bottle may change shape over time." That does not make me feel good. What kind of chemicals that may transform plastic can be good for my skin? I certainly don't know any.
Besides, it was a trial even stepping into the tub. I mean, I couldn't see my hand past 1 inch into it. It's not like bathing in tea, like the cult meeting likened it to. Rather, it's like bathing in diarrhea and I don't wish that on my worst enemy (and you know who you are!)
I hope my friend who's totally into this mud bath thing isn't reading this. No matter, I don't want to hurt her feelings and say how crazy the whole scheme is to her face. Of course, my new golden rule is to not make others feel bad, so perhaps I will tell her what I think of the whole thing later. Maybe I won't say anything at all. Maybe I'm evil. Who really knows?
The way it works (as I ascertained from their weekly meeting where each associate - as mud bath sellers are called - MUST bring a "guest" (read: sucker) in order to get in) is you buy this no-risk package of mud bath supplies for the handy-dandy fee of about $500. Then you sell it to your friends and family all the while trying to get them to "invest in this wonderful opportunity".
But wait! The fun doesn't stop there. No way. You can also head hunt your favourite ppl in other home-based businesses like Mary Kay, Avon, and Tupperware. It's all class, let me tell you.
Once you get seven ppl to peddle this wonderful product, your first echelon is full. From there, each of your seven ppl can get seven ppl and you'll get a cut from each of them. Eventually, as the story goes, you will be grossing over a million a month by sitting back and twiddling your thumbs.
Of course, you only get what you put in, so you'd better jump in (get it, jump into the mud bath business) before you're one of those ppl who misses out and loses the potential riches of this unique business opportunity.
On an unrelated note, my brother has stopped leaving porn on my hard drive. Instead, he downloads it, consumes it, and then erases it. I've become insidious in my drive to keep my computer porn-free. I started it really. I was looking to download the movie "Snatch" (with Brad Pitt, nothing dirty let me tell you) and all that came up was porn (go figure!) So my brother gets the wacky idea that he too can download pornography onto my computer. Of course, I found some tell-tale signs something was amiss and I duly investigated. For one, the memory on my browser kept on being erased and I had to fully type all my everyday links like google and my web page stuff which pissed me off for some reason. As well, I generally listen to music while at my computer and one day I returned to find the sound all the way down. "This is unusual," I said to myself so I duly investigated and using my noggin, I found a porn video in my recent documents folder. I also confronted the boy, but all I got was "I don't know what you're talking about, I delete the browser memory b/c it makes my searches faster." So I accepted that b/c it's not cool to talk to my brother about porn. But today, when I returned to my computer after a lengthy heart to heart with one of my friends (you know who you are) I discovered that my recent documents thing was empty, my browser's history was empty, and my sound was lower than usual. That was a screaming red flag, in my opinion, so I investigated and although he kindly attempted to remove all traces of his activities, I was successful in finding proof. You see, while he may have erased all traces of recent documents in the recent documents section, he did not do that in realplayer and as a consequence all his "leisure videos" are still listed there. Fortunately, he had the good sense to delete them as when I pressed on one, it said the file wasn't found. That's why I said he's now erasing it, leaving my computer porn-free as he found it. I even think he erased (or perhaps renamed) all the files of girls he had in various states of undress. I guess I don't really mind what he does with his free time, I just don't want to know about it. So boy, when you read this (if you do) please do not, and I repeat DO NOT do all the things I mentioned that make me wonder. Like don't erase my browser history, use internet explorer b/c I never do. Open other files in realplayer after you use it so your files no longer appear. Open other files so that the recent documents are clean. Turn the sound up to regular levels. Don't make everything appear suspicious, especially now that I am looking for it. Do whatever you want when I'm not around, just don't let me find out about it. Merci beacoup in advance, Julianna (May 19, 3:13 AM)
Today I have opted for a pale green colouring for my words of inspiration. No real reason, really except that it contrasts well with the purple of the page. For more of the same silliness, go here. I'm in the mood for another colour.
Today I am feeling loved therefore I will centre my words (incidentally, html makes me type "center" in order for the words to appear in the middle of the screen. I take issue with this, but in order for it to do what I want, I compromise and type words as it insists. Anyway...) Life is falling into place today. Work was not the hell I dread every time I enter the sliding doors. For a Saturday, it was palatable - to say the least. They've hired more temps. They're dumber than ever. The quality of workers these days...but I digress.
Actually, I will permit this subtle digression. You see, there is this new lady at work (must be mid-30s) who is now my best friend since she discovered we live not a five minute walk from e/o. Now we take the bus together (when I am forced to take the bus, that is) and she tells me her life story. It's great - or it would be if she wasn't the whitiest trash I ever met. Down to her short-long frizzy hair cut and stained buck teeth, it's hard for me to look at her and not laugh. I suppose she's a worthy human being, but who in their right mind would eat a sausage and then tell tactless jokes to ppl they just met, all the while sending disgusting gasps of breath into my once healthy lungs. It's just not civil. I must have a talk with her. Now she talks to me every chance she gets - even when I'm in the middle of something. That is not cool. I can't wait until they fire her (as they do with 90% of the temps at Costco, but they pay them less, so it's okay)
Actually, here I would like to make a statement about my wonderful employers. I don't see what the big deal is, but some ppl from work don't see it as anyone's business how much in sales Costco actually does in our average week. Why not boast about it, it's more money than a lot of them will ever see in their lifetimes. For your information, on an average week we sell 2.2 million dollars worth of stuff. I personally touch anywhere from $3,000 to $10,000 of cold, hard cash on any given shift. We have a lot of security, though, so I wouldn't try anything. Don't go getting any ideas anyone.
I'm a little disappointed that I cannot put this directly on the internet. Something is wrong with my connection. I'm always on in the middle of the night, but it seems that most ppl are not and, consequently, Rogers fixes stuff now. It's okay, I'm mighty tired. All my hard-core fans (and you know who you are) don't worry, I'll put this up before I go to work. I am getting very sleepy, so good night everyone. I will try and be more insightful tomorrow. May 20, 2001 - 2:15 AM.
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