Warning: vulgarity below.

On my quest to find a suitable Halloween costume, I came to the conclusion that it’s impossible for girls not to turn into raging whores come the 31st of October. While paroozing through the store I learned that the choice costumes for girls in Halloween costume providing shops consist of 6 options:

1)slutty nurse
2)slutty cop
3)slutty whore
4)slutty maid
5)slutty school girl
6)and my favourite…the big ass slutty slut bag.

SERIOUSLY! Why can’t I purchase a costume that doesn’t make me look like a 2 cent floozy? It seems like people can make anything slutty these days. In one store I saw this:

















“A naughty inmate costume” – well of course inmates are naughty – they’re murderers! (well, and drug-traffickers, robbers, etc) Guys, would you really wanna take a Karla Homolka impersonator back to your apartment? I bet knowing she raped and murdered two teenage girls would really get the conversation going. What’s with society! My god!

Here are some of the other costumes that make me question the existence of morals:

















Disney did not intend for snow white to become a whore! She lived with 7 dwarves, not 7 pimps!


















“Hey God, when you’re, like, not creating natural disasters and letting people through the pearly gates, wanna meet me for some alone time, wink wink?!!”

Since when have God’s messengers been tramps?! One of the commandments of angel life is “though shall not fellate more than 100 men per lifetime” – I can tell you right now that God doesn’t want angels on his crew that have gotten more ass than a high security prison inmate.















A slutty referee. I hope she falls and turf burns her snatch.

















I can tell you right now this girl doesn’t even own a drivers licence. Racecar driving is a skill, and the only thing she’s skilled at is spreading her legs.

















A sexy straightjacket costume? Really? I'm pretty sure that mental instability is not normally considered attractive.
















AND LOOK! You can even turn your beloved pooch into a slutty school girl! God, dogs must hate Halloween.

After realizing the female section of the store had nothing of offer me, I headed to the mens section. It's not much better. Basically you can be a giant dick (literally) or some kind of offensive and/or cliché costume that made me want to pour franks red hot in my eyes.

I’m absolutely appalled at the state of Halloween these days. It’s probably my second favourite holiday, and now it’s just a big hussy convention! For the love of god people, stop dressing like you’re helga the whore!

And because I love embedding youtube clips into my posts, here’s one that fits perfectly(skip to the 5:27 mark...or watch it all, because Mean Girls is amazing)



Listen girls, I have no problem with you personally, but I think if you want, just go as a slut for Halloween. Just wear your lowest shirt and your shortest skirt and call it a night!

And the card attached would say...

You know when you have a ton of school stuff to do, but you'd rather fellate a hot curling iron than actually do it? Yea, that's me right now. GOD! And you know what's even worse, the fucking U of C is just determined to not let me graduate with a film minor. I've been in University for 5 and a half fucking years, just give me my goddamn degree so I can be on my merry way and attend a real post secondary institution that isn't run by a pack of retards. Man oh man.

Anywhooo, to waste time, I decided to go on youtube...Here are some highlight videos of my day.



Remember kids, "zombies don't eat candy, only brains." I should get that on a t-shirt.


I really like Hayden Panaterriere. She delivers that last line with a real punch!

Ok, watch this next video closely...especially the last few seconds...




IT'S RIDER STRONG!!! OMG!!!
What? You don't know who he is? Uh, HELLO! Boy Meets World! It was definitely one of the better mid-90s sitcoms.
But seriously?! Where has he even been this last decade!?
Well I wikipedia'd it and found out that he's really been nowhere. He starred in a movie called Cabin Fever, and Cabin Fever 2...the sequel I’m going to presume. I’m sure it was a raging success.

These were some of my favorite interesting facts about Rider:

Rider writes poetry, his poems have appeared in several literary journals, including "Hidden Oak," "The Chiron Review" and "Poetry Motel." One of his poems was even incorporated into an episode of Boy Meets World.

How precious is that?!

In 2004, he graduated Magna Cum Laude from Columbia University as an English major. It was there, he wrote the foreword for fellow Columbian Steve Hofstetter's "Student Body Shots".

MAGNA CUM LAUDE! (you know, i honestly have no clue what that exactly means...but it sounds fancy…so I’ll go with it.)

Strong remains good friends with his former Boy Meets World co-stars Danielle Fishel, Ben Savage and Will Friedle. He even guest starred in several episodes of Kim Possible, for which Friedle was a regular cast member.

I can just see it now, him and Topanga meetin' up for some venti decaf lattes at Starbucks and reminiscing about the good times they had on the set, and how SHE DATED LANCE BASS! Holy hell! Hold the train!

Her most visible relationship was with Lance Bass, who revealed that he was gay in 2006.[4] Of Bass's sexuality, Fishel said, "It wasn't a shock for me. I found out probably a year or two after we broke up. People magazine was not my first time knowing Lance was gay! He is an awesome guy, he was an awesome boyfriend and he is still a very good friend of mine."[5]

Topanga Lawrence and Lance Bass. This coupling has regained my belief that love really can be beautiful.

Now, this one’s for you my loyal reader’s. You’re all awesome…like chocolate filled chocolates and Barney Stinson.


Thank you...for being a friend.

OMG! TTYL! WTF! BBQ?! NO...HSM3!

This my friends is the day every 14-year-old girl has been dreaming about for the last 2 months...well, every 14 year old girl and myself...oh, and Jeff too. You might be asking what this occasion brings us? A new Jonas Brothers album? A new Barbie? A new Britney song? No, my friends, today is the opening of HSM3!! And for all of you that don’t get the lingo, that’s High School Musical 3!

WHO’S EXCITED!??!

I AM! I AM!

Ok, so before you start leaving nasty comments questioning my taste, let me give you some of the reason why I actually like High School Musical movies.

1) Zac fucking Efron.


















He’s a babe. A total friggin babe. Sure he looks like Malibu Ken, but he’s wholesome, AND HE SINGS! And I know what you’re thinking, “fuck Nicole, he’s like 15” – actually, you’re wrong! He just turned 21! Which means, he’s only a year younger than me…well a year and a bit I guess…so there!

2) It’s a musical! And more specifically, it’s Disney! Remember when Disney movies use to have really amazing songs that you’d sing all the time? I do! Gems like, “hakuna matata,” “ a whole new world,” “I’ll make a man out of you,” “be our guest,” “under the sea,” “PART OF YOUR WORLD” OMG!


Disney songs were amazing. Then they hit a decline…a recession one might call it…and they began to suck. This though turned around when, dare I say it, high school musical came out. Now, don’t get me wrong here, the songs from HSM will NEVER be on the level of the aforementioned songs. Disney simply cannot make masterpieces like they once could…but they’ve put in a solid effort; the songs are catchy, upbeat, and they linger in your head long after you’ve seen the film.

3) I can’t really think of another reason, but I will tell you this: the movies are incredibly cheesy and over the top, but I get a bizarre enjoyment out of movies that target prepubescent females. I just can’t help it! And I won’t apologize for it!


Also, remember when I was having that dilemma with the whole “boom-bust,” “recessesion-idontknow” thing…well after wikipediaing it for a solid 15 minutes, I couldn’t find anything. They just kept calling the opposite of bust, or recession, a boom! I swear to everything holy that there was another name for a boom. One article called it “recovery or prosperity” – but that just doesn’t seem right. You know what the worst part is? I totally got an A in first year econ.

This is as political as i'm going to get.

This morning at work, for some reason, I was reading the Calgary Sun. I was bored OK! Anyways, I stumbled across this article with the title “Thanks for not voting: Some young people doing us a huge favour.” The beginning of the article starts talking about voter apathy in 18 to 24 year olds, and presents some stats…blah blah…then, the author goes on to say “that last thing we want in this country is young people voting.” No, no, just wait, it gets better.

“While most people in that age range have recently managed to free themselves of certain myths – I’m special, a man in a red suit brings me presents at Christmas, the Jonas Brothers rock – they are still, by and large, unsophisticated cement heads”

Alright! Fine! You caught me! I like the Jonas Brothers! I have a terrible weakness for brother pop trios! But that’s beside the point! Now, I will agree that there are a lot of “cement head” 18 to 24 year olds out there that act like raging dickheads and don’t know the first thing about politics or what is good for our country, let alone themselves…but there’s a vast population of young people out there who actually know what’s going on, and care. I care. I’ve voted in every election since I turned 18. (this is me gloating) Frankly it was a big step in my life that first time I went out to the polls. I’m surprised my family didn’t buy me a dairy queen cake to celebrate the occasion.

Here are more quotes from the article:

“They’re fresh out of school and have been raised in a culture that replaced such outmoded values as Duty, Honour, Country with Recycling, Diversity, Hugging”

“Frankly, If young people find the Canadian voting process intimidating, we’ve got a bigger problem here than voter turnout…we’ve got a generation of giant wussies on our hands and the only solution might be to round them up at gunpoint and run them through boot camp or something”

“If young people are wondering why they don’t like their government, it’s simple. Because I vote. And you don’t”

I officially have all the answers I've ever needed, thanks mr. sun journalist.

But on another note, this video is pretty funny...

A fecal error.

I had an epiphany. I’ve come to the conclusion that shitting yourself is potentially THE funniest thing that can happen to a person. Now, you can’t just go out and crap your pants and hope that everyone will think you’re a comic genius…there has to be a story.

I bought this book entitled “I hope they serve beer in hell” by Tucker Max. I saw it at Urban Outfitters and I though it looked interesting. Basically, he’s America’s biggest douche bag, and he goes around and gets unreasonably drunk, acts like an ass, and sleeps with inhumane amounts of women…and I mean, inhumane!!!!! amounts. We’re talking triple digits here. Furthermore, he went to Duke Law School, so he’s smart. He’s an intelligent dickhead, which makes me a little sick. Anyways, the book is ridiculous, and captivating at the same time. It’s like an anthropological study into the lives of those guys you hate. Anyways, I was reading the book one night and it comes to this story about how he got unreasonably drunk and shit himself. I thought I’d share the story... (also, I’ve got a case of writers block, so I figured I’d just allow someone else to be funny for me)



“I hadn't realized how supremely shit-housed I was until we stumbled into our room at the Embassy Suites. Have you ever been so drunk you forgot that you have to shit until the last minute? Well I was at that stage. I nearly had my pants completely off when SlingBlade snaked past me and got into the toilet first. Fine, I go get out of my bar clothes and change into a t-shirt and pink Gap boxers to sleep in. I wait patiently for about three minutes, then I start pounding on the door, screaming at him that I am going to shit on his bed if he doesn't get out of there.
A short time later he opens the door laughing his ass off, and says, "That was perhaps the most prodigious shit ever. I just put that toilet into therapy."

I take a gander into the bathroom. It looks like Revelations. The toilet is overflowing, brown shit water is spilling out all over the bathroom floor, and the tank is making demonic gurgling noises.

THE MOTHERFUCKER CLOGGED UP A HOTEL TOILET!

Hotel toilets are industrial size; they are designed to be able to accommodate repeated elephant-sized shits, and their ram-jet engine flushes generate enough force to suck down a human infant, yet skinny ass 170-pound SlingBlade completely killed ours.

I nearly panic. I let loose a flurry of unintelligible curse words at SlingBlade, punctuated by a "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!," and knock over the lamp in my dash out of the room. The turtle is sticking his head out, and he is coming whether I am on a toilet or not.

I figure that there must be a bathroom somewhere in the lobby, so I shoot down the hall and hop in the elevator. Once in the lobby I can't seem to spot a bathroom anywhere. So, I head around the corner to the front desk, which doesn't face the lobby. It's about 4am, and no one is at the desk. I furiously hit the bell for at least a minute--CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG --until some poor lady comes out with sleep lines all over her face and tells me that the bathroom in the corner of the lobby.

I turn the corner from the front desk into the lobby and realize I don't know which side of the triangular lobby she is talking about. I don't have time to go back and ask her, and I see a white door at the end of the left-hand side, so I quickly waddle towards it. Why am I waddling? Because I have to physically hold my butt cheeks together to prevent myself from crapping all over my pink Gap boxers. One of the prouder moments of my life.

I nearly bust the door off it's hinges as I plow through it. I hear a loud, "AYYYY!!," that almost literally scares the shit out of me. I jump back to see that this is a janitor's closet, complete with a small Mexican lady janitor. I momentarily contemplate taking a dump in the janitors bucket, but decide against that, mainly because of the presence of said female janitor.

I try to be as diplomatic as possible, considering that I am about to crap my pants:
Tucker "WHERE IS THE BATHROOM?"
Janitor "No, no se habla Ingles."
Tucker "WHAT?!? Huh, uh...DONDE ESTA FUCKING BANO?"
Janitor "AYA, AYA!"

She points across the lobby. About 60 yards from where I am standing, at the complete other end of the lobby, there is a set of doors that have a large "Restroom" sign over them. Right where the front desk lady said it would be, except on the opposite side of the lobby.

I have about half a second to make a crucial decision: I can either sprint and hope I make it there before I shit in my boxers, or I can stick my thumb up into my ass and shuffle the 60 yards to lavatory freedom. The decision is simple: I break into a full-on dead-ass sprint.

I am a decent athlete, I played football, baseball and basketball in high school, and I stay in good shape. I have run from cops before, I have run from guard dogs, from a legitimate drive-by shooting once while in Kentucky, but I don't think I have ever run that fast in my life. Nothing motivates like the prospect of being covered in human excrement.

Unfortunately, I was not fast enough. It went something like this:
-20 yards into the run I feel my boxers start to sag.
-30 yards into the run, about halfway, I feel my ass crack and legs get noticeably wet.
-40 yards into the run, my boxers have slid down to mid thigh. I am struggling to keep it together.
-50 yards into the run, I can feel wetness all over me and little specs of something hitting the back of my head and ears.
By the time I get to the bathroom door, the end of the 60 yards, I have completely lost it. I am shitting myself. Full on crapping in my pink Gap boxers.

I step out of my boxers as I crash through the door. Shit is puddled in the seat. I blindly hurl them away from me, and nearly break the door to the first stall. I plop down on the seat and immediately slide off, because my ass is covered in slimy, runny feces. All the while, my butt hole is spouting forth waste. I finally get situated on the toilet and lose perhaps 20 pounds in the next 2 minutes.
During a short respite in my nearly superhuman flow of crap, I notice that the toilet is almost completely full of shit, so I flush. Predictably, the toilet overflows. Great. I move to the next stall, and continue my little adventure, except this time I courtesy flush every few seconds.

By the time I finish, I am physically exhausted, completely dehydrated, and my eyes are tearing up from shitting so hard. I laugh at the inadequacy of toilet paper to clean my body. I take my shirt off and see that the back of it is completely covered in little specks of shit that my heels kicked up from the diarrhea that ran down my legs as I ran. I throw the shirt in the trash, and then see the mirror. My pink Gap boxers are crumpled in a ball on the sink, with a thick black streak leading from the top of the mirror down to them. This is their final resting place.
Completely naked and covered in my own poop, I chuckle, because at this point if I don't laugh I have to cry. As I open the bathroom door to the lobby, I think to myself, "Who else on earth could be having a worse night than me?"

My question is immediately answered.

I see a trail of shit, starting very wide at my feet, getting progressively smaller until it apexes at the chunky white shoes of none other than the small Mexican lady janitor.

Her eyes met mine. We may have been separated by numerous religious, language and socioeconomic barriers, but the "What the fuck just happened?" expression on her face crossed all boundaries.

Now really--picture this scene: I am butt-ass naked, crap plastered all over my ass, legs, back and head, standing about 20 yards away from a Mexican maid, with a trail of black liquid shit leading from her directly to me. What would you do? I wasn't sure. I don't think there is any defined etiquette for this situation.
I shrug my shoulders, say, "Uhh, sorry. I mean, uh--lo siento. Good night. Buenos noche--or whatever," and calmly walk to the elevator.

From the glass window in the elevator, I can see her sobbing. The rest of the lobby tells me why: Not only had my legs kicked shit up on the back of my ears and head, they had sprayed little specs of poop all over EVERYTHING. The couches, the walls, everywhere.

Come to think of it, she wasn't sobbing. I believe "hysterical crying" would be a better descriptive term. Oh well, someone has to clean up my messes, and it sure as shit isn't going to be me.

When I get back to the room, SlingBlade is already in bed. He rolls over, takes one look at me and, never one for sympathy, begins laughing uncontrollably. He literally has to stop laughing because he strains his abdominal muscle. It takes him five whole minutes before he can get the words out,
SlingBlade "Where--where the fuck are your pants?"
Tucker "FUCK YOU ASSHOLE. This is all your fault, Mr. Rhino Dump. If you hadn't had that miscarriage in our toilet I wouldn't be COVERED IN SHIT!"

He couldn"t stop laughing long enough to respond. I took what remained of my dignity and got in the shower. As I was cleaning the poop off my back, I could hear him yell out:
"This is clear proof that there is a God, and he is just!"