Category Archives: Frustration & Complaint

Name Calling and Other Policies

Stanko & Tibor - Name Calling


Name Calling – Because It Works

A simple yet universally true observation of human behavior: Whenever you are walking anywhere, any place, and there are others afoot around you, you say to yourself “what’s with this moron who is walking too slowly and blocking my  progress?!! Idiot.” Conversely, the person who flies past you at a much greater pace, on his or her way to somewhere important like the toilet or the casino, is inevitably met with the thought “why is that jerk face in such a rush?? What a bipedal asshat he is.” You resort to name calling.

It’s such a natural human behaviour to apply a derogative label to someone you don’t agree with or think is somehow making your life worse. It also applies to people who don’t agree with your view on life, or politics, or any other facet of existence. You call them names because we cannot all just get along. But why do we do it, when we as a species really ought to be trying to chill out and not be so aggressive?

Name calling is so liberating and energizing! Don’t like someone’s religion? They are zealots. They are atheist? They are dirty heretics. Don’t like a country’s leader? Call him (it’s almost always a ‘him’ except for Eva Perón and my 9th grade math teacher) a filthy fascist! Or a dirty communist. Or an inbreed. Or a buck-toothed, cross-eyed yokel. (Note: yokels per se aren’t usually blessed with good access to dental care plans , so that’s not really a fair name calling strategy.)

Whether it be political, financial, sexual or religious orientation, humans have come up with some kind of nasty name to call the other person. And man, does it feel good!

Name Calling – Creativity for All

Name calling is not just convenient for letting off mental steam, and not just because it lets anyone feel superior to anyone else by demeaning the other person. Name calling isn’t just for the short-temepered, uneducated boobs among us. It’s a wonderful form of creative expression open to all (except probably the deaf & mute contingent). As proof, there’s a fantastic Shakespeare Insult Kit you can peruse online. It’s WAY more useful than working at your day job. I’ve heard. Dare I say, it’s a form of abusive art. Kind of like this comic. But I digress.

When have you ever not felt elated and all tingly about calling someone a nasty name? Never, that’s when. It’s such a great outlet. And less costly, most of the time, than shooting a gun. So it could be said that shooting off your mouth is less damaging than shooting off your gun. But I’d have to do some in-depth research involving a gallon of whiskey, some cheap ammunition and profanity-laced episode of Archer to be sure.

Some of the most creative, hurtful, demeaning descriptors I have ever heard were uttered by my father, usually while in traffic. In fact, I seem to recall most name calling and epithet hurling occurred where there were many humans in a crowded space. My goodness – if name calling is a result of high human density, that would explain why genuine New Yorkers are such jerks. I can barely imagine the name calling that goes on iat Costco on a Saturday… such a commercial use of words.

Words Matter. Mostly.

And words do matter, people. Concepts we verbalize or print have tremendous power. If you’re branded “a fat bag of gaseous impotent rage” (a.k.a. Prezeedent Donnie Trump), you’re not going to like it.  Call Vladimir Putin “a soulless, conniving killer who’d murder his own  grandmother if she looked at him crooked” then you’d merely be stating a fact, which is not so much name calling.

I would argue strenuously (as long as it wasn’t too strenuous and made me sweat) that humans cannot live without name calling. Many studies have shown that when you try to convince people of your point of view – with facts, no less, the opposite turns out to be the case. They dig in their metaphorical heels and refuse to believe you even more, no mater how much evidence you give them.

So why spend all that effort gathering fake news or real facts to get someone to agree with you? Way too much effort. Stick with name calling and be done with it.

Name Calling Is Genetic

I would argue based on scant research that name calling is genetically built in to humans. Look at the letters of the genetic code: A, U, G and C. And also sometimes T. If you rearrange them, you get “UGAC” – which derives from Bugac, which is a village in Bács-Kiskun county, in the Southern Great Plain region of southern Hungary. [Editor’s Note: He’s not lying, I fact-checked this and he didn’t make this up.] Anyone who knows anything about Bugacian Hungarians know they are the biggest name callers on the planet and must have been the originators of epithet hurling when they were cavemen. See? It’s in our genetic code!! [Editor’s Note: Now he’s lying big-time.]

I’ll bet you that even the sweetest Buddhist monk, the kindest most peace-loving Bahai, the laziest, most rational atheist couldn’t go half an hour without calling someone, somewhere a nasty name.

The Takeaway

So what is the take-away from this scientifically unfounded rant? Is it that the pleasures of a properly uttered series of insulting words is necessary for the human being to psychologically cope with the mass of genetic stupidity that is the human race (at least when there are no firearms present)? Could it be that there is a primordial need to feel better about ourselves by denigrating others with hurtful descriptors? Or have we reached an age in societal development that now forces us to resort to name calling so as to deal with the tsunami of horrible news that floods our airwaves and media? Or are we just all idiots?

Frankly, you’re all a bunch of half-wit morons for reading this swill.

Lovingly short of sleep and full of sinus issues,

Bugac Druker

My Pain Threshold Is Low

Low Pain Threshold


My Pain Threshold Is Low

Recently a shard of a kidney stone decided to break free from the pack and to make its way through parts of my body normally reserved for the passing of yellowy water. Sharp, solid objects, narrow passageways blended with a low threshold for pain make for a human who is not able to focus on things that require deeper thought. Or any thought.

What little thought does occur makes itself known in grunts, screams and utterances, both loud and rage filled, interspersed with deep breaths searching in vain for air to fill the lungs of said person who just hollered non-sensical ravings to the maximum extent of his voice box. I had begun to wonder how something so small could feel like an inflated, toxic blowfish passing through my sensitive areas.

But this raises the pertinent question that no one is asking — nor cares to ask — what other topics cause me, and other humans pain? I won’t descend into rants about government, or sitting through awards shows, like the crappy Oscars, or plucking that errant, wild, evil nose hair. No, I am talking about something simpler that causes societal pain across the globe.

Referential Pain

Why is it that when people walk and text or look at their ‘smart’ phones they slow down their walking pace almost to a crawl? I have run into men, women, children, transgender folks, likely hermaphrodites, religious zealots, misguided youth, the aged, and smart and dumb people, who all decided that that text, that email, that Facebook post was so crucial, so vital to their existence on earth, they had to stop in the middle of a moving stream of smelly humanity (one of them must have eaten 14 cloves of garlic, I swear) to whip out their respective devices and cause me to smash into someone else. And then they get mad at me.

Bastards.

Splitting the Brain

I contend, without any scientific knowledge or alternative facts, that it should be possible to walk AND look at your damn phone simultaneously without losing pace and putting on the brakes. What if you were being chased by Peruvian killer bees or an aggressive carpet salesman and you got a text? Would you slow down then? Would you stop and jeopardize your life and those of others around you because your aunt Frannie posted a picture of herself and her new, post-divorce bohunk Raoul on the beach, swilling rum-laced fruit drinks?

How much brain power does it take to walk and use your eyes?  Trump can do it, and sexually harass a woman at the same time, while saying “this is gonna be huge.” That’s three things at once without slowing down.

What is it about the damn mobile phone that turns us into immobile idiots? Are our brains so weak and unevolved that all motor skills, particularly those that involve humans walking in front of me, have to cease, thus causing me to awkwardly dive to the left and smash into the aforementioned hermaphrodite selling some kind of alternative literature that no one reads?

Nonplussed

This state of affairs leaves me nonplussed and in pain. Metaphorical pain mostly, and physical pain, too. But that last one has more to do with the kidney stones. Clearly it has affected me.

Curmudgeonly and hairy,

Rajiv Druker

How To Replace Democracy – Choose Your Price

Stanko & Tibor - The Price of Democracy


How To Replace Democracy – Choose Your Price

There was a report recently stating that if automobile makers want to reduce the weight of their vehicles, they will have to use more plastic parts because they are lighter. What is a key ingredient used to make plastic? Petroleum, the main ingredient in gasoline. So to reduce the amount of fuel vehicles use, they need to use parts made from the stuff needed to make gasoline. There is a price to pay for progress. Ironic. Or is that coincidental? I don’t know. English isn’t my mother tongue.

The same irony is valid when applied to democracy. To make it more useful, relevant and effective, you need more people to come out and vote. But participation rates in democracies have been going down for lots of reasons that I won’t speculate on here, largely, because I will employ far more profanity than usual, and after all, profanity should be reserved for use in the home, classrooms and inside your motor vehicle, where it’s best applied.

Furthermore, of those who come out to vote, most probably aren’t informed on all the issues and vote with their hearts and not their heads. Or they vote against someone or something rather than voting for someone or some idea. We can identify what and who we dislike more easily that what or who we like. Yet, if they knew the price of not voting, or voting with their hearts, maybe they’d reconsider. Or maybe not.

Solution: Price Democracy

Let’s apply some speculative and questionable pricing theory. Democracy needs to be priced properly for it to have relevance and value. You see, when you put a price on something suddenly you give it value you can calculate. Can you put a price on free speech or freedom? Well, it’s hard, but I’d say it’s worth at least $100, before taxes. Maybe a little more if I can print profanity-laced t-shirts and hand them out randomly. But I digress.

Conversely democracy could be priced in an inverse sense — meaning, if you don’t go out and vote, it’ll cost you some real cash. Like $20. OK, maybe that’s too low. Make it $30. But negative incentives tend not to work. Even if you got a tax break for voting in municipal, state or national elections, most people would skip it anyway because the outcome would suck anyway.

Bundling Democracy at the Right Price

What if democracy and voting came in a packaged bundle?  Much like mobile phones and cable TV subscriptions, if you could sign up for the democracy bundle that meets your budget and needs, you maybe be encouraged to vote.

Sure, right now, I get the right to free speech, and other services like health care, fire and police protection and sanitation. But what if I could get a free movie every month along with my right to vote? Or if I pay more, I could get 5 or more votes for any given election.

I bet if voting was tied to having your Internet connection cut or maintained, people would come out in droves to vote. Vote or we’ll cut off your Internet. That would scare the piss out everyone. On the other hand, if you could get increased upload/download speeds on your Internet connection if you went out an voted, that might be a good incentive. Or free dope.

Discount Democracy

Or better yet, you get a discount on your cable/TV/internet/mobile phone bill for each vote you make AND you get to kick someone at the cable/TV/internet/mobile company where you’re subscribed right in the privates for the crappy customer service and time wasted on hold when you need help with your erroneous and unjustly exorbitant bill.

What about loyalty voting points if you vote for one party every election? You’d get a loyalty card that could trade for privileges like a plane ticket to a warm vacation resort, or your street gets paved before the others in your neighbourhood. That happens now anyway  in a lot of places, but you have to be intimately linked to organized crime, and that means having to fill in my calendar with even more appointments at brothels and cheap motels than usual, and I’m too busy for that.

And if all else fails, we move to a democracy pricing model based on the single model that has shown itself to be more reliable and accurate than any other since academics and computational models became all the rage: We guesstimate the price like on the The Price Is Right.

Insincerely friendly,
Jean-Baptiste Colbert Druker of NDG

Good Riddance 2016 – Happy 2017

Good Riddance and Welcome

Well the people who follow the Gregorian calendar can now officially say ‘good riddance to 2016’ — especially given that death has been  a big theme this past year. (If you follow the Chinese, Zoroastrian, Muslim, Jewish, Japanese Imperial or Mayan calendars, it was still a pretty shockingly crappy year from some perspectives.)

And I am not counting the long list of celebrities who shuffled off their moral coil, and there were many. Influential too, in all manner of subjects and areas of expertise.

However, we should not forget those who weren’t famous or successful who were killed, murdered or just plain suffered to death in just about every part of the world. Don’t forget, they are just as much a part of life as those n Hollywood or elsewhere. I know, the media doesn’t want us to focus on that so much, because it doesn’t get ratings. But try not to forget.

I wonder if there is a death counter to tally up all the people who willfully or less than willfully said good riddance to this mortal life. That would be a tough job for any computer, or even the best accountant, no matter how good the software. Do humans do a global death census? Maybe we should, but counting the dead is hard because they tend not speak up when asked.

2017 Has To be Better, Right?

2017 —  Will it get better? That is the question on so many peoples’ lips. If you are an optimist –gullible, on medication or otherwise — it can only get better. After Donald Trump‘s election, and countless other terrorist attacks in the name of some ‘benevolent’ god, life can only move toward the positive, depending on your point of view, of course.

For the bitter pessimists among us, we have to suffer through four years of Donald Trump and the inevitable talk shows that will tear him to shreds. We’re all losers here. There is still Putin, terrorists, and worst of all, Mariah Carey is making a comeback. Some in the media are asking, if she’s making a comeback, why can’t a benevolent god from ANY religion give her tongue gout?

Good Riddance Again?

The human memory is conditioned to blot out bad experiences (like murder, torture, losing money at gambling, or an overdone steak). We tend to remember the things that gave us joy and euphoria. Obviously that’s different for different people. But if we just learned to remember the awful stuff a little more often, maybe we wouldn’t fall into the same bad habits like betting on democracy, or your favorite sports team, or the mafia to get you out of a sticky situation.

My recommendation for the future is simple: Eat what you like, spend time with those who make you happy, quit your job if you hate it, and watch plenty of animated TV – way better than reality.

Faithfully without faith,

Nostradamned Ignorantus Biggus Druker


How To Replace Democracy

Stanko & Tibor - Gapplesoft & Democracy

Dateline: Early December. Wet weather lurks outside my door, while inside, it's getting mighty steamy. I left the shower running and the door open. I am trying to wash off the residue of democracy.

How To Replace Democracy

Does it sound like this post is anti-democratic? Do you think it will spiral into a rant about the failings of our democracy, where your fellow citizens, rich and poor, smart and dumb, well educated and not well educated (note to reader: being educated doesn’t mean you’re smart – look at that interracial-loving, open-minded, all-inclusive Bannon fellow), smelly and perfumed, hairy and non-hairy, are given the freedom and privilege to choose their leaders, no matter how well or poorly they are informed (I’m looking at you Facebook)?

It’s kind of ironic that some of the people who don’t like freedom of speech an despise the press, and are skilled at starting race wars, somehow got elected to powerful positions in the US of A. Especially that tanned, manicured and coiffed hairball, Mr. President Elect. He’d sue you nine ways from Sunday for calling him a short-fingered vulgarian (great blog). And his staff would have you water-boarded, electrocuted and deported just for saying he’s a nut bar. But that is the irony, or better yet, the sick coincidence of democracy.

So, What Are Our Options?

Having just reviewed Ancient Greek social and power structures and the democratic process they applied (I was helping my kid with her homework), it seemed like a pretty good idea at the time, but the Greeks kind of had segregated democracy.

If you were a natural citizen, male over the age of 18 and had done your military service, you could vote. Not the women, though. That would have been too progressive for a warrior-based society that was probably hairier and smellier than an Albanian metal worker’s armpit at the end of his shift. There were also other citizens who had to buy their way into voting. And of course there were the slaves and they had no right to vote ever.

Seems like a good idea, but not everyone is happy with it.

So what are the options for replacing democracy?

Pick From 5 Hardships

  • Dictatorship/Fascism – Not as good as the marketing department makes it sound. Sure, the rallies are fun, but there are silly uniforms, secret police and usually some form of ostracization by the world community, which makes it hard to get Tom Jones to come to your country to sing at your leader’s wedding.
  • Communism – Usually results in bad haircuts, crappy clothing options, terrible shopping hours, and you’re made fun of by the rest of the global community, including the Chinese, for drab clothing.
  • Anarchy – Seems appealing at first, especially where inflexible work hours are concerned, but it makes getting an Uber really difficult because the driver is probably going to robbed or crashed into by some post-apocalyptic vehicle driven by a person with (see a trend here) a bad haircut. And good luck try booking an appointment to get a driver’s licence.
  • Monarchy/Oligarchy – See “Dictatorship”, subtract the global ostracization and add high fashion, probably some inbreeding and a lot of castles and oodles of snobbery based solely on being part of the “lucky sperm club.” Usually good for some tourism if it’s a monarchy (see England), and great for commercial thuggery if it’s an oligarchy (see Eastern Europe).
  • Domination by aliens – If they don’t do anal probes, enslave us or eat us for breakfast, this may be the most acceptable alternative to democracy. Would certainly spare us having to deal with the humans who call at all hours from call centers asking us if we’d like to pay more for cable and phone service.

So as we can see, all of the above suck just as badly as democracy, except with the current form of democracy in practice in some parts of the globe, chances are you can buy your way into power more easily, and your vote might count if it’s limited to your house.

With that in mind, I will expound at length in my next post about how and why warm sheep’s cheese is superior to most elected and appointed officials, and way better than a kick in the private parts with a steel boot.

Philosophically spent, and morally bent,

Aristotle “The Arachnid” Druker

The Burkini Conundrum & Other Garbage

Stanko & Tibor - The Burkini Conundrum

Dateline: Late, late, late summer, in a dimly lit basement -  and a stinky, humid one at that. Reason enough to go to bed early.

The Burkini Conundrum (Not Really)

Very recently, there was a local Pokemon Go gathering and barely sentient people were milling around a public spot, blindly moving about like a school of geeky loser fish, in order to grab imaginary, virtual objects using a smart phone. No one was speaking, people were just staring at their screens. I am told there was fair bit of drool too.

What’s the message here? It would seem that reality sucks so bad, only some kind of virtual reality game with ZERO meaning for the greater good is the next best replacement for reality. And when you think about it, creating distractions that have nothing to do with reality is deeply embedded in human nature. It’s why we built the Coliseum, casinos, brothels, movie theatres, the Internet or why heroin and cannabis are still such popular drugs, and why the Mayans used cocaine. Day-to-day drudgery.

Unintelligent Design

So now we focus on The Burkini as a distraction, because the Olympics were too boring. Not enough Zika? Way too much Ryan Lochte? Have our collective mood-altering prescriptions run out? We need to argue over something that really isn’t worth it?

I’m starting to think the human brain is a miracle of Unintelligent Design. Let’s explore the following suppository. Not wait. That’s gross. Supposition, yeah that’s it. Shut up and read on.

I dare you to explain (intelligently) how any of the following could exist if there was actually intelligent design:

  • I have a spine like a melted accordion
  • I get pimples from eating ONE onion ring, which is highly unjust
  • When it’s warm outside my privates stick to my skin and I’m therefore uncomfortable for 3 months a year
  • IKEA gets away with selling crap furniture at exorbitant prices
  • People are STILL opposed to vaccinations
  • Why hasn’t Gwyneth Paltrow been imprisoned for criminally excessive stupidity
  • We humans commit genocide semi-regularly
  • Donald Drumpf
  • The burkini, and the banning thereof

None. None Blacker

And why are there black burkinis? Like it isn’t hot enough at the beach as it is that you need to suffocate the woman not just emotionally but physically, too? Why doesn’t it come with a built-in head shade? Or a heat expulsion flap? That is not intelligent design.

And if intelligent design actually existed, then why did a bunch of French bureaucrats decide to take time to draft legislation to ban it when maybe they could have spent the time, I don’t know, giving food to the poor? Or making cheese and wine free for a month? I think unintelligent design is the accurate descriptor.

Wisdom of the Masses

It’s like everyone is being guided by this invisible force of collective stupidity. Like a Simpsons episode. There could be a more complex, biological reason too, although the Royal Society for Semi-Legitimate Science and Bellybutton Gazing refuses to hear me out.

Maybe when humans are in close proximity to each other, like at an election rally, a night club, a public swimming pool, a sporting event, or in bed, our chromosomes cancel each other out if there’s an even number and we’re reduced to blubbering idiots. Or if there’s an odd number of chromosomes, the dominant chromosome with the lowest IQ wins and guides the pack. Like at an Australian Rules football match. Or a gathering of religious snake-handlers.

So where does this leave us? With no resolution for the burkini conundrum, nor anything of merit worth reading. But if you did take the time to read this, you have wasted a full 2 minutes of your time that won’t ever be returned, and I have fished through your wallets while you weren’t looking. Lots of unused condoms in there.

Cogitatively coagulated,

Isosceles of Sucrose

The Plan To Save America

The Plan to Save America by Stanko & Tibor

Dateline: A June eve, colder than late October, my TV is now tuned to animation so I can ignore reality.

The ECT Plan

Another mass shooting, another terrorist attack, another reason there should be widespread, reckless, rampant use of electro-shock therapy.

Shock therapy is a grossly misunderstood and maligned tool for social equilibrium and lesson-imparting. Sadly, electro convulsive therapy (ECT), or ‘buzzing the brain goo” to the layman, has been given a bad rap in movies and the press as a way to “solve” difficult psychological issues such as aggravated fruit fondling, underground gerbil hurling competitions, spouse nagging and as a crowd control method at pop music concerts riddled with hormone-laden youth.

I say ECT could be used to settle the upcoming American election. Why you ask? Of course you’re not asking, because no one is reading this rant, except for the 4 incarcerated inmates at the Super Max Prison for Wayward Yoga Teachers. The “downward dog” takes on new meaning in that joint. But I digress.

ECT for You and Me

Let’s face it. Anyone who willingly votes for Donald J. Trump, be they male or female, young or old, rich or poor, tall or short, fat or slim, has essentially shown themselves to be in need of ECT-realignment of the cranial matter. I don’t mean it to be a punishment either. It’s required to restore some form of mental calm and synaptic equilibrium that is apparently sorely lacking in the country that somehow is responsible for the “infomercial”, yet gave us such gems as rock ’n roll and the blues.

Now before you say “you’re a lefty pink loving Hilary fan” — I say thee nay. I also think all her supporters should be subject to group ECT, preferably in an ankle-deep pool with 5000 piranha. They too are a little too fervent, especially those Bernie booster contingent whose idealism and dedication to the cause of fairness make my stomach turn and a little bit of acid reflux happens. Too much strident do-gooderism before breakfast is a little like having only dry whole wheat toast with low fat yogurt for breakfast — every day. And we know where that hellish scenario leads to: people wearing Birkenstocks with black socks, a definite sign of the apocalypse. The only way that is rectified is double ECT doses.

Fixing Democracy

So where does that leave us? Give up on democracy? Well, not at the municipal level. But at the federal level, I should be made benevolent leader for about 6 months with a team of Hawaiian surfer maidens as my staff, ready to zap anyone with an ECT if they so much as question my desire for beef or pork ribs.

Here’s my plan to fix everything:

  1. Ensure that all people across the country have unlimited bagels and chocolate and cinnamon danish to eat ever day. And we’d even make allowances for gluten-free danish until we could find an island to move the gluten-intolerant to. Not Hawaii. That’s for me.
  2. We move the US armed forces, every last one of them, to the Britain where they take over the island and stop the British from telling everyone what’s “proper spelling” and remove all the journalists and tabloid owners that make a living reporting off the Royal Family and place them all on the St. Kilda Island in the Outer Hebrides. Win-win for all of humanity.
  3. While everyone is still groggy from the post-ECT zap, we move everyone who wants to own a gun or hunts with a bow and arrow to the southern half of the country. Everyone who wants gun control and government mandated hugging and kisses we move them to the northern half. Each group gets access to the west and east coasts on weekends. Then we have the millions of illegal Mexican immigrants dig a deep trench about 100 miles wide, spanning from east to west, fill it with water and man-eating alligators and sea mines, so no one has any great desire to cross.

I figure the northern lefties will all hug and sing Kumbaya while the folks in the south will fire off their arms in sheer joy like it’s an Afghani wedding.

My guess is the people in the south will quickly kill each other because heat makes you do stupid things (see Middle East for reference), thus thinning the population, while the people in the north will nag each other to death with political correctness and too much health food and regulation, thus thinning their population, too.

When both sides of the divide are severely weakened after too much fried food in the south and too much organic buffalo cheese in the north, then we put them back together, hold an election and see if they have learned anything.

Chances are they won’t have learned a thing, but it would be a great social experiment. Especially since I don’t live there.

Oh and we lock Hilary and Donald in a closet, both naked, for 48 hours and see who comes out alive, because I don’t want to do any more comics about this buffoon. I need new material.

There. Problem solved.

Disgustingly cookie-filled and partially sane,

Jonah Buzzer Boy Druker

Trump Vs. The Empire

Trump v. Empire

When will primary season be over? There's an election afoot, and that causes discomfort in many. Mostly it causes gas.

 Who Is More Evil? Hard To Say

If find the whole thing a little ironic. No, wrong word. Bizarre is le mot juste. Right now, everyone I know who’s following the American primary race is actually rooting for The Empire and not the Rebels. Let me explain.

The so called Establishment candidates, Hilary Bitter Clinton, and I guess Lyin’ Ted Cruz, are in a pitched battle for the leadership of their respective parties, to get a chance to become The Head Banana of the United States of Bananas. They are battling who? The Rebels: Bernie “Trotsky” Sanders, and Donald The Disassociated from Reality” Trump. And let;s face it – they are rebelling against the empires that are their parties.

So what is a person to do when Evil is Good and Good is Evil? The answer is simple: Eat. A lot. Preferably chocolate danish. And cinnamon danish will do in a pinch. But there are side effects to constant eating of life-affirming sugars and dough.

Unnatural Emissions and Omissions

Everything I eat makes me gaseous and bloated. No matter whether it’s carbs, fibre, protein, sugar-based confections like those delicious petroleum-laced snacks made by a faceless conglomerate that has various safety violations and a few environmental crimes under its belt, or even bacon, which technically speaking, is its own food group according the Grand Council of Baconistas.

To alleviate this blight, everyone says I should do a ‘cleanse’ and avoid all matter that causes gases to form in my belly. There are several problems with a cleanse. First of all it sounds like something a religious, fascist zealot would do, so right there you lost me. Second a ‘cleanse’ involves denying myself of things I like. Self-denial is something people who have too much time and wealth on their hands do. I don’t have the time to deny myself stuff because that would mean cleaning out the pantry.

And a cleanse is something vaguely associated with cleaning, an act I loathe because it means I have to wear rubber gloves and be exposed to chemicals that, while shifting my brain into an altered state where conversations with inanimate objects tend to be quite hysterical, tend to have a deleterious effect on my relationship to reality, and thus my wife.

Make  Me

Worse than that, why would I want to clean anything? Isn’t that why there are cleaning ladies? And by that I mean no disrespect to the legion of cleaning men, although that term does seem like a bit of an oxymoron, given the males I know. Unless, however, it’s a neat-freak man, with obsessive compulsive issues and no readily available medication, living in a clean apartment with fresh cut flowers.

Dare I say, it goes against my genetic code to deny myself those things which will lead to the joy of the palate and the bloating of the belly. Come to think of it, the DNA testing results from that guy with a limp and a patch over one eye in the back alley near the strip club was a little suspicious. The results came back with the proper 23 chromosomes, but 4 were still dormant, hence explaining my deep desire to nap every afternoon after lunch.

Well, seeing as this is all too absurd for even more words, I will cleanse my palate with something sugary and cleanse my mental pallet with some sleep.

Mightily Manly and Majestic,

Little Lord Fauntleroy Druker

May The Text Be With Ewe. I Meant ‘You’

Stanko & Tibor - All Text


Dateline: Somewhere north, dreary, rainy, late December, late afternoon, late for my latte, late with the latest comic. Must text my thoughts before the medication wears off.

To Text Or Not To Text. I’d Say To Text

First off, I haven’t seen the new Star Wars flick yet, but when I do, you can be sure there will be a comic about it. Probably something involving interspecies fondling, I’d reckon. However, until then, not an ounce of text, not a drop of sweat or electronic ink will be expended on the subject. But if Star Wars had used sheep as the actors, I think they would have gone with “May the Force be with Ewe.” Just a random thought from having taken a LOT of sinus medication late.

So often it is the case that we have reduced our lives from speech and complex sentences to this thing we call “text messages.” We are racing for the ultimate in brevity and at the same time, stupidity. It’s remarkable how with the advent of texting, we mobile device-addicted, semi-sentient, 23-chromosomed monkeys have managed to simultaneously make communication more efficient by reducing it to the textual version of grunts, and at the same complicated our lives with all the misspelling and consequent misunderstandings and inadvertent embarrassments that we transmit from device to device.

Silence Is Golden. But Gold’s Value Has Plummeted

In theory all this texting leads to less speaking, thus removing from the world vast amounts of noise pollution, and potentially thwarting the release of CO2 from all the exhaling we do when we speak. In theory, it should lead to more silence and less blathering and bleating.  And as the saying goes, silence is golden. But have you seen the value of gold in the last 6 months? Dropped like a stone. Why, Star Wars movie tickets for opening night had a higher market value.

Can you just imagine how much texting went on by all those hard core fan boys and girls before the official opening night? Real communication, like where people talk to each other? I doubt it. Well, until the movie started and then there must have been millions of people humming the movie theme and simultaneously wetting themselves with joy. Which probably limited some of the texts.

The human need to text, to let one’s thoughts run free through the electronic ether, seems to grow unabated. Those thoughts, about as deep as a thimble, escape virtually unchecked, and more often improperly corrected by the smarter-than-thou auto-correct feature every so called “smart phone” has enabled by default. We get the meaning across sometimes, and other times the word “important” is somehow auto-corrected to “incontinence.”  This does not help out in the world of intercultural business communication.

Steady As She Goes

The outcome of this need to communicate intense brevity – without the use of our voice boxes, and instead replaced by our not terribly dextrous fingers on tiny keyboards – will lead us all to ruin. Why do I say that?

Because by having taught my mother to text (so she doesn’t call us as often to ask if I put the chicken back in the fridge, lest it develop deathly bacteria), we have enabled her to write to us ever more frequently, ever more pointedly, knowing full well that when we hear that “bling” indicating a text has come in, we will rush to the mobile device, only to shake our heads in bewilderment when the words “Just wanted to see how you’re shoeing” appear, and we roll our eyes as our blood pressure spikes.

Happy Holidays.

Steadily unbalanced and virtually yours,

Jean-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry Druker

It’s The Hair

Stanko & Tibor - Choke on the Hair of the Dog

Dateline: Somewhere in North America, late October, autumnal arboreal shedding continues unabated, and I'm blubbery...

Foibles and Shame and Hair

I have said many horrible things in my life, where I was informed in no uncertain terms, I should feel shame for my words and thoughts. It was inevitably followed by a threatening, wagging forefinger (or sometimes a middle finger, usually in traffic or at the dentists office for making improper jokes to the hygienist) and  then by the keen, verbal, jagged, moral dagger meant to spotlight and enhance the moral shaming: “How can you live with yourself?”

A valid question, indeed. Could I live with myself? Could I live with the shame, the embarrassment, the gaseous and noxious fumes? Would I be able to live with myself knowing what a monster I am and look myself in the mirror every day without recoiling in disgust?  

Well, I think I could live with myself, but there would have to be a few conditions: 

  1. I would have to have at least a queen sized bed, preferably a king sized bed, if I had to live with myself. I snore like a choking, drowning bear, and move around and twitch like a tortured frog having a minor epilepsy attack (or so I am told by my significant other). So if I had to live with myself, there would need to be space between me and myself during sleeping time.
  2. I would have to be allowed to cheat on myself if I am getting frisky and my other self was busy playing something on the iPad or watching sports, or more likely, something animated with cartoon violence. Which would probably be often as I am in the habit of gravitating toward anything that I can poke and touch, has flashing lights and movement. Kind of like a stripper. But I digress.
  3. If and when I would get into an argument with myself, let’s say over who left the toilet seat down, or whose filthy, racing-striped underwear was littered on the floor for 3 days running, and I won said argument, I should be allowed to gloat for a full 24 hour period, and write the word loser in toothpaste on the bathroom mirror.
  4. There would have to be someone to clean the house at least weekly. I shed like a cross between an Akita and an Alaskan Malamute (sadly from the top of my head more so than elsewhere) and I like to cook and eat breads with thick crusts and many seeds. The ensuing mess is normally pretty bad, so imagine if I had to live with myself, it would be not just doubly filthy. Nay, I say triply filthy due to the synergistic effects that occur when hair and food bits mix. (I read that somewhere in the scientific journal known as the Weekly Ass when I was waiting at the proctologists office.)

So where does that leave us? Certainly no better off than 4 paragraphs ago. But it does make me wonder about human foibles, in particular body hair.

Fear & Loathing

Why do we North Americans fear body hair so much? Why is it that as soon as it falls from our bodies after hair brushing, towel drying or oral sex, that these hairs are suddenly like a piece of animal dung covered in plutonium? We are repulsed by body hair as if it had become a slimy, sick crawling creature, ready to pollute our environment. What have these detached, aimless, free-range hairs done that merits such a visceral response that there is a minor upchuck in our throats when we have to fish them out of the sink or shower drain? Or they lay in a quiet, filthy pile of dust in the corner of the bedroom? 

(Actually, we are sent into acid reflux convulsions when we see how these hairs have decided to run wild and grow out our noses, shoulders, and if you’re a really unlucky male, above the crack of your butt. But I digress again.)

What did poor Rapunzel, who by the way was named after a type of lettuce, do when she had to sweep up her shedding hairs? How did her prince charming deal with her shedding? She was lionized for her strong, long hair, but in today’s society she would have been a leper if she carried around that lengthy mane. Or at least called a filthy hippie. 

Did these natural fibers not once keep us warm, or shimmer in the light after being washed with shampoo and tamed with conditioner, all in an attempt to not look so greasy to our significant others, or more likely, to catch the eye of that office mate you’ve been staring at surreptitiously from behind your cubicle or at office functions meant to force camaraderie and team spirit?

Backward Unto the Fur

Yet even as we are sickened by an excess our body hair, or worse, loose, unattached body hair of indeterminate origin, we still need it. Sometimes.

We have an entire segment of the fashion industry dedicated to the removal and subsequent re-application of animal hair (and skin) to create what are known as fur accoutrements. Hats, coats, vests, mitts, boots, tea cozies, and underwear. Call it fur if you’re like, but it’s hair to me. And we pay big money to have it draped all over us. Or have paint thrown on it by anti-fur activists. Gross. I hate paint.

Hairy Malfunction

Think of your pubic hair. Evolutionary scientists and unrepentant perverts alike have long speculated as to the function of pubic hair. The main theory is that it is there to alert its owner and the world around said owner that hormones will soon be raging and the body is evolving into something with sexual needs and wants. It’s beginning to become fertile.

These hairs are beacons for their owner and to others looking to get a “quickie” in after the kids go to bed. They are, in a way, pointers. Why do you think the pubic hair on male and female privates is shaped like an upside down triangle? It’s saying “hey! down here is where the action is!”

Yet, as we age and our bodies change usually for the worse with wrinkles, flab and folds, the pubic hair is still there. But seldom is it viewed or touched anymore in the way it was first meant to. And I mean seldom. Like maybe once every crop rotation kind of seldom. Maybe pubic hair has the same bodily function as the appendix or the spleen, in that it still hangs around but has really become a useless attachment. A relic of a former era, like a signpost on a deserted, barren highway leading to a ghost town that gets the exceptionally rare, wayward visitor in search of once past glories. 

More likely, our hair, pubic or otherwise, is there to remind us the human body is not always such a lovely thing to look at once it ripens, especially in daylight, imperfect and faulty.

Carl the Coiffeur