My Last Post (Unless I don't suffer heart fibrillation).

About an hour ago I suffered severe electric shock. I was unplugging some halogen light thing and WHAM; hit me like drunken step Father slaps his red headed son. Naturally, I was "shocked" that electricity was uninvitedly rarin' throughout my entire body. I cried out. "Ahh I've bein' shocked!" I managed to release the base and collapsed on the ground (unsure if the collapse was caused by the electricity or my natural melo-dramatic nature). My throat had a lump, my hand killed - most notably my left index finger was burned to a crisp, my lung capacity had diminished, and my untimely demise felt imminent. Surprisingly, I stood up and ran upstairs to look in a mirror; basically checking for any disfigurement to my superior exterior. The answer is no; however, I still knocked on death's door and perhaps he was too busy picking up Iraqis and Darfur peeps to fly all the way to Canada for me. Or perhaps he was on his way. My body tingled; I am still tingling! I feel a current running through my body. I must release this current somehow! If this current catches my heart off guard then fibrillation will occur, which ultimately would be my death.

I seeked advice from my colleague in the science community and he believes I'm still in a precarious state. He's unreliable though, thus I checked the most respected site on the web - Wikipedia. They mentioned the amount of bolts required to cause a fatality. They had like five categories. I appear to be in category 3; CATEGORY 4 IS DEATH. Which leads to an intriguing question: What is category 5? Well, that, my daffy little readers, is the shock paramedics give to those needing a beat (the heart kind; not the red headed step child kind). NO TIME FOR SUCH TRIVIAL FACTS. The point is this: I may awake from my sleep suffering convulsions and spitting blood. Let's hope not.

East Slavery Company

Well, I could be picking cotton.

"And I said to him: Don't be so daff Tony; don't be so daff." - Me, towards Tony Blair.

EAST SIDE MARIO'S GIVES BOY CHANCE.

I'mma gonna prepare food for wannabe Italian ingrates! I will slave my life away in some kitchen.

THE ORIGINAL PLAN was to sabotage; to plant a West Side Luigi's menu in some waiter's locker and have him called a TRAITOR. Obviously, this disgraced man would be Fired or quit, THUS I would be promoted.

GAME PLAN CHANGES: Apparently, this restaurant has TIP-POOL where the tips are shared all 'round, including with lowly kitchen dwellers. YEE.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAT.

SUNDAY, JUNE 03, 2007 - HARDCORE LONEY FANS KNOW FAR TOO WELL.
Memo to haters: May you be sad and contrite for Sweden's future legacy only visits Toronto once.

_________________________________________________

The search for My Rushmore begins. What will it beeeeeeeeeeeee! Hopefully not untimely death. ------------------------------------ http://www.ddddddddaaaaaaaaaffffffffffyyyyyyyyy.com/ - WHISPER - I think that's a fake.

MYYYYYYY GOOOOOODNESS. That Link is a Fake!

Absentminded, Daydreaming Daff

Today, I drove alllllll the way to Costco in Ajax (one of the nearest civilizations to Uxbridge, but still, a fair distance). My primary mission was to return a sweater that ill-fitted my Mother. Upon my arrival I realized I forgot the sweater. "Loney, dears, " I mutter. The intriguing thing though, is that this isn't an isolated incident. You may describe me as a scatterbrain. I'm okay with this though; my daydreaming is worth it. I dream good dreams. One day, when I've achieved my dreams, I will become fully functional as dreaming will no longer be necessary.
I was also supposed to purchase some Bibles at Chapters; a smaller, more handy one for me and one for my poor, misguided Koran-stomping amigo. Finding The Bible in Chapters is remarkably difficult. I don't understand. The Bible is the greatest selling book of all time; you'd think they'd advertise it or something. After I stumbled around the store for a while, I happened upon the Religion section. The selection choice was poor. After some awkward, indecisive moments, I choose not to purchase anything. I would venture to a Christian bookstore somewhere. But there was no time! Another day, I suppose.
What an unproductive trip. To give me some sort of accomplishment, I decided to grocery shop in Ajax, instead of hitting up the traditional Zehrs of Uxbridge. While shopping, I noticed that sometimes I hum/talk to myself. I think other customers noticed too.
I attempted to use that self check-out contraption and failed. I missed that intimate moment with the cashier anywhoers.
Some cars decided it'd be most efficient if they drove painstakingly slow; Florida slow. I became rather vexed but then Loney, Dear came on harmoniously singing, "Now, let it goooooooo. Nooow, let it goooooooo."
Earlier, I had Joanna Newsom blaring. Thankfully, it was a hoot day and my windows were rolled down because otherwise her screeching voice may of shattered them. I defs received some odd looks from a few normies. Message to Newsom haters: Screw you. Actually, that goes for all of ya.

Hurray, Hurray, The Malaise Went Away!

I was becoming rather vexed with sickness the past few days, but it appears, the worst is over. Originally diagnosed as a bad case of death, the diagnosis was downgraded to minor plague. The Symptoms were rather nebulous - I could feel stuff happening in my head and I was just totally knackered, resulting in nappers. But now I feel like a million bucks.
Speaking of death, I was nearly offed the other day. Some drunkards thought it fun to shoot roman candles at one another. One blazing ball of fire grazed my shoulder, nearly decapitating me - a fearsome moment, let me tell you! Sparks also landed on my shoes, but only a girl would complain about that.
We came across a GT today at the bottom of a hill. Obviously, we carried the GT to the top, and flew down the hill, squealing with glee and exclaiming, "Weeee." Unfortunately, no one was injured too badly.
Ben Folds has been given much air time lately. He's such an uplifting guy. I listened to Blood Sugar Sex Magik of the Peppers, and after about five songs was ready to pick-up some whores - not a great influence, but so they're so terribly adroit, it's nearly inspiring.
Tomorrow, I will march into East Side's and demand employment. If they choose to be daffy, I will attempt to secure my back-up position at....(I do not wish to name my back-up option as they are an evil American corporation and go against everything I stand for. Thankfully, I am a hypocrite so this doesn't trouble me too much).

"Loney, Expletive Dears" - Bryan, after colliding with a parked vehicle.

On Friday I had a Chiropractic appointment in Stouville. Per usual, I drove there. There was a sweet spot available with my name on it. This spot was located on the side of the road outside of the Doc's office. I pulled into my spot adroitly, yet vigilantly because I'm a considerate person and would never desire to inconvenience another person or myself with an unnecessary collision. Actually, if we're honest with one another for a second, I'm not really the deft parker I proclaim to be; I actually suck, which is why I always proceed with caution. Anywhoers, I complete my parking and push the break...except it's not the break; I hit the accelerator! I ram the Toyota in front of me like a lion tackling a zebra. "Loney, expletive, dears!"
I try to remain calm, but who really may remain calm in a calamity! Tentatively, I exit my car and survey the damage on the Toyota's rear. It's not soooo bad. A scratch here and there, chipped paint, and maybe a small dent. I return to my car wondering what I should do. Obviously, I wasn't going to flee the crime scene and have a warrant come out for my arrest. I have no interest in becoming a jailbird. So I wait. A few minutes later, a man (of ethnicity, but not that that matters) exits a store and hops in his Toyota. I knock on his window and inform him of the accident. His survey of the damage is much more severe than mine. He acts melodramatic, "oh no! Me car... what do I do... that's thousands of dollar..." No waaay there's thousands of dollars in damages you daff. Clearly, this is a fallible person in need of some elucidation. But, of course I don't say too much. I write out my insurance/driver's license information and apologize for harming his automobile. He seems understanding and such.
It's now a few days after the crash and he's yet to file a claim. Hopefully he won't. If so, well, that's just not a favourable situation.
After this episode, I went to my appointment and returned to my mint car and drove home; sullen and dour, obviously. Also, I'm still unemployed, which is reason enough for brooding.

Spinal Seminar

My brand spanking new chiropractor suggested I attended a spinal seminar. I reluctantly agreed (I was only hesitant because the Ottawa/Buffalo collision occurring on CBC). Never-the-less some things are more critical than hockey - notably, my spine. Anywhoers, I barge into the clinic late (not late, late - classy late), and sit-down next to a 70 year old vessel of death. I quickly scan the room, and to my dismay, the average birth date was probably circa 1930 - long before the United States government rejoiced when Pearl Harbour was bombarded by over-eager Japs. So sorry, forgive the brief digression - the point is: I'm a youngling in a room full of almost dead people. The chiropractor is speaking but I cannot focus! This woman ahead of me has a classic case of tacky old person. Her hair is dyed red with matching earrings, her glasses are red and about the size of a Cadillac, and she "hmms" and "oooh" whenever the Doc makes a point. She also annoyingly whispers to his husband. I contemplate smashing my chair over her head, but this seems a tad extreme. Instead, I choose to ignore her... for now. When the revolution comes, she will be a baby-maker.
Anywhoers this Doc gives a particularly strong illusion of being educated. In fact, he may actually be. He elucidates on various spinal issues and enlightens my "minor work" brain with some chiropractic propaganda. In fact, this particular propaganda may actually have a modicum of truth. The spine is central to body and sends signals from the brain to the Central Nervous System. In turn, this affects every area of your body. And if your spine is deviated, the signals may not properly travel down the spine and your essential body parts begin to malfunction. You may not even realize your suffering from a major malfunction because you only feel 10% of what your nerves indicate (by causing you) pain. So, if you're in pain, like myself, then you're frigged as Steve Harris would say; however, this Doc has a 25 year history of aiding people such as myself, so I may actually be blessed with some healing, other than "frigged".
After a longevity of lecturing on spinal care, Doc began bashing the Canadian healthcare system. He gave some intriguing facts and statistics. Back in the day, the top three killers (not including the Devil) were: 1. Heart Disease 2. Cancer 3. Healthcare system (We spent about 40 billion or so on healthcare)
Contemporary killers: 1. Heathcare system 2. Heart Disease 3. Cancer (We spend in the range of 160 billion, or something on healthcare.)
It's recorded that whenever doctors strike, the death rate actually goes down. The cause of 40% of sickly people who check into hospitals is medical malpractice. An estimated 75% of the time doctors hand-out prescriptions when they're not wholly aware of a patients problem. A prominent Harvard Scientist (names are of no relevance!) suggested that medicine should probably only be distributed 15-20% of the time doctors are actually prescribing drugs.
Doctors hand out meds like a pagan on Halloween. And, yes, these apples are poisonous.
The government spends our money attempting to cure diseases that may never have cures. Instead, he suggests spending on practical issues that Canadians are dealing with now - I'm too tired to think of examples. And now I'm too tired to write anymore.
This is just one man's opinion, but he offered some interesting insight. Tomorrow, I'll start a revolution and take him down. He is threatening national security by dissing our government. He's broken the freedom act. I'll abolish him before he abolishes the act.

Medicine Man Confirms My Deviations (But offers treatment)

Today I visited a back medicine man. My back has been malfunctioning for ages and after visiting two other educated back medicine men and an uneducated back medicine woman, this is my fourth attempt to correct my poor, deviated spine.

To begin his critique on my spine, the medicine man had me stand on some scale contraption. Reluctantly, I climbed onto this scale thing and stood silently as medicine man adjusted the scale accordlingly. For once, I was on the pedestal (my spelling is abominable today. I had to look up The Forty Year Old Virgin quotes to re-discover the spelling of "pedestal"). I stepped off the scale and we examined these string pully things that were attached to the scale. The white string was straight (of a normal back). My string was yellow. My string was waaaay out of line with the white string. Clearly, there was a problem. "Hmm..." medicine man ponders. We checked the actual weight scale. I put something like 20 more pounds on my right foot; therefore my spine has shifted towards the right. Apparently having a peculiar spine like mine may cause all sorts of problems in the Nervous System. He tells me some rather grave things, while I stand in indifference. (I've heard it all before) We then take an x-ray.

The rusults come in. He plasters my results over light. I see my spine, but am very confused as to what this all means! I'm no medicine man! I ask the medicine man to eluicdate. So, he plasters a normal spine next to mine. "Ah," I say. Everything is quite lucid now. I'm a herteroclite! My back is as adnormal as a polar bear in Iran. My neck vertabre stuff is on a 12 degree angle. It's supposed to be a 45 degree angle! Medicine man mentions this is his primary area of concern. I'm inbetween stages 2 and 3 (of 4). I've no clue what these stages mean but it can't be good; I'm nearly in stage 3! Apparently this may cause all sorts of problems. He figures my lung capacity is 30% less than it should be ( No wonder I'm always out of breath. I knew I was an athlete!) Apparently this can affect brain function too, i.e. memory. "Fix me, man," I cry. We devise a little scheme to attack the demon in my back and take him out! So I must see him 15 times in the next month or so, as we attempt to salvage my poor spine from total destruction; meaning, attempting to prevent my untimely demise.

Medicine men have been let downs before, but I urgently hope this man has skills.

Let Me Introduce My Friends

"Oh don't be afraid,
Don't be afraid,
'Cause everything is gonna turn out to be okay." -- Ola Kala -- I'm From Barcelona.

If your searching for a band-aid for your wounds, look no further than the Swedish indie-pop/shoegazing scene: I'm From Barcelona, The Concretes, Loney, Dear, The Radio Dept., Paperplane... These bands will fill your spirit with euphoria and lift you to a more pleasant existence. But remember these are just band-aids and will not offer long-term ecstasy.

"DON'T GIVE ON YOUR DREAMS, BOY. DON'T GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS, NOW BUDDY."

Life is harder than most rocks, but fortunately Swedish-pop is soft as love.
LISTENER BEWARE: There are some Swedish-pop frauds like Robyn. They offer nothing but empty, soul omitting music similar to Britney Spears/Kelly Clarkson and other such corporate whores. Rest assured, my suggestions are subterranean and free of labellings.

I realize the quotes I've given aren't profound or anything, but the profundity rests in the waaay it's delivered - with heart, soul, and originality.

Peace. May the oppressors become free of themselves.