Barry on the bus

school bus, on the way back to the day care from wasaga beach:
Barry: oh man, i gotta take a big wizz!
Ms. Niki: too bad, you have to hold it.
Barry: *groan*
~ few minutes later ~
Barry: Ms. Niki! i gotta take a big wizz!
Ms. Niki: we're still too far away, go out the window.
Barry: i can't!
~ few more minutes later ~
Barry: crap! Jeff! finish your powerade! i need the bottle!
Jeff: i'm not done yet!
Bernard: here, Barry! [tosses bottle]
Barry: nobody look! i gotta wizz!
Ms. Niki: oh ew!
Barry: STOP LOOKING!
Herbert: EVERYBODY! BARRY'S TAKING A WIZZ!
Barry: STOP LOOKING!
Herman: you know, if everyone just keeps watching he won't go until we get back.
Barry: STOP LOOKING!
Ms. Niki: he's really doing it!
Everyone: eeew!
Barry: STOP LOOKING!!!
~ dootdedoot ~
Ms. Niki: i can't believe he actually peed into a bottle...
Herman: better, Barry?
Barry: oh yeah! [waves it around]
Herman: yo! keep that down! did you screw the lid on tight?
Barry: yeah [swirls]
~ LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL ~
Herman: hey, lets hook his bottle up with the two leftover ones and give them to Byron, Bill and Isabelle... "oh, why is there less in this one?"
~ LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL ~
Herman: powerade should rename the yellow one from 'lemon-lime' to 'essence of Barry' or 'Barry-blast'!
~ LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL ~
Jeff: here, Barry [hands Barry small brown lump of candy]
Herman: hey, lets pop that into the bottle!
~ LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL ~
Ms. Niki: oh my gosh!
Herman: what?
Ms. Niki: he put the wrapper in too.
Herman: that totally ruins the effect.
~ after disembarking ~
Herman: um, Barry threw out the bottle in the bus driver's garbage can...
Ms. Niki: [disbelief] what?!

super Jew!

ah. back from camp. i really enjoy not having wet shoes. alas, they were already on their way to the can and pond water just sped up the inevitable. adieu, my shoe(s).

R.I.P.
marshmallow airwalk shoes
(May 2003 - August 2004)
you took me to places
i've never been before;
spacious and comfortable,
i couldn'tve asked for more.

your tongue was large and puffy
and it had a zipper.
i thought that was weird;
i thought that was chipper.


did i find more God at camp? mm, can't say i did, not anymore than usual. however, a few things were reinforced and future considerations were... well, for lack of a better word, considered.

other than that, camp was fun, in a very impromptu sort of way, from midnight cabin dodgeball, to "canoeing" to pyramids. none of those things were scripted and that's the way things should be done. as a coordinator i thought i could have done more, but i think that if i did that, everything would have exploded, so i'm glad i didn't. megaprops to everyone that helped.

big pandas don't cry

you know what's great about hockey at day care, aside from various children getting high sticked, pummeled into the not-so-soft boards and blocking shots against their will (one of them, while tending the goal got a wrister in the nuts and he actually rolled around crying and moaning)? nothing. nothing at all.
hockey with children totally takes the hockey out of me. all the worrying, can't raise shots without fearing for a face, having to use a tennis ball because orange ball is too hard, etc.
however, i still managed to post 6 goals with a curveless stick the length of my leg. and one of them was a nasty mid-air, cross-gym centering pass that i tipped into the back post left-handed and on the run. and it wasn't by accident. that was dandy.

pointless repinings

nothing takes away a good night of sleep like hives all over. but if i ignore them they fade away like aquaintences and watercolour with too much water and not enough colour.

i had a neat dream, but i promptly forgot it after i remembered it this morning and reminded myself to blog about it because i haven't really blogged lately and i'm sure someone out there was thinking, 'hey, why hasn't herman blogged lately?', and if that person had asked me i would've said, 'work' or 'lazy' or 'run-on sentence' and that would have satisfied the curiosity of that person because the only people that would ask are the only people that would be satisfied by those answers of mine, brusque and random, like a lot of everything else that i tend to say in passing or out of context in my monotonically textured and barely audible mumble for which i blame on big lips and big ears because that makes the most sense to me in addition to making the least sense to anyone else, which is just the way i like it, great communicator that i am, proving it by mincing my words to noncomittal grunts, gesticulations and ominous staring, right eyebrow cocked to just above the "you're kidding" line and slightly below the "i am registering incredulous surprise at your blatant audacity" line, presumably in the "curious off-colour statement that should have recommended a round of cardiovascular exercise to prevent stamina failure" gray area that is rarely trod upon because everyone is so P.C. this, and P.C. that, while i consider P.C. to be a brand name of quality iced tea in a can that makes me wonder what the difference is between the President and the Master that both make choices, but not important ones, just which chicken pie, or which club soda would really 'hit the spot' of prospective consumers - heterotrophs, the lot of them - fishing in their pockets for discs of metal and rectangles of what appears to be paper but is actually cloth, pressed and inked and featuring 50 new security failsafes to prevent forgeries that would displease the queen who hasn't really been pleased with much of anything since those william and britney rumours flew to the ground in light of charles and anonymous male staff member rumours, which i'm sure was the real reason that mary-kate checked into rehabilitation with jean bennet and paris hilton's adopted arkansas cow.

Movie Review: The Boondock Saints (1999)

starring: willem dafoe, sean patrick flanery, norman reedus, david della rocco, bill connolly

irish fraternal twins are annointed by God to scour Boston of evil after killing two russian mob goons in defense. a masterful and and highly eclectic detective, called in from the FBI, trail the 'Saints' in their high-profile killings of organized crime members.

this movie was downgraded to an R after the initial rating of NC-17 called for some editting of very explicitly violent scenes. indeed, this movie is as violent and gratuitous in it's use of unkosher language as snatch and fight club and other crime/action thrillers blah blah blah who cares? i don't normally find ridiculous violence or swearing funny, but this was funny.

the crux of the movie is in the ethical dilemma of vigilante justice, particularly through violent means. now, the movie does not exactly present a thoroughly balanced case, so don't expect to come out of watching it a changed person. incidentally this was released just a short time before the columbine incident so it sort of got mashed out.

anyways...

cinematically the movie was fluid, employing interesting time jumps and replays that leave the observant viewer a sense of satisfaction when he predicts the next scene. the interplay between the killings and the investigation after (or before) is fluid and in one of them interlinked. dafoe is hilarious as the FBI agent assigned to the case, condescending, flamboyantly homosexual, eccentric to the t, the exaggerated eclectic genius, all performed beautifully. the brothers, connor and murphy macmanus, were masterfully played (sean patrick flanery, norman reedus).

with all the seriousness involved in gun violence, the movie is obtusely light and pokes fun even at the stylized movie gunfights. granted, the audience should be wary in endorsing any form of violence. and for a movie riddled with violence, there is a lot of love in it too.

while there are obvious Christian elements (the brothers are devout catholics) some of the more subtle references lie in the characters. the brothers compare to James and John, the sons of Zebedee while their partner in crime, Rocco, is obviously the stubborn and hot-tempered Peter (even the choice of name... peter=rock, rocco...), even though he looked like the popular depiction of long-haired, bearded Jesus. very fitting allegory as James and John asked Jesus to rain fire and brimstone upon a city that rejected Jesus.

notes: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA... willem dafoe is a little (very) disturbing. there are a few gay scenes that could have been omitted, but i suppose they were their to cement (bonk you on the head) the fact that he is a practicing homosexual into your mind. it certainly explains a lot of his 'displays'. i don't think i'll be able to watch spiderman the same again. this movie wasn't deep, but there was symbolism (symbology!!!harhar) all over the place. the guns appealed to my testosterone, much like the first matrix movie. 'aequitas' = justice; 'veritas' = truth.

rating: 4 out of 5

You Damn Kid: Gates of Heaven

Indians 6 vs. Jays 3

while doing "the wave"...
Justin: is this praising the Lord?

guess who's jealous?

Nathan: knock knock!
Elim: who's there?
Nathan: Herman!
Elim: Herman who?
Nathan: Herman kissing Jessica!
Elim: Herman, stop kissing Jessica from last year. i don't want to see that when i open the door.
Herman: i can't help it.

50 posts!

50 posts since pocketfish came into existence. we've seen some crazy things (vulcan logic, the girliest thing, gravitational distortions) in that time. ah memories and amusement.

now, some of you (actually, none of you) have asked, "what is pocketfish?"
today, on 50th post day, all will be revealed...

pocketfish is...
just what is a pocketfish? is it a portable species of fish? some handheld electronic gaming system that is not limited to boys or mammals? is it scaly? flaky? smelly? stitched? nay, fair gentle, pocketfish be none of these. it's just something silly i made up. the above three links are good examples of what embodies pocketfish.

there will always be fish in my pockets.

they jiggle quite enthrallingly, i can't help but watch

Ig Nobel Prize 2003: Biology

the first case of homosexual necrophilia in the mallard, anas platyrhynchos

On 5 June 1995 an adult male mallard (Anas platyrhynchos) collided with the glass façade of the Natuurmuseum Rotterdam and died. Another drake mallard raped the corpse almost continuously for 75 minutes. Then the author disturbed the scene and secured the dead duck. Dissection showed that the rape-victim indeed was of the male sex.