Break Rocker

And SO!

Formal notice is given that I now have a myspace page at:

www.myspace.com/kylemcstravick

So check that and make me friends if you're so inclined.


What do you need? I'm the sun toucher so eat it. Tonight I came in second at scrabble versus my dear mom and my dear brother. My mom won. sigh... what has university done for me?

I don't even know what cosmology is! How should you? Perhaps you've read about it. Do tell. Well, you may respond, and in doing so you would be morally justified - given you know what you're talking about - inasmuch as I am ingorant and seeking enlightnement, why don't you look at wikipedia? Well, I may be inclined to answer, I didn't think of that until just now when you [I} entioned that. So whatever. And after all that, I am none the wiser. Or shall I say, no more wise? I shant.

"If i lived on a boat"

I wouldn't know half of those who i do
but others who i don't i would.
some who i wouldn't i should
and some who i don't i could.

I would be proficient at marime navigation
given that my boat had not a dock (thereby indicating it was a houseboat) as it's
permanent location.
I would like fish more
and i would not be afraid of jellyfish.

I am, as it is - not as it isn't (which is harly relevent, topic of this poem notwithstanding) - afraid of these jelly based creatures
being as they are, deficient in defined, symetrical, and, therefore, attractive features.
I do think that once when i was a child,
no older than seven,
that once i had the misfortune to inadvertantly put one in my mouth
in the normal course of juice consumption.
it was scarry. i spit it out, i did.
since then the jellyfish kind have been in my bad books.

but not bad as a judgement of character
rather as a reflection of the personal biases of the narrator (me) who is hot and sexy

s

e
x
y

PEACE

stop the hating! and the cheese grating. GREATing. the emotional debating. unconstructive, constructivly gay-fucktive. funtionally disruptive. snakes may smell like slime.


but then, have i, or has anyone who would count themselves (and therefor becounted likewise by myself) as members of my audience, ever (even once) smelled a snake; this should be understood to be exclusive of smelling of a snake's (artificial - as in your aquarium- ahem) habitat. or habitiation, should such a distinction be extant and furthermore meaningful. I don't think such an assumtion would be pruent or, more importantly, conducive to (or at least undetrimental to) my conclusion[s].

and such conclusions may be summed-up as being concerned with the scent of serpents. and to cunclude i'the following manner (and intellectual persuasion): snakes smell like slime.


WHAT DOES SLIME SMELL LIKE?

Hardy har har. Matey. Yarrrrr.

{o,o}
|)__)
-"-"-
O RLY?

Word, Word: do'nt drop a turd
drop cabbage off my cooler than kiss my little third
nipple.
i got it clean like that
and when this dog is rhyming, don't bring up the cat
and my scandelous
relationship therewith
you ask me more? i'm gonna plead the fifth

please do respect the k y l e
and respect teh fact that no one rhymes like me
please respect my talent, i worked for this shit
please respect the fact that i taught your bitch how to
wrangle
with my an to the conda
and i dig her slit ilke i do that of your momma

so stop, stop. stop st st st stop
have consideration for th rhyme bombs that i drop
i destroy your claim
to your title of mc
i destroy the rhymes and there credability.
So now li li listen when i drop the hammer
or i'll blow up your bogs with my dope ass slammer.


/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\//\/\/\/\/

Word, those were some tight rhyme stylings, brough to you by a drunk and ever benevolent blog host. I just got back from my staff christmas party, consequently I am drunk. As a further consequence, I am biting rhymes. As always, the more hip-hop-drip-drop inclided of my readership my feel free to contribute to our incredable beat. SO STUFF IT UP YOUR ARSE, MATEY.

Over and out.

Mercedes G Wagon is Wicked-Ass

In the news today:
http://www.cbc.ca/story/world/national/2005/12/12/afghan_cda051212.html

It reminded me of a super dope looking Merc. I saw in Japan. It was this huge boxy suv, which really stood-out in the maze of compacts and super-mini vans over there (does anyone else know about these crazy vans?) And anyway it turns out that it's the same car, fitted for military use. It's called the Gelandewagon (german for cross country/offroad/all terrain/sport utility vehicle) and is also known as the G500. It is woooooord. So i got some pics. Please note that the army ones we have in Afganistan have huge guns ontop. Take that, terror! Take that, Hummer! Take it away photographic content!

























Prety cool? Ya, I know. But it reminds me of another of my favourite cars. The BMW 1 series.





























Word to BMW, word to Merc. Word to your mother!

Update and many languages goodbye. And a bonus picture!

So,

After a long and painful (for you) absence from this blog I have returned. Some things are different and some are not. That's just the way it is, doodle ooo doole ooo doodle ooo, some things will never change.

In January I'm moving to Nanaimo to go to Malaspina University in order to finish my BA in English. I will stay in a dorm. Word, I am excited and it will go well. Here is a picture of my future residence on a beautiful clear day.






Splended!

Also, I'm buying a saxophone probably. I made on offer on a 1926 Selmer Model 26 Alto (silver plated and bad ass). I am stoked. Aaaaaaaaaand I think that's it. I also recently broke-up with my girlfriend Tomoko. That was sad. Life is a cruel bitch, but only for some people. Indeed.

So I hope to use my blog more frequently now, especially since I'm moving away from home, I will use it as a way of letting my friends in Victoria know that I am, indeeeeeed, still alive (knock on wood). And so I bid you adieu, salut, mata atode, aloha, auf wiedersehen, and goodnight - until next time!



















This is the bonus picture. WORD TO SUNTORY MALTS!

The rebirth

Hi,

I'm going to start posting on my blog again. You have been warned. I will also give it a fresh apearance. Word out!

Good Customer Service?

Chigidy check it.

I was at Tim Hortons (THE Canadian coffee and doughnut chain) yesterday with my buddy Josh.

Canada! Fuck ya! So lick my butt and
suck on my balls!

We went through the drive through and I got a double-double and a cinnamon-raisen bagel toasted with cream cheese. Word, how delicious. It was hard-core busy becuase it was 12:30 (that's aroud when people eat lunch in Canada) and when I recieved my goods I was dissapointed to find that my bagel was not, in fact, cream cheese-laden as I had requested! What a disgrace! My friend pulled-into a parking spot and I walked into the restaurant. HOLY MOLY it was crowded. So I walked over to the sandwich prep area and there were four girls there talking and making shit. So one asked what I was waiting for and I showed her my bagel and said I'd ordered cream cheese. Her options at this point were:

1. Tell me she was too busy
2. Make love with me
3. Remove her shoes
4. Remove her shoes and socks
5. Remove her socks only
6. Fix my bagel
7. Fix my bagel and say she's sorry and GIVE ME A GOD DAMNED $2 GIFT CERTIFICATE FOR MY FUCKING TROUBLE

Now, around option #5 I realised that her options were, in fact, limited only by her imagination and physical strength. So for the sake of simplicity I limited the list. Anyway... she picked the granddady OPTION SEVEN! WOOOORD! So I got my cream cheese, I got the pretty (for once) girl at Timmy's to be nice to me, and I got a gift certificate. In the middle of the luch rush! Superrrrrrrrrr DUPER! So that was cool.

This was a case of good customer service and insuring a repeat visit. Compare and contrast the author's experence with your own. What was your wordest customer service experience?

Let me know. BEGIN!

It doesn't count as being gay if you're on top.

OMGWTFLOL

I haven't opsetd in a while. Friday my dad's friend from university, Andy, and his girlfriend came down from Courtney for the night. We drank and jammed ( I didn't know Andy played harpoon, but now I do) and danced. I busted two guitar strings in my booze-induced blues rampage, and the awesome jug-band record kept skipping because we were raging in the dacefloor too hard. But, more importantly... after the party at my house, Andy and his gf and I went downtown to a club called Temple. It was pretty cool, but we just went there to pick-up Andy's gf's daughter Bronwyn ( who was super duper cool).

So anyways, who should we meet at the dooron our way-out but MR. TOM JONES! Brika-wow! Before I made it to the entrance, Tom Jones stopped Andy because he thought he knew him. He didn't, but they intruduced themselves and then I came around the corner and Andy was like "this is my friend Kyle," to which I replied

"hi, nice to meet you." I thought it looked like him, but I wasn't 100% sure because he had a wierd beard. Then he went into this other room and closed the door. So I was like "was that Tom Jones?" They said it was and I was like "shit, too bad he went into that private room."

"That's the men's room," Andy's gf said.

"Oh, sweet! I have to pee!" So I went in there and sure enough, there was mr Jones at the urinal and so I went and took a pee beside him. Actually, I didn't really have to pee and I was nervous, so I just whipped it out and pretended. I looked at his pee and I tried to see his penis. His pee was yellow, but his penis was obscured by his hands. Too bad. "How fo you like it here? Have you been to Victoria before?"

"Oh, it's nice here, but I haven't been in about five years, mate," Tom said.

"Oh ya, right on." And then I washed my hands and left. Then we went to Irish Times (another pub near there) and drank a bit more and dances (Ivon Hernandez was playing) and then we went home. Brika-wow.

I have to pee, pussy cat.

This was, as you may imagine, a very life changing experience. Or at the very least, thought provoking.

One thought it proveked was, given the distinclty yellow colout of Tom's pee, is he getting enough water?

Another was, if Elton John was in town would I sleep with him? If so, would we fuck or just sleep? Would I let him cuddle me afterwards? Would I keep it simply to hand-touching? Glancing genital caresses? I don't know.

Over the barrel!

I am not very gay, but Elton John is my favourite musician so perhaps I owe it to him to warm his bed a little. Discuss!

Over and out.