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Once upon a time, not long ago, and not far away, there lived a teenager who was forced to live on the street without the benefit of a Visa gold card, warm bed, weekly allowance, nutritious breakfast or a good night kiss. Read more »
I’m here to bitch and moan about Christmas, but it’s not the actual holiday I dislike. It’s the mental frenzy of shoppers I encounter upon leaving my home to go anyplace where products are sold. It could be the LCBO, it could be the mall, it could even be the “Everything For A Dollar” store. There’s never a shortage of pushy housewives, screaming children, annoying teen mallrats, and bitchy power-shoppers. It’s sad that a wonderful holiday such as Christmas must cause me so much stress because of these freaks. You can try to blame it on the stores displaying their festive wares far too early, the Christmas tunes piped into every speaker system in the country, or the polar bear Coca-Cola commercials on TV. But the truth is that it’s not the fault of any of those things. Marketing and advertising have been around forever. The cause of this mayhem is really just the consumer. If consumers didn’t get so bent out of shape at the thought, “Oh My GOD It’s Almost Christmas”, we wouldn’t be in this sorry state of affairs every fall. Is it really going to enrich your fathers’ life if you give him that 42″ plasma flat panel TV? Commercials say it will. People are just corporate whores. Everyone needs to relax. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t find that FUBU sweater in an XXL for your overweight nephew. Nor is the sky going to fall if you cannot fathom spending $25 on a coffee mug simply because it says “slut” on it for your sister (because its SO her). I just don’t understand. Maybe I’m so bitter and cynical about it because I’m poor and cannot afford to buy my loved ones whatever their little hearts desire. That could be it, but I really don’t think so. Read more »
Yeah, it’s November and you’re still in denial, but let’s face it. You’re freezing and don’t want to admit it, right?
Yeah, I know how it goes. Halloween comes and it’s all good and then you’re standing there at the end of the night at the bottom of the last driveway watching your kids drag pillow cases full of junk food heaven the likes of which can only be properly appreciated by you the next night during the Leaf game, and right about then it hits you.
You’re freezing your nuts off.
Okay, so I live in Toronto where, arguably, you can sometimes get through the entire winter without having to even change out of your Nikes, because it’s possible to go from the underground parking garage of your condo straight through the drive-thru ATM and Tim Horton’s to the underground parking of your office, but still. In Canada? It’s the yearly dilemma.
Disclaimer: We at Bacon Magazine do not condone under-age drinking, but we will describe the facts of it being a necessary evil so you don’t grow up being a sissy pansy boy!
Have you ever noticed that the older you get, the less you are able to drink? You’re always reliving your glory days back in college when you and 3 of your buddies drank those 6 Two-Fours yourself?
Have you also notice that some people couldn’t handle their booze as well as you can? Even though they try to keep with you, they just puke it out everywhere?
Well, scientists here at Bacon Magazine have spent 10’s of 20’s of dollars researching this, and have come up with an interesting theory about alcohol tolerance.
You’re casually perusing the latest game system, perhaps weighing the options of plasma vs. tube, when it happens…
You look around, take in your surroundings, and there it is…snowflake motif price markers, white faux snow liberally strewn around displays dominated by enormous snowmen, and the reality hits you: You’ve been ‘dating’ her for a month: She says ‘relationship’, you say ‘friends with benefits’.
But its now November and December is bearing down on you faster than Schumacher on a straight-away. What to do, what to do?
Congratulations, Big Boy. You’ve just proudly completed the proverbial ‘walk of shame’. Yes, you’ve done it; sat in the back of that cab reeking of your drunken lay. You’ve trundled past your landlord, wrapped in the rumpled remnants of last nights romp and now, here you are: proudly lounging in your bachelor’s bed like Hugh Heffner. Feeling good, aren’t you? You probably think you rocked her world. You may even consider yourself Da’ Man.
Here’s the cold, hard truth: You probably didn’t, you probably aren’t… and she is going to tell her friends ALL the details.
Yes, it’s true.
She is going to talk about it.
Have a simple “Leave a message at the beep” or just tired of those pre-made celebrity messages? Try out one of these for your answering machine and be the envy of all your friends!! Mwahaha! Finally I can show up Brent, and Jessica will be mine!! MINE!!!
1. My wife and I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you’ll leave your name and number, we’ll get back to you as soon as we’re finished.
2. Hello, you are talking to a machine. I am capable of receiving messages. My owners do not need siding, windows or a hot tub, and their carpets are clean. They give to charity at the office and don’t need their picture taken. If you’re still with me, leave your name and home phone number and they will get back to you.
3. This is not an answering machine - this is a telepathic thought-recording device. After the tone, think about your name, your number, and your reason for calling…. and I’ll think about returning your call.
Boys. Ever been at the mall trying to figure out what to buy for your girlfriend/wife/mistress? It’s a common scenario - clueless looking man staring at merchandise, almost always getting suckered into buying some useless piece of crap that will end up in a bonfire or a shoe box of her “memories”.
Avoid this and give her something she’ll never forget! Something other than the unforgettable ride of her life that she receives each weekend when your hammered ass falls into the door.
One: Gift Certificates (or more commonly known in these parts as Gift Cards). It does not take a degree in anthropology to know that women get off on shopping. This way, you leave it up to her, and she can rush over to the mall to buy whatever she wants…leaving you at home to not deal with her. You both win.
You got something to say? Are you constantly being told you are full of crap? Are you a rambling idiot?
If so, why not put your words down on paper and not get paid for them? Bacon Magazine is pleased to announce that we are now accepting submissions from freelance writers. This is a great opportunity for you to build your portfolio AND get your material published. Bacon Magazine has a built-in audience of 100,000 suckers who’ll read pretty much anything we publish. So send us your writing! We’re looking for humour, Canadiana, and pretty much whatever other kooky crap you come up with. Send it in, and we’ll decide whether or not you really are the village idiot!
Hockey, the greatest game on Earth. A fast paced game of action. The toughest and roughest men are often put to shame on the ice. You can’t get much more Canadian than a game of hockey. Which is exactly why Phallic Guy decided that he’d talk about hockey this month.
“Hockey, a game in which the goal is to score. Who doesn’t like the sound of that? I’ve dedicated my life to that very pursuit. In hockey there is a guy called a goalie who’s job is to try and keep you from scoring. In my experience, the one who is always trying to keep me from scoring is the woman, but I haven’t tried everything…”
“Am I the only one who spends time watching hockey as a precurser to a good romp? These guys spend the entire game with their sticks in their hands, and only occasionally get to shoot. That’s tough. It’s an exciting, sweaty, fast paced game that leaves you breathless. Sound familiar?”
“It is important in hockey to wear protective equipment, again this applies to many things… They don’t call me Phallic Guy for no reason.”
“Any game in which an announcer will yell out, ‘he’s really using his body’ is almost too much for me to handle. The only thing I won’t get into is playing during the first period…”