It’s like a scene out of a movie: A big downtown firm is interviewing candidates for a top sales position. It’s been a long and draining day full of dull questions and even duller responses. The fat cats are getting ready to call it a day, when suddenly they hear a knock on the door.
“Gentlemen, I’m here about the new position. I think I may just be the man you’ve been looking for!”
“Sorry. We’ve finished interviewing people, you can pass your resume on to Jenny out front and she’ll contact you when we have another opening.”
THHUUDDDD!
The door topples onto the floor like a giant domino, and in it’s wake a man stands tall, Royce Leather briefcase in hand, dressed to his neck in Brooks Brothers, his left foot embedded deep within the oak hardwood.
Some unexpected violence and conflict broke out at the Toronto D20 Conference between stalwart adventurers and a dungeon master (DM) whose actions have been described by attendees as “power-mad” and “utterly unrealistic”.
The D20 Conference is an annual event held between the world’s highest-leveled Dungeons & Dragons characters, and a magnet of media interest in the often-clandestine world of fantasy power playing. The characters and their roleplayers convene in an agreed-upon location that must be properly supplied by the host. Ringolos, Orange Crush and progressive rock (or, alternately, fantasy film soundtracks complete with incidental cues) must be provided, and the venue must be secured from possible intrusions such as doting mothers and sunlight. However, problems with the Toronto venue plagued this years conference to the point of calamity. [Read more →]
I am a middle-aged, second-generation immigrant to your land looking to find an honest day’s work for an honest day’s wage. I am an extremely sturdy worker, whose size betrays a strong, working-class back/ethic. I should add that when I work, I do not wear a shirt. Instead, I prefer to wear trousers held up buy a set of high-duty suspenders. I also do not wear CSA approved steel toe safety boots, but rather a pair of dirty tennis shoes I’ve owned since 1982. I do not carry a wallet.
The following are some manual labour jobs for which I am well suited… [Read more →]
Why do we drink light lime beer? You’re actually asking us why we purchase, transport, drink and enjoy light lime beers? Why we, as self-respecting, subculturally-savvy twentysomethings, are unsarcastically swigging Miller Chill and Bud Light Lime? Because they’re delicious, because we’re mortal, and because we’re through letting questions like that be answered for us.
We’re putting our quarter-life crises behind us, and getting ready for our third-life crises. We’re long enough out of school and far enough from a real job that our parents just tell our grandparents that we’re “doing fine” in the city we’re in. Time was, all our free time was party time. We’ve still got the free time – we just don’t really party. We’re learning about food allergies instead. We wouldn’t know where to get pot if we tried. We haven’t seen shrooms since that guy with the stupid jacket went to do his master’s at Queen’s. We’re completely out of the mind-blowing loop. But we’ve got a hookup for Miller Chill. We’ve got a hookup for Bud Light Lime. [Read more →]
Collected from a series of e-mails sent by Ed, John, and Lee.
What's he building in there?
Edward Petrenko to me, Lee
Ray Stevens can’t have a desk because Ray Stevens has managed to accidentally burn down every house he’s owned since 1964 because he keeps trying to light a grill in a carpeted rumpus room.
John Semley to Edward, Lee
False. Ray Stevens lives in a modest hovel below America’s biggest ball of mud off Highway 66 en route to San Antone.
Edward Petrenko to me, Lee
Ray Stevens is still trying to buy back his childhood shed after accidentally losing all his money to a man claiming to be a genie during the Jordanian leg of his Ahab the Arab tour. [Read more →]
John here. I know, I know. I haven’t uploaded one of these in a while. Sue me! But if you saw the last one, then you know how things with my Cera Cast co-host and lifelong friend Matt went, while, a little south, let’s say. Anyways, I moved back into my folks’ garage, and I’ve been Cera Casting religiously, but just haven’t had a chance to upload ‘em (‘net connection back here is spotty & too lazy to go to library). Anyways guys, did a special one Monday nite in honour of Michael Cera’s big 2-2 and thought I’d share it. Make sure to watch the whole thing as it features a very special guest….
….Michael Cera!
This one is brought to you by Miller Chilled, the light lime taste of summer that is better than Bud Lite Lime.
With the reverberations are still being felt from last month’s Michael Cera scandal, a new study threatens to demolish what is left of Michael Cera’s nice-guy credibility. The study, released yesterday, claims that famed nice-seeming so-and-so Michael Cera is, in actuality, not as unassuming as the characters he traditionally plays. Naturally, these allegations have set off a firestorm of debate that threatens to upset Cera Week celebrations at their very apogee, after an uneasy beginning in the wake of multiple Cera scandals. [Read more →]
In case you’re out of the loop, it’s a puh-retty big day in comedy. That’s right, Michael Cera turns 22 today. Now, we know, 22’s no big deal. Being the scrappy Ontario kid that he is, it’s the big one-niner that allowed Michael to snag his first legal drink. And at eighteen the C-Man could hit strip clubs and buy scratch tickets. As 21-year-old, Michael was able to buy brown pops and bourbon in his adopted homeland, Hollywood, as recently as yesterday. But 22 is almost more meaningful. Lacking any major milestone, 22 means that Cera has arrived. That he’s here and his inexhaustible sprit is here to stay. Forever. For good. [Read more →]
Senator Benedict McLincoln feared communist influence so much that he remained incognito, in hiding, and virtually inaccessible for the duration of his single senatorial term, from 1950 to 1952. Believing the majority of American politicians to be under the sway of Soviet hypno-rays, he almost never attended senate hearings or sessions. Believing the majority of cars to be propelled by “teams of eight to twelve communists, hunched under the hood, running in unison, always turning left towards Moscow,” he rarely exited his house, the political orientation of which he was relatively uncertain. [Read more →]
In this whirlywoo world of social networking, blogging, vlogging, Facebooking, Googly mapping, tweeting, twittering, twitting, twatting, and twanging, the role of the critic has been thrown into question. Why, the argument goes, should one bother reading 400 whole words from a film critic like Roger Ebert when that same one can get a nifty 140-character review in literally seconds? As media outlets continue to downsize, those few writers who can eke out a living as critics are asked to do twice as much work for half the money. But against all odds, one critic has managed to harness the possibilities of Internet to serve his critical impulses. [Read more →]
