Tchachkes

Mel Gibson has finally gone off the deep-end...we should have seen the Signs

In a clear sign that not all new technology is good technology...the crapper at work is of the automatic flush variety. The problem is that the sensor is so sensitive that every time you shift your ass it flushes. For a person like myself, for whom using a public washroom is as desirable as ripping out my toenails with a pair of rusted pliers, this lack of subtlety is troubling. Lean over to grab a square....... flushhhhhhhhhhhhh. Bend to pick your pants off the not-as-clean-as-it-should-be floor....flushhhhhhhhhhh. Sneeze....flushhhhhhhhhh. The average walker-by must think I've clogged up the toilet and good.

Bachelor party weekend summed up: boozing, gambling, strippers stripping. go-karts, golfing, greasy flying saucer. Strippers, gambling, boozing. I have come to the conclusion I'm a fan of bachelor parties. Any weekend that combines these 3 elements in varying amounts quite simply cannot be bad. It's like the equation for happiness.

Happy b-day to the Mad Russian. Your style on the slopes is unquestioned. As is your thirst for U2. Now you need to work on the golf swing. And perhaps a tennis lesson couldn't hurt. Here's to a great 27th year....nazdarovvya!