Inventing a new world

Inventing new things is easy, all you need to do is take two unrelated things and combine them. For example, dinosaur + helicopter = dinocopter. It would be completely useless but I am sure that would not stop some chump from investing their life savings on it and hitting up the Dragons’ Den. Inventing useful things are where the money is, however that takes far more time and effort than I am willing to devote. Luckily for you, my court appointed community service forces encourages me to make charitable donations so I am willing to part with potentially the most important innovation since Corn Flakes. In a strange coincidence, my idea was also an accident and will probably lower your sex drive if you think about it too much.


The Dinocopter in all its underwear biting glory.

Hey, we are over here now. Seriously, the dinocopter is almost as lame of a joke as Dr. Rofloctopus. FYI, Dr. Rofloctopus is a lamer joke so you really should not have snickered. Focus people, there is a money earning idea coming your way. Not just any money earning idea either, so forget about your failed lemonade stand (you needed more sugar) and your forgotten children’s education boardgame (it’s spelt board not bored so get that learning out of there). This idea is going to blow your mind because solves massive global problems. What global problems? How about raw material shortages and lack of clean energy for starters. That is not just my opinion either, it is science fact.


Dr. Rofloctopus was never good at delivering bad news.

So what is this brilliant idea? Spiders. No, really. I am sitting in my basement, which I think I should rename to “Spiders’ Den” because there are far more of them than me. I am including my ego in this calculation so you can gather there are quite a few spiders. The thing is, spiders are presumably living creatures that need food and energy to live and make webs. However, there is no possible way that there is enough food lying around for them to eat. Seriously, I barely have enough food to keep myself alive let alone a legion of eight legged creatures. I can only draw two conclusions from this; they either drink my blood when I sleep or they don’t need food to function. Since I don’t like the idea of spiders crawling all over me while I sleep, I’m going to assume it is the latter. And thus, the brilliant idea, spiders can be the workforce of the future. Never tiring, always working, these tiny creatures will build our future in ways that only robot apocalyptic visionists could ever imagine. With the help of our friend the arachnid, we can turn the world wide web into a real world wide web.


What could possibly go wrong?

I, for one, support our new arachnid overlords.

Your pal,


Free Parking

The sheer ridiculousness of the world never ceases to amaze me. I was reminded of this when I passed by an A-Team style van that was painted gold with a gold canoe strapped to its roof. You know, because nothing says outdoorsy and natural like golden jewellry. But then who knows, maybe those are stock colours.

Then there is all the fun that comes with high school graduation time. Television has trained us that high school graduation is the pinnacle of our existince (unless you are a 15 year old girl, in which your upcoming birthday is that pinnacle). Naturally this leads kids to do expensive things that are great for our amusement. Like taking an SUV limo to a sketchy bingo hall. Or living out your childhood fantasy by renting a white pumpkin carriage. I guess I just can’t identify with people who try to escape their lives because my life is just so darn awesome.

All of these things could not have prepared me for what I saw last night; Monopoly Shoes. Yes, Reebok joined forces with Monopoly to make an entire line of shoes with various familiar game pieces. I wish I had only seen these shoes in a store, but no, some kid was wearing them out clubbing. I just can’t understand how someone though boardgame shoes would be a good idea. The scary thing is that since they sold at least one pair, maybe it was.I guess if we see some 40 year old guys walking around in Candyland shoes, we’ll know the apocalypse is on its way.

Your pal,

The Spam Post

Nothing says lazy topic like “Hey, let’s read some spam headlines from my inbox!”. It’s the blog equivalent of the time travel episode of your favourite TV series. Sure, the show may act like it is totally grounded in reality, but even Boy Meets World came up with a zany situation to toss their beloved characters into an entirely new setting. The irony (take that literary world!) is that most of these time travelling stories just use it to paint the same plot lines in a different coat instead of putting on a snazzy new pair of suspenders. I would go on about lame plot devices, such as everyone’s favourite, the dream sequence, but I’m all about lazy today.

Today we will take a look at the tiny snippet of spam messages that I can read from my spam folder. Sure I could open some for the entire message, but remember, I’m lazy.

  • Decent watches at prices you could only dream of. – A watch can tell a lot about a person wearing it. News flash, if you are wearing a watch you are a person who cares about time! Then there’s the people who do not dream about getting free watches, but really good deals on watches. “Hey Tom! I totally managed to buy this legit Timex watch for only $25! I saved $10 off the list price!”
  • Finally Get thePenis You Have Been Waiting For: 3-4 InchesGrowth in a Matter… zkvxg xjn  First off, I don’t know what you’ve heard but I have NOT been waiting for thePenis. Second, I’m a little frightened that the 3-4 inches of growth happened so rapidly that thePenis plopped out onto that guy’s keyboard.
  • Land every chick you like easily! Gain the full control over your drilling machine  If the ladies love jackhammers, just wait until they see my wheelbarrow! Wait, is this some sort of euphemism?
  • Support your custard launcher – Best manure for pork stalk  I’m not so sure I want poop on my penis, but I definitely know I’m not going to buy said poop online.
  • Check if nobody looks here  This was sent to me by “me”. Either I went on a crazy existential trip or I just plain don’t make sense.
  • Wait, wait, said the frog – Mr Quangle Wangle, grant us that http://ipaddress/bh.html muddiness  The inventiveness of children’s authors in today’s world never ceases to amaze me. Just when you thought URLs could only be used as nouns, BAM! There’s an adjective, you goofball!
  • Cheers – shay quail ax old? psalm empty civil. leap duff wrap scan. nexus unfit tenth empty. I’m pretty sure those are all English words. I’m also pretty sure the only combination that works is “tenth empty”. Even then you’d need to speak like a tool to fit that in a sentence.

Well kids, that ends my phoned in entry. Tune in next week and we’ll have a Brand New Episode! Or maybe just a clips show…

Your pal,


The slightly better than good Outdoors

I love living in the greatest and best country in the world. You can assume I live in the same country as you to make yourself fell better if you are unsure of where I live. If you were half as smart as a chimp, you would be able to figure it out by the very obvious clues of beer and hockey. No, I don’t live in Barbados, they like sailing and mohitos.

One of my favourite things about Canada is that regardless of where you live, except maybe Toronto but they aren’t really Canadians anyway, you are always close to nature. I’m no mumbo jumbo homeopathic spiritual leader or anything, at least not on weekdays, but it’s a very cleansing experience to just drive away from the city. Not that I have a soul to cleanse. Well, I “have” a soul, but sold it away ala Simpsons.

It’s also fun going from the calm, soothing, clean feeling of nature to the dirty, sketchy, uninviting feeling of the Burger King/Tim Hortons parking lot. You know it’s a bad sign when a place that is open 24 hours a day has plywood up for a window. For those of you keeping track, this was not a combined restaurant, just side by side eateries.

Now I may poke fun, but I love Tim Hortons. Sure their soups are too salty, their sandwiches too saucy, and their…well that’s about all I don’t like about them. Cheap coffee, long hours, and the familiarity of each location more than make up for that. Tim, you can address that cheque to “Steve, of Steveblog fame”; banks know me well, thanks to the truckloads of money I drop off every two weeks. (Editor’s note: He means moderate amount of money electronically transferred thanks to his day job).

Take off, eh!

Your pal,

Mr. Steve-o The Psychic

There’s this new craze sweeping across the television landscape. You may not have heard about because it’s a new trend. Heck, I had not even heard about it until a few months ago and I write for TV. None of my scripts ever get accepted (and rarely acknowledged at that) but that should make me more or less a television guru.

This new trend is a little something called “reality television”. It’s brilliant really. You take a bunch of regular-ish people and pit them in an extended competition. Sort of like American Gladiators on steroids… which may actually have been the pitch for American Gladiators. I guess that would make these shows more like the Jeopardy Tournament of Champions, only replace knowledge with highly specialized talents like singing, modeling, and dating. It is from these shows that I realized I too have a highly specialized talent; I’m psychic.

Yes, I am currently 3* for 3 in my predictions of the winners of The Bachelor, America’s Next Top Model, and American Idol. My pick for The Bachelor gets an star because I picked the girl that ended up usurping the fickle heart of the dude after the end of the season. I guess either pick in that case could be correct but I’m not the guy who proposed to one chick before dumping her for the other. (Ed. note: At least not on TV).

The next pick was a bit more of a crap shoot, but I went with with Wind Blown girl over Peanut Butter Mouth and Plain Vanilla. She almost let me down with a bad competition near the end but the modelling gods (Tyra?) prevailed. Speaking of Tyra Banks, I will never forget the time we shared a sunset tea on the coast of Madagascar. Or maybe that was the cold, drunken night I spent lying in a puddle with a mangy rat. I get confused sometimes. I’m not trying to imply Tyra is comparable to a mangy rat, you’re just jumping to conclusions because your simple mind can’t handle juxtaposition. That would be an awesome Scrabble word. You add the juxta to position, dummy.

Finally, we reach American Idol. An epic battle between Emo and Plain Vanilla. Yes, I’m so talented I came up with the same nickname for two different people within the span of a few weeks. Anyway, it was pretty obvious that the soccer moms of the world prefer vanilla over strawberry. Needless to say I was not surprised when Jolly Ol’ Pip brought out the verdict.

What I have learned from these recent events is that I too need a reality show. In fact, I should just send a portion of my memoirs to Fox as a pilot for the show. My life story is basically a combination of the best parts of 24, House, and <insert third most popular non-animated Fox series that will end up cancelled by next season>.

Your Pal,


The demon barber of butcher street

Most people hate the dentist. Well, maybe not the actual dentist but more the whole dentist experience. You would think I would be one of those, with my irrational fear of losing teeth, but obviously I’m not otherwise I wouldn’t have lead in with the whole “hating dentists thing”. I actually enjoy going to the dentist. Their chair is pretty much the most comfortable chair I have ever sat in. So much so that I have almost fallen asleep several times while the hygenist jabbed away at my mouth with their assortment of fun happy rainbow tools. It probably has something to do with the 17 years (actually about 3) years I had braces. The orthadontist appointments were no where near as pleasant.

Teeth are boring though, so I won’t ramble on anymore about them. What I really wanted to talk about was hair. Hair is much less boring than teeth. I’d say it is about 6 times more popular (using the number of different colours available for colouring). Not only is hair more popular, but people go out of their way to schedule frequent hair “sytling” appointments. Personally, I hate going to the barber. I pay for pretty much one haircut a year and I still don’t like it. The barber to me is like the dentist to most people. Forcibly socializing with people who akwardly shove your head around while wielding sharpened death tools is not my idea of fun. Thankfully I found one barber who is pretty good; me.

In fact, I’m so good at cutting my hair that I was thinking of setting up a secondary career. I am going to open Steve’s Barber Shoppe. It’s going to be pretty much the best barber shop every (for people named Steve… Who are me). So for all you people who are not me, you are out of luck.

Also, what’s the deal with (random word)? It’s like, can people get enough of (random word)? Seriously. I was at the grocery store, just minding my own business when this guy beihind me was all liike “do you PVR sci-fi shows?” It’s not just some gut either, it’s some 40 year old guy who probably doesn’t get out much, not that there’s anything wrong with that. He actually downloads so many shows that he ripped apart his box to jam in a bigger hard drive. He seemed like a nice enough guy. We got ice cream and went back to his place and watched sci-fi shows and fingerpainted.

Your pal,

My Life: The Movie

Sometimes, it’s like my life feels like a bad Stephen Baldwin movie (the bad part is given). Specifically, it’s like Dead Awake. Baldwin plays a brilliant advertising executive, naturally, who wanders the streets all night and sleeps all day at work. He constantly talks about his life being weird because he doesn’t sleep. Obviously he did get plenty of sleep, but that’s ignored. The main conflict in the movie kicks off when he witnesses a murder, except he isn’t sure he didn’t just halucinate it. I had one of those moments today.

I woke up on the couch at 1:30am on the couch after falling asleep watching hockey. I then slept a few hours before getting up at my usual time just after 6am. We’ll just pretend that means I never sleep. I get on the bus, which is usually a pretty tame ride full of sleepy students and industrious adults. I sit down and start listening to my music and that’s when I notice it. There’s singing that isn’t part of my music. Now, buses are generally known for crazy people doing strange things but in this case it was the driver singing. Granted, he was a good singer; you could tell he had been classically trained. Each stop he would pause his singing to let some passengers on, then he’d pick up where he left off when the bus started moving again. The pinnacle of this strange experience was the single passenger who clapped loudly at the completion of one of his songs.

I half think I dreamed the whole thing. It was just too bizarre seeing a lone bus rider, half way to the back clapping vigorously for the song sung by a classicly trained bus driver. Come to think of it, I don’t think I could dream something that odd. I may have dreamed about The Count from Sesame Street making a murderous dragon out of origami, but I this would never have crossed my mind.

In case you are reading, Stephen Baldwin, I am not claiming you are a bad actor. I think you’re a pretty cool guy. In fact, I would cast you in the movie of my life made only with actors named Steve, Steven, Stephen, and Stephanie… Maybe Stefan too. I’m not sure you’d be the best to play me, although it could be like that Bob Dylan movie where a bunch of people play the lead. If I went that way, I could have you, Steve Buscemi, Steven Dorff, and clips of Steve McQueen play me. Now that would be a movie I’d totally watch.

Your pal,

The Truth Hurts

What is truth? Can you touch it? Can you see it? Are we truth? Is truth truth? Seriously folks, this is an important issue that has been plaguing talentless hacks since the dawn of mooching off their parents. Before you get your panties (or scented g-strings) in a bind, yes, I took a philosophy course in university, so I’m pretty much an expert on the subject. I’m not really concerned with the overall concept of truth or knowledge or any of that other jazz; no, I’m concern with a more clear cut truth. What is the true Bob Loblaw Law Blog? Is it The Bob Loblaw Law Blog? Robert Loblaw’s blog about law? Or is it

Yeah I know, 2004 called and they want their partially functional, yet still entertainingly awesome, Dick Clark back. Still, just because something happened in the past doesn’t mean it isn’t worth talking about now. That’s why there are still arguments over the best Playboy Playmate ever (I’m partial to Miss May 1967). The point is that I wanted to link to the Bob Loblaw Law Blog and my two main choices were someone who pinched the name and put it one some popular blog site or some guy with a conveniently appropriate name writing about actual law topics (albeit under a different blog name).

I guess when it comes down to it, I’m not really interested in other people’s non-celebrity blogs so neither is really link worthy. It is much better use of my time reading Bill Shatner’s blog. You may not think the text medium could truely capture his essence but it does remarkably well. And that is probably the most important truth of all.

Oh, and this is an Arrested Development reference, doofus, look it up.

Cocka! Cocka! Cocka!

Your pal,


Posty McPosterson the 3rd Esquire

Wow! Another Steveblog in less than a week! That has to be some sort of record. In fact, I think you all should get this record up on The Universal Record Database. Or not, you’re probably lazy like I am and will either forget about it or not care enough to create an account. That’s sort of how I was able to write two Steveblogs in two days. It’s because technically, I cheated. I actually wrote this blog yesterday (for me, it’s still today for you don’t worry) and set it up to publish tomorrow (that’s still today for you, but don’t worry, I understand what’s happening so you don’t need to). The best part is that I didn’t even need to write about anything in particular to fill a paragraph. It’s like high school English (for you) again! My high school English papers were actually filled with quite meaty penetrating intellectual subject matter.

…The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles would totally win a fight between them, excluding Splinter, and the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, American season one rangers. First of all, the Turtles are trained ninjas, not a bunch of pastel coloured ragamuffins taking tai kwan do after school. The Power Rangers may have their super powered spandex suits to help them out, but lets face it, the Turtles kill robots all the time. Why do I mention robots? It’s obvious that the Power Rangers suits are derived from a super advanced power armour that is also extremely lightweight and unrestricting. Seriously, what did you think, it was a magic suit? Get real..

That was just a quick excerpt from Grade 3 essay titled “The Supreme Awesomeness of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Or How I Learned to forget about Anchovies and Eat Pizza in the Sewer”. I’m pretty sure I got an F on that essay and had to stay after class. I’m pretty sure it was because my teacher was a closet Power Rangers fan and just couldn’t take the truth.

That also reminds me of another fond memory of elementary school. The same year that we had a project to make musical instruments, we also had an air band competition. Thankfully most kids left their homemade instrument at home, although my coffee can drum was outstandingly awesome. The competition itself was a pretty standard little kid competition, where the crowd is young enough to politely watch the entire act just to get out of class. In later years, they’d just skip. Getting back to the competition, my friend and I chose Weird Al’s ‘Fat’. This being the 80s, we put in the effort to make our own fat suits and come up with fat suit comedy choreography. When it came to show time, we nailed it. We nailed it so hard that it was worth almost worth getting kneed in the nuts at the fat belly bump finale. We nailed it so hard that we made old people cry (the good crying, not the painful awkward crying).

The judging rolled around and first prize went to a kid who did Phantom of the Opera. I can’t remember which song but he had a mask, a cape, and a cardboard boat, so he was pretty much unbeatable. For some reason we were given an honourary mention instead of second or third place. Our prize was a ribbon saying “Participant”. That was the day I learned what it felt like to be bitch slapped and I vowed from them on never to be bitch slapped again! (editor’s note: Steve failed at that vow)

Come to think of it, my elementary days were all about screwing me over. Thanks a lot for bringing up those horrible memories, you jerks.

Your pal,


The Ark

Liveblogging is all the rage on a bunch of those fancy established blogs that write about events that are important to them. Things like the American election, the Oscars, the last episode of Battlestar Galactica, and to a lesser extent, the Miss America pagent. Since none of those events are important to me, except maybe the Miss America pagent (Miss Kentucky was robbed!), I have chosen to “live-ish” blog about an important event in my life. I say live-ish because I am writing about while still experiencing it. That event is; eating a McArk.


Artist’s rendition of the McArk.

Scientists may not be entirely in agreement on what constitutes a McArk, but one thing is for certain, it is not an experience for the faint of stomach. I went with the Bacon Cheeseburger, McChicken (or MacPoulet for coolness), and a Filet au Fish. Each bite of the McArk is a strange experience. Some bites are dominated by a single meat, while others are like the taste equivalent of brown. For you special students, brown is basically the colour you get when you mix all the paints together trying to make super-aqua-rainbow. Sorry kids, but that colour only exists in your cracked out dreams.

I chose to toss everything into the McChicken bun, which left the fish and cheeseburger buns for dessert. I don’t know what they put on that fish bun, but I’m pretty sure it was just butter with a skin around it. I’m also pretty sure that’s what nearly made me puke. Well, not nearly puke, nearly get a puke reflex. Nearly puking is puking in your mouth then disposing of it without violent spewing (ie by swallowing or gingerly spitting into a cup). Thankfully I kept the wonderful blend of unnatural goodness bubbling away in my belly.

In hindsight, a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and bacon would have made for a better burger. Even still, it was a surprisingly good burger. So what does the future hold for burger technology? I don’t know, but I can tell you burger technicians are hard at work developing the next super burger for the restaurant of the future! The restaurant of the future is Taco Bell in case you are scoring at home.

Your Pal,