Victoria, the strange city... part three.

Victoria is a city of many strange sounds.  And many strange snippets of conversation.  In the last week, I've picked up on quite a few odd ones.  Just weird little fragments of discussions that I heard and remembered to record, for reasons of posterity.

  • (A discussion between two homeless men)  "Man, I can't wait until this recession ends."  "Yeah, it's really hard to get a decent buck when no one has any money in their pockets."  "...Totally". 
  • (A guy on the sidewalk in an Amnesty International Vest gets angry at a PETA recruiter "poaching" his territory)  "Listen, girl.  I was here first, you need to go somewhere else."  "You can't do that.  It's a free country.  I can do whatever I want."  "Yeah, well I can do whatever I want to, too.  And if you stay here, I'm going to eat your dog."  (lady walks off, but not before cursing - she called him a "loser", and he called her a "cunt".  It was quite entertaining to see the high and mighty left wingers nearly come to blows)
  • (Two guys in their early  twenties in an outdoor cafe) "Hey, you want to go out and grab a drink, watch the hockey game?"  "Nah, dude.  I can't.  I have a class in, like, an hour."  "Shit, dude."  "Yeah."  "Hey, wanna get high?" "Yeah, sure."
  • (A middle-aged couple are watching a guy perform songs on his acoustic guitar.  It is obvious these people are tourists) "I love this music.  It's so pretty."  "Yeah.  Why can't they release music like this where we're from?"  "I know.  I wonder if this guy sells CDs?  These songs could totally be hits."  "Mmhmm.  You're right, hun.  The music these days is just garbage..." (blah blah blah.  The best part?  The guy they were listening to was actually playing an acoustic version of Radiohead's "Karma Police" - and he wasn't hitting the high notes very well, either). 

Weekly Haiku #25 - Look at me, being all fancy-like

victoria spring:
thoughts blown astray in sea wind
rain drowns out winter


Okay.  No comic today, mostly because I'm so bleary-eyed that anything I produce will be almost as bad as the one I did last week.  Guh.  If I only I could make these strips at my weekend job, things would be peachy.

Instead, I'll leave you with a link.  And it is an awesome link.  Probably the awesomest link I've ever posted on an April 27th post! 

Yyyup.  Quite possibly.


Victoria, the strange city... part two

Victoria is a city of the arts.  We have a love for plays, indie film festivals, music festivals, indie bands, art shows, and street performers.  There is a guy that dresses up as Darth Vader and plays the fiddle on the streets.  There's also a guy that uses chalk to recreate famous paintings on the pavement.  There used to be a guy that played the drums and the diggeridoo at the same time, until he "made it big" and got signed to some weird street person recording label.

Even the people who don't make art their primary career like to see themselves as artists who just moonlight as accountants, scientists, or whatever.  In the last few months alone, I've worked with people who have written plays, hosted art shows ("I prefer painting abstract art"), and served as the lead singer in their "semi-professional" band.  And, of course, there is a certain person (who is awesome, I might add) that makes it a point to post a blog post almost every day.  

Last week, while walking down the street, I actually got to see one of those people that have actually made it big.  You know... "big".  The man in question?  This guy:

The man, if you don't recognize him, happens to be one of the two lead singers of a band known as the Barenaked Ladies.  Darlings of the Canadian Music Scene.  His name is Ed Robertson, and he is awesome.

And yours truly saw him last week, a few hours before the B.N.L. played a sold-out concert at the Memorial Arena.  What was Mr. Robertson doing?

Why, he was walking down the street in a toque with those weird bobbly things dangling down past his ears, listening to a song and singing along to it.  And I mean singing along - as in, normal singing voice.

He was also kind of dancing.  And strutting.  And snapping his fingers.  At one point, he grabbed a street light pole, and made to do a sort of Singing in the Rain twirly thing, and then thought better of it.  But only because the pole was about a foot in diameter. 

The best part?

No one on the street seemed to think it was weird.  Because we had all seen weirder.  After all, a block or so away, there was a guy juggling bowling pins reciting naughty limericks.  If a semi-celeb wanted to sing and strut, more power to him.

I love this city. 

Victoria, the strange city... part one.

Victoria is a very strange city.  and it's been a stranger week than usual.  I figured I'd illustrate just how bizarre my city is by relating a few of the odd scenes I've walked by over the past week, in a blog mini-series I'd like to call....

Victoria, the Strange City.

Yeah.  It's a lame title.  But when translated into Swahili, it rhymes.  And sounds really pretty.  Probably.


Last week, I'm walking along Douglas street, heading out to pick up the special lady.  I have my iPod on (the iPod being a great means to allow you ignore the homeless without appearing rude) when a rather scrungy guy approaches me and gestures for me to take the ear buds out.  Crap.

I pop them out, expecting his plea for money.  In fact, I'm already preparing my reason for why I'm going to say no ("I only use debit," is my go-to answer, which is actually true - mostly because if your pockets jingle in downtown Victoria, you'll never be left alone) when Scrungy surprises me.  "Excuse me... do you have any weed?"

It's an odd demand, but I shrug and say "uh, no.  Sorry."

"Oh.  Well, then.  Could you spare a penny for weed?"

"Uh, no, I only use deb-"

Scrungy cuts me off.  "Just, like, a penny?"

"Um, sorry... no."

He shrugs, and then walks alongside me as we cross the street.  It's a very awkward moment.  But it gets weirder.  Because Scrungy then approaches a guy sitting on the sidewalk that looks sort of like Ozzy Osbourne, a pallid hand leaning out for change.  Scrungy takes a quick look at Ozzy, and says "hey, buddy, could you spare some change?"

Yeah.  A homeless guy decided to beg from another homeless guy.  I was completely stunned.  Didn't this go against the Geneva Convention of the Homeless, passed several years back? 

OZzy was a little surprised, too.  He shook his head, and I could tell he kind of enjoyed being on this end of the situation for a change.

Scrungy just sighed sadly, and wandered off down the street. 

And then, to top the moment off, Ozzy spat on the road.  "Fucking beggars, man," he cursed, to no one in particular. 

Then he caught my eye and thrust out his hands.  "Hey, buddy, could you spare a dollar for weed?"

Film Friday: Whoa

To quote Keanu Reeves in every movie he's ever been in:


Some people have a lot of time on their hands.  And, really, this is a good thing.  I mean, seriously you guys.  Check that out! 

You Are Now Informed

On the whiteboard at the Cashline Office, written in green ink, is the following sentence:

"Irony of the Day: Our Plastic Recycling Bin is Non-Recyclable".

This made me laugh.

Then I realized that whoever wrote it must have checked our recycling bin to discover this.

Then I went over and checked out our recycling bin, and found out that the non-recyclable label was on the bottom.

This made me realize whoever wrote it had to have actually checked this out while working, because he was so bored.
Then I realized that I had actually just checked the recycling bin to verify the veracity of the statement, because I had nothing to do.

Then I updated my blog.

...You are now informed.

Weekly Haiku #24 - I actually wrote this at work

monday through friday
toil amid mad scumbags
weekends? fools, instead

Day As Night #16: Dating Advice

Another day, another comic. 

Happy Hitler's Birthday, everyone!

Music Mondays - An easy way to piss people off:

If you're like me, you occasionally (read as: always) have the urge to bug the people around you.  It might be to get a minor form of revenge, or maybe you're just bored, but you find yourself wanting to do nothing more than tweak the nose of the person you're talking to.

There's a very easy way to do this.  Simply ask them what type of music they're into, and then ask them what their favourite band is.  When they name the band, all you have to do is say one of two things: 

"Oh, no thanks, I'm not really into easy-listening music" (If the music is mainstream, regardless of category)


"Ah, no.  I don't listen to mainstream music"  (especially if the music isn't really mainstream). 

If you say it with the right tone of voice, you can literally see steam shoot out of your victim's ears.  Lots of fun.  Try it sometime!

Blame The Intern

Over the last few months, I've done far too many interviews. And they always ask the same lame-ass questions - "Where do you see yourself in five years?" "What's your worst quality as a worker?" and "Give me an example of a previous time where you rose to the occasion as a team leader".

And they don't really care about your answers, because you're just going to give roughly the same BS answer that everyone else gives. Yeah, in five years time, I can see myself saying "Hey, five years ago today I did that amazingly awesome interview that totally changed my life for the better, and wound up earning my company millions of dollars from hiring me!". My worst quality as a worker? I care too much. And you want a previous occasion as a team leader? Well, I was platoon leader in mutha-truckin' Nam, man. How's that?

One of these days - just once - I'd love to have an interview that asked questions that really got down to the root of who a person is. Imagine it. You'd have questions like "if you were on a boat filled with every hollywood celebrities, and the ship ran out of food and you were forced to eat one celebrity to survive, who would it be?" Or the always-awesome "When the zombie apocalypse inevitably strikes, what assets will you provide to our company so we can keep servicing our clients?" And there's always this gem: "Las Vegas business party. Dead Hooker. Discuss."
I really should be in charge of hiring people. It'd be friggin' awesome.

(Oh, and to answer my own questions: Jennifer Aniston, with the Olsen Twins as an appetizer; My mad McGuyver skills; and three words - Blame the Intern.)

A most dire of predicaments:

...hoo boy.  I'm going to get in trouble for this post, I'm sure of it.

See, I'm going to faithfully report on something that goes on every day.  Male readers will know and empathize with my trials on the matter, and may actually be glad that someone finally has the guts to stand up and address the issue.  Female readers, on the other hand, might look upon my views on this matter and throw their hands up in disgust.  Either that, or they'll just shake their head and sigh "...boys" in resignation.

Fifty-fifty, really.

Here's the problem - hot waittresses.  Allow me to explain.

Hot waittresses are great.  There is absolutely nothing wrong -at least in theory- with attractive waittresses, and I think I can get near 100% agreement on that issue.  The problem, howver, is this - restaurants are a social place, where you congregate with friends.  And girlfriends. 

I think you can see where this is headed. 

Now, I'm pretty fond of the special lady - eyes only for her, blahblahblah.  But the average male's brain is wired towards women in much the same way a dog's eye is wired towards motion - if you throw a ball near a dog, he will chase it.  The poor little bastard can't help it.  And, just like that dog, I can't help it when a cute blonde walks by in a low-cut dress.  Evolution has made me this way, and there's not a damned thing I can do about. 

I do my best, I really do.  I try to focus on the girlfriend, or keep my eyes centred on my plate.  But then some waittress will walk by, catch my eye, and smile at me.  Naturally, I'll shoot a glance her way... and then pray the girlfriend doesn't notice. 

Well, last week we were at Earl's (for the record, neither the Special Lady or I chose Earl's... the group we were with are apparently oblivious to the fact that Victoria has so many independent and better restaurants than some silly little chain) and I was doing my best "eyes on the plate and girlfriend" routine.  I was stressed out, knowing that any second I was going to break and start ogling.  The only defence I could think of was to stand up, shout "I plead the fifth!" and run out of the building crying.

And then I looked up, and caught the Special Lady checking out a male waiter's butt as he walked by.  I suppose I should have felt jealous.  Or offended.  Or something equally possessive.  But, nope.

All I could think was:  jackpot

It wound up being a good night, because I got to chase my ball with absolutely no guilt whatsoever.

Film Friday: Movie, or Film?

I clued into something a few weeks back - you can tell a lot about a person about the terminology they use to describe the mediums they enjoy.  There is a world of difference between a person who "loves movies" and a guy who "loves films".  Just as the people who "love music" are different from those who "listen to CDs", or the freaks such as myself who "love albums".  There are people who "love books", and people who "love literature".  And so on, and so forth - I hope you're getting my point.

But what is the difference between a movie and a film?  I think ultimately, we could argue that a "movie" is a film that the person who is talking didn't like all that much.  But then, in my mind, I'm not too sure - there are plenty of movies I absolutely adore:  the Back to the Future trilogy, Monsters Inc., Die Hard

For me, I think the difference is one of intent - if the piece exists primarily as a form of entertainment (and despite what the artistas will tell you, there's is absolutely nothing wrong with this), then we can describe it as a movie.  But if the movie tries to appeal on a broader emotional level, perhaps making a statement or changing the viewer, then it is a film. 

In other words, if you walk out of the theatre laughing and discussing some of the jokes you saw, or reliving the crazy car chase - but the conversation doesn't get much deeper than that - then you just saw a movie.  But if you leave that theatre somehow different - even slightly - then you may have just seen a film. 

If you walked out of the theatre confused, angry, and feeling slightly ripped off - you've just been Uwe Boll'd.  Sucks to be you.

Son of a Bitch....

Last weekend, I was walking home from the Cashline job. It was one of those beautiful spring days that pretty much capture everything that is awesome about Victoria - smiling tourists, lazy dogs sleeping on the doorstep of their owner's independent business, and well-dressed students sipping five dollar lattes and handing out flyers on random human rights violations. All in all, a great afternoon.

On the way, I walked by the military recruiting office, and scoffed at the pictures in the window as I went past. The first was this blown up photo of a navy woman, smiling beatifically as she looked over the prow of a massive warship. The whole image struck me as funny, because these photos are essentially a "what we're all about" sort of thing - an indication of self-image, as it were. And the fact that apparently the navy see themselves as a bunch of happy-go-lucky, smiling women struck me as funny.
Because I'm odd like that.
Next up was the army picture - this guy in bulky combat armour, with "Cool guy" shades coolly frowning over a desert landscape. Yyup. That pretty much sums up the army for me - a bunch of douches that liked pushing people around in high school, and want an excuse to keep on doing that once they graduated. I'm generalizing, of course, but I think it's fair to say that everybody in the Canadian Army is an absolute tool who likes to torture small animals. It's, like, fact.

Then I came across the Air Force photo. It's a well known fact that the Air Force attracts a huge number of nerds. And this makes perfect sense - most of the related occupations are highly technical in nature, there is less of a physical requirement, and to get in you require a lot of math, physics, and computer skills. And I laughed my butt off when I saw the picture of the air force guy. Because this guy is basically how the air force idealize themselves - and this guy was a dork!
Then I took a long look at the picture. Ginger hair. Blonde eyebrows. Pale skin. Glasses. Freckles. Rather small frame. Then, I looked at my reflection in the glass. Ginger hair. Blonde Eyebrows. Pale skin. Glasses. Freckles. Rather small frame.

"...Son of a bitch," I muttered to myself softly.  I didn't say anything else on the way home. 

Weekly Haiku #23 - The Pandora Street 7 am Rush

wino morning march
towards shelter, free breakfast
...hungry exodus

Weekly Haiku #22 - True Story on a Long Walk Home...

i kicked a pigeon
- accidentally, of course -
...he got in my way

Music Mondays - Jon and Roy

As I get older and a little less hectic and crazy, I'm finding my tastes are leaning more towards the soft and acoustic - as opposed to super high-energy songs.  Over the last six months, I've been listening to these lovely albums that have an obvious acoustic focus - the Beatles' White Album as opposed to Sgt. PepperLed Zeppelin III as opposed to Led Zeppein I; and the Barenaked Ladies as opposed to The Tragically Hip (a bit of Canadiana thrown in with that last one). 

It really should come as no surprise, then, when I name drop Jon and Roy.  Because these guys are the kings of laid-back acoustic-y music.  I mean, go to the website and take a look at the guys - do they look like the type of people that are going to get angry if you cut them off on the freeway?  I seriously doubt it.  And then, better yet, listen to their albums (they're free on the site!).  This is the sort of music guaranteed to lower your blood pressure - and yet, it's still layered and complex enough that it's not just easy-listening muzak. 

I saw them live a few months ago, at Rifflandia, and they were one of the acts that really stuck out in my mind.  The night I saw them, there were something like eight bands playing, and Jon and Roy were wedged right in the middle - and yet, they were the only band that night that I still remember, several months on.  They even did this bit where they rapped (sublime-style) over a really cool, rolling guitar line.  And it didn't suck.  I was amazed.   

Check 'em out.  Seriously. 

It never rains, but it pours

For the last six months or so, I've been working part-time at relatively low-brow, crappy jobs, while collecting my EI on the side.  It's been a pretty depressing endeavour, going from working a well-paying full-time government job to plodding my way through crappy low-paying office jobs in a part-time setting.  But collecting EI is even more depressing.

I'm not the type of guy that likes to sit around for too long.  I'm in constant motion, like the road runner.  Or a meth addict.  So EI - while a great social safety net - is also rather soul-sucking for a hard-working fellow such as myself. 

I've been sitting around a lot, because dropping off resumes is rarely fun: 

"hello sir, please hire me!"
"You won't stop moving!"
"Yes, as you can see, I'm a very high-energy and hard-working-"
"Are you on meth?"

I got offered a full-time position yesterday.  Starting tomorrow, I'll be working an Admin position in an office.  Not the greatest job, but hey, it's a job.  I'll also be keeping my job at Cashline for the next little bit, too - I don't wanna give up my tenure as a paid blogger, see. 

So, after six months of wishing I had full time work,  I am now working full time.  Also, weekends.  So, um, almost 60h a week. 

Also, I start dance classes with the Special Lady next week.  And I start three correspondence classes the following week.  And I've decided I need to learn how to juggle.  And I'm taking yodelling lessons, too.  (Okay, I made those last two up). 

It's a lot of work, but really, I'm excited about the whole situation.  Like I said, I like to move around a bit, and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to handle the workload (a few years back, I worked full time during a semester of school - which was brutal, but I lived).  And I shouldn't have much of a problem handling it, because I've got a secret weapon.

Starting tomorrow, I plan on taking a lot of meth. 

On Being a Paid Blogger

Ah.  The fun of being at work with nothing to do.  It is 10 am.  I started at 8 am.  And, already, I'm sitting around with zilchnadasquat to do.  Basically, my job at this very moment is to wait for the technician to get to chilliwack... and to wait for ATMs to break down or customers to do stupid things.

So in a very roundabout way, I'm getting paid to blog update!  Woot. 

I always knew I was going to make money making this blog.  Didn't realize it'd be like this, though.  Still, who am I to complain.  I mean, how many of you suckers are making money blogging, huh? 


...Yeah, that's right.  Didn't think so.

Man.  It's fun being a paid blogger.  I now have a reason to be smug.  I mean, I've always been smug.  Just now, I have a reason. 

I'm totally gonna out-smug that punk-rock guy that hangs out on the bus and thinks he's cool because he doesn't wear deodorant.  We'll have a smug-off

Today is shaping up to be a good day. 

Mustard Thief?

(Note:  this was supposed to be posted first thing in the morning, as I had written it a few days ago for sunday morning - but blogger has made it a habit to convert everything I write into "draft mode" when I'm not looking, and I'm just realizing this now... so, yeah, late post!)

At 10:30 pm, there aren't a whole lot of places to grab something quick to eat.  Normally, this isn't much of a problem - I'll just make myself a sandwich, or go out and buy a bag of chips.  But tonight, I decided to do something silly.... I went to McDonald's.

I don't like McD's.  The food is gross (with the exception of egg mcmuffins - which are pretty much impossible to screw up), the staff are mostly incompetent and lazy, and the average patron is less than desirable.  But occasionally, I'll pop in there and grab some McNuggets.

Heading into the store tonight, I order my nuggets, which need to be cooked, so I get shunted off to the side.  The staff member gets me my drink, and puts my honey mustard sauce on the counter to remind himself to add it to my bag.  Next in line is a halfway decently-dressed girl with dirty hands and a gross band-aid on a finger.  She orders the cheapest burger possible, and looks around impatiently.  And, when the staff guy turns his back, she spots the honey mustard sauce (*MY* honey mustard sauce) and quickly snatches it and slips it into her purse. 

I don't do anything, of course - if someone is at a point in their lives that they feel the need to steal honey mustard sauce, who am I to interfere?  Besides, it doesn't take much for me to ask for more ("that girl swiped my sauce" I tell the guy, conspiratorily, prompting a resigned look from the staffer who has seen everything). 

On the walk home, I notice that the mustard swiper is behind me.  And then digs out her keys, and enters my building right after me.  And, as I get into my apartment, I hear her fumbling with her own lock.  So, yeah - the girl down the hall?

Mustard thief. 

Just thought I'd let you all know.

Weekly Haiku #21 - Victoria, in ten words.

ah, victoria
home of organic coffees
and six dollar fries

Day As Night #15: I wouldn't recommend trying this out, if I were you...

Another webcomic starring batman clips.  I think I just need to make a batman-themed webcomic series.  Because they're just such great images to pilfer.  I mean, look at the face of Gordon in panel #2!  They don't get any better than that, do they?


Oh, right.  Click if you wanna read, blah blah blah.

Music Mondays - Jazz Hands

I went swing dancing on friday with the new special lady... and had a lot of fun.  We had some drinks, we laughed, we danced, we wanged, we chunged - everyone had fun tonight.  But, see, the problem with swing dancing is that it's usually done to, y'know, swing music

Which has never been my cup o' tea.  There's just something about that old timey music that doesn't do it for me. 

Luckily, the DJ (the ever talented Savage) knew that not everyone was into swing, so he'd throw some old rock tunes into the mix.  And every time one came on, I was grabbing the special lady and pulling her out onto the floor.  We danced to Johnny B. Goode, some Elvis, and other great rock hits.  But the best part?

When Sav put on the Muppet Show theme song.

Imagine a group of people, looking around in confusion, wondering how in the hell they can dance to Miss Piggy giving Kermit a hard time.  Everyone was totally lost, and drifting off the dance floor.

Except yours truly and the special lady.  We were busting a move and laughing our asses off.  I even dipped the special lady low, and then elegantly dragged her across the dance floor.  And we ended by shouting "this is the muppet show toniiiiiiiiiiggggght!" and waving the jazz hands.

Not my coolest moment, that's for sure.

Fun, though.

Ah, people.

I work the help desk for an ATM company which will remain nameless.  And here is an actual phone call:

GUY:  Your fucking machine ate my fucking bank card.
DAVE:  Well, sir, our machines are dip card readers, meaning they only read your card when you take it out of the machine - and the card can't even go in all the way.
GUY:  Hunh?
DAVE:  Do you have a receipt for your transaction?
GUY:  Yeah...
DAVE:  That means you had to have taken the card out of the machine to get that receipt.  Odds are, it either fell out of your hand, or it's in your pocket...
GUY:  It's not in my fucking pocket!  Your machine fucking ate it!
DAVE:  Could you check your pockets for me, sir?  Sometimes, when we do something so many times, we don't remember the little details, like putting our card back in our pocket...
GUY:  It's not fucki-
DAVE:  Just check your pockets, please, and then we'll go into the next step.
GUY:  Fine!  I'll check my goddamn pockets, but I'm telling you, it's not in... oh...
DAVE:  Sir?  Did you find your bank card in your pocket?
GUY:  *click*

People are idiots.  Gotta love it. 

And now, for something completely different...

It's getting harder and harder to do a daily blog these days.  What with near full-time work, a fairly busy social life, and summer around the corner, I don't know if I can keep up with the daily posting.  Definitely, the quality of the blog has been kind of orientated around "filler posts".  Which got me thinking - should I maybe cut down the number of posts?  Maybe, say, five a week for the next little while?

Which features should I keep?  What's worth dropping to an occasional post?  Or is this a complete BS idea?  Would love to hear thoughts on the subject.

Film Friday: The Answers!

I know y'all have been waiting, so here they are... the answers to last week's movie quiz!
  1. In that famous "deli orgasm scene" from When Harry Met Sally, the woman who says "I'll have what she's having" is actually Meg Ryan's real-life mother.  AnswerFalse.  The woman is actually director Rob Reiner's mother, though for some reason she is usually identified as Ryan's mother. 
  2. During the chariot-race scene in the 1959 film Ben Hur, one of the stuntmen fell from a Chariot and was trampled by a horse.  His death was caught on camera, and included in the final cut of the film.  AnswerFalse.  The only injury in that scene was a cut on the chin by one of the stuntmen.  Urban Legends strike again! 
  3. While filming Jurassic Park, critics pointed out that real-life velociraptors were only half the size of those depicted in the film. However, before filming was complete, a velociraptor skeleton was found that closely resembled that in the film, and was nicknamed "Spielberg's Raptor". AnswerTrue.  The raptor species is commonly known as the Utahraptor, after the state it was discovered in.
  4. While he played Indiana Jones' father in The Last Crusade, in reality, Sean Connery is only six years older than Ford.  AnswerTrue.  Apparently, old people are scary in movies. 
  5. In The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, all of the main characters spoke Italian in the scenes, and were overdubbed into English for the western release. Clint Eastwood have to overdub his own voice back into English, being the first actor to ever do a voiceover for his own performance. AnswerFalse.  Clint Eastwood did all his speaking parts in English, while other actors spoke in Italian (and were overdubbed for the Western Release). 
  6. On the final night of shooting the film Titanic, pranksters mixed PCP (Angel Dust) into a clam chowder served to the cast and crew. Over 80 people fell ill, many being hospitalized with hallucinations.  AnswerTrue.  Bill Paxton felt completely listless for weeks after the event.  Every member of the crew suffered the same hallucination, too - the mistaken belief that they had all worked on a halfway decent film.   
  7. More money was spent on advertising and promotion for the film Animal House than was spent on the film itself. AnswerTrue.  Let that be a lesson to you, Michael Bay!
  8. During the filming of Gladiator, new laws arose in Greece that prevented the use of animals in violent action scenes, causing those scenes to instead be filmed on a soundstage in Los Angeles. AnswerFalse... Gladiator was filmed in Italy.  And those laws never existed.  Also, Los Angeles isn't a real place. 
  9. There was a widespread internet petition to have the title of Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers changed, as many fans unfamiliar with Tolkien's 1960s classics felt that the name was in poor taste (referencing the then-recent September 11th attacks). Answer:  Unfortunately, True.  People are idiots. 
  10. Kevin Costner has no recollection of ever directing his box office disaster, the Postman. He simply does not remember doing so, and would later claim he was on heavy painkillers and prescription meds during the entire production run of the movie. AnswerFalse.  But I'm pretty sure Costner was on one drug or another when he made that movie.  And not those performance-enhancing drugs, either. 

"...or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing that happens to you today"

So I'm sitting at Cashline today on my break, with a co-worker who has a very dry sense of humour and a fondness for first-person shooters.  We're having subway and watching trailers for the "really old" Team Fortress 2 (which is less than five years old, mind you).  We're watching the "Meet the Spy" trailer, and my co-worker knows a good line is coming up and is chortling like an idiot.  And then I'm completely blindsided by one of the absolute best lines I've ever heard:

", the would be your mother!"  (drops a bunch of pictures showing the bad guy having sex with the scout's mother) "Indeed.  And now he's here to F*** us!  So listen up, boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing that happens to you today." 

I wish I could say I did the gentlemanly thing, and just kind of smirked and let it pass.  But, alas, it was not to be.  Instead, I roared with laughter, and made sure to quote it about a bazillion times throughout the day.  And, of course, it was all done in that faux french accent.