August 30, 2010


Category: Humour — Cranky @

IN 1901, Fritz Sick started a brewery in Lethbridge Alberta. The beer he produced was called “Alberta Pride”. Apparently nothing happened until 1916, when Alberta brought in prohibition, and the brewery stopped producing beer.

Prohibition ended in 1923, and in 1926 the formula for Pilsner beer was solidified. Basically the only thing that would change over the next 94 years is the label – and that would change very little. In the 50’s the biplane, car, and train on the label were modernized, and apparently Pilsner drinkers would have none of that. After reverting to the old label, all they did was add a couple more rabbits.

Imagine that – 94 years brewing beer. Now I know by worldwide standards that’s not exactly a long time. My beer of choice, Guinness, was born in 1759, and sells 10 million pints a day. But still, that’s a long time to be brewing your beer. That’s perseverence.

However… Pilsner is terrible beer. If you can’t make it tasty after 94 years, it’s time to go do something else.

Go make shoes or something.


Addendum: Behold Its Dark Glory.

May 28, 2010

Marketing is Important

Category: Humour — Cranky @

I spend a lot of time watching videos on For those who have never heard of TED conferences, they are a chance to hear inspiring talks on hundreds of subjects. Some talks clock in at 6 minutes, some up to 22, and they are rigidly timed. You can get lost on that web site for days.

You can hear talks about new technology, new ideas, atrocities in other countries, climate change… there are even some very funny comedic entries. But the one I want to discuss is this one: Weekday Veg.

Now Graham Hill has a really good idea. Basically, go without meat during the week, and do what you like on the weekend. But Mr. Hill can never be in marketing. “Weekday Veg”? Just typing it feels douchey.

It’s week, unfulfilling pansy language that any meat-eating, manly man will instantly disdain.  “Veg” is one letter away from “Vag”. Why, oh why would he use that frilly set of words when right there – RIGHT THERE – is the answer? Half a step away…

“Weekend Carnivore.”

Seriously, he’s smart enough to be invited to speak at a TED conference, but too dumb to come up with a tagline that’s inviting?


January 8, 2010

How Cranky Prepares For His Day

Category: Humour — Cranky @

If I’ve learned anything from watching crime and medical dramas on television, it’s that someday I might leave my home and never return. I could walk into a bank and die in hail of bullets, or a gas station explosion might leave me in a coma for the rest of my life. Or I might simply die of a congenital medical condition that I never knew I had. So I take precautions each morning. After all, once you’re gone, what you leave behind speaks volumes.

The first thing I do is to take a copy of Playboy and leave it out in the open. My mom might be mildly annoyed, but at least then she’ll know for sure that her unmarried 39 year old son does, in fact, like girls. Also, she’d certainly approve more of Playboy than of the collection of “Transsexual Midget Amputees on Geriatrics Monthly” magazines that I hide inside large technical manuals so dry and boring that nobody would ever open them.

Then I stop at the computer, and make sure I’ve encrypted all of the email and cleaned off all of the files on the desktop (the magazine has an accompanying web site). Also, nobody needs to know that I’m targeting seniors with fake car insurance scams and non-existent “life alert” monitoring.

Then I take a cloth and some cleaner over to the coffee table, and wipe it clear of any traces of cocaine, speed, or cayenne pepper that were left from the night before. The cayenne pepper is a safety check. If you snort a little of that and you can’t feel it, it’s probably time to go to the doctor. Whatever powders are left, well… who are we kidding? There’s never any left. While I’m at it I take the two bottles of whatever hard liquor I drank the night before and put them by the door. There’s a recycle bin right by the trash, but I’ll throw them in the regular bin, just because.

I then turn my attention to the stereo, and I remove all traces of my secret love – country music. Nobody needs to know that when I’m partying my heart is all achy-brakey. Digital music makes that easier these days. Now when I buy a new country album I rename all the tracks with titles like “Deathbringer – Slaying Kittens With Razors.mp3”.

So off I go. I stop at my storage unit on the way to work to reset the timer on the door. If I don’t come back within 48 hours it will open the door, letting out 16 Thai children who are working off the price of their freedom by making counterfeit Nike shoes for me. I pay them 25 cents per hour, which they give back to me towards the $4000 that they owe, and I give them fresh water and all the ramen noodles they can eat, or two bowls a day, whichever is smaller.

I take a short detour to 97th street and visit my girls. They’ve been working hard all night, and I appreciate that. So I put on my outfit, eye patch, and fake moustache, and go say hello. The disguise is another part of the precautions. I don’t need one of my ladies showing up at my funeral because she saw a picture of me on television (assuming my passing was television-worthy).

Then I begin my day, the fine, upstanding citizen that people know and respect.