Archive for the ‘Guest Blogger’ Category

Guestblogger Huggy Bear writes about the fear and dread associated with finally getting a real job.

Offices are baffling. I’ve spent most of my twenties laughing at people who choose to work in them. A fairly large cohort of my graduating class in high school have decamped to London and other cities and chosen to spend upwards of 50, or even 60, hours a week in offices. They wake up early, put on archaic clothing (ties are ridiculous — what are they actually for?), and commute for half the morning to reach their office. When they get there — clutching overpriced, under-strength coffee they bought on the way because they didn’t have enough time to make some at home as their commute was so long — they open a computer and start emailing people who are in the same building, often a few feet away.

Kind regards. Warm regards. Warmest regards. To whom it may concern. Best. Best wishes. Yours truly. Yours sincerely. Sincerely. Dear Sir. Best Regards. Regards.

dead inside


Nobody says “best regards” in real life. Nobody even writes it with a pen on paper. It’s a phrase that exists only in office emails. Emails written to the person two desks away. Emails written to the person who is so close you could throw a paper airplane to them. Imagine you met someone in person to discuss a project and, just as you were parting, one of you said “best regards”. Just think for a moment about how weird that would be.

Time for another disclaimer: I’m basing this on anecdotal evidence given to me over time by those office workers brave enough to go rogue and speak out. When I was about 10 or 11, we used to contemplate the wonder of girls. I hear they have wings that only appear when boys aren’t around. Someone told me they shower every day.  Maybe my view of offices, as an adult approaching 30 years of age, is like our discussion of females 20 years ago.

boobs2 GIF

There are certain milestones in a person’s life when they become more adult. I’m not talking here about your 21st birthday, graduation, losing your virginity, or when you buy a house. No, I mean the big things that masquerade as little things. The first time you buy a saucepan or a piece of furniture. When you’re at a friend’s place and silently judge the poor quality wine glasses they use. Opening a bank account. Suddenly taking a genuine interest in the news. Instinctively shaking hands with people you don’t know (kids who do this are weird and have clearly been brought up a bit too well). 

One of these milestones is getting a “proper” job, usually in an office. This made a tonne of sense in the post-WW2 world. Businesses were growing, mail was slow, and telecommunications prohibitively expensive. It made perfect sense to congregate in one physical location. Now it often does not, but we’re socially hard-wired into thinking it does because we’ve been at it for decades. We’ve decided that the same things that made us happy and successful in the fifties are the same things that will make us happy and successful in 2014. We’re slow on the uptake.

Some people move from childhood to full-blown early-to-bed must-open-a-pension-plan adults in a very short period of time, perhaps just a couple of years. Others drag it out over a decade or longer, afraid of the ceaselessness of ticking clocks, physically developing in one direction while psychologically staying put, or even going backwards. Until this month, I was one of those people. 

And then I got an office job.


I didn’t mean it. A recruiter who had heard about my freelance work contacted me and played go-between between the company and me. Days later, about half an hour into my first proper interview ever, the company made an offer. I hesitated, bought some time, and asked my parents (aka wisdom reservoirs / guardians of all that is sage) what they thought of the offer. My Dad’s actual words were “you should bite his hand off.” Bye bye freelancing. Bye bye fun weekend job in a pub with friends.

Thanks a lot Mr Matchmaker Recruitment person who I never even met. Thanks for shattering my dreams. Thanks for smashing my holier-than-thou view of the 21st century as a time when people should work remotely and whenever they wish (OK, I still think this is true). And so the next steps are inevitable. I will start saying things like “let’s touch base”, “going forward”, and that so-and-so is “really going places”. I’ll get excited for casual Friday. I will begin using those awful email sign-offs.


Then the ripple effect will come in. The highest point of my day — the zenith, if you will — will be when I get to leave the office and go to the gym at 7 p.m. The fucking gym! I will begin to evaluate potential partners not in measures of lust or wild romance, but in feelings of security and pragmatism. ‘Does this turn me on?’ will be usurped by ‘Does this make practical sense?’


Best Regards,

Huggy Bear


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Guest blogger Sophie on the perils of waitressing:


People always tell you to write what you know, or to get inspired by what you know when you want to create something. But what if what you know is nothing but drunk assholes and old classmates who are doing so much better than you in life that it makes you want to throw up?

I work as a studentslashwaitress. I like to say that all in one word, and when I tell people what I do I actually say “slash”.  I do that because I think it’s funny and it annoys a lot of people.  Waiting tables is one of the best jobs to have when you can’t get an actual job because it pays really well, and you have to put up with a lot of shit but not as much as telemarketers do so it’s fine.

Since I’ve been working in the food service industry, I’ve noticed there are two categories of people that make my job both the worst and the most hilarious. The first category of people are old upper-middle-class people. I just have to emphasize that I am not the perfect customer either, I too order egg white omelets with no cheese and brown toast with no butter and God forbid the waitress forgets to replace my hashbrowns with fruit, I will ruin her. Anyway, I used to work in a neighborhood that catered mostly to old upper middle-class people and let me tell you something, they are terrible. I served breakfast at this bagel restaurant, which obviously aimed to please old people because it was a bagel restaurant, and one time, a woman flagged me down to tell me, verbatim, that her eggs were “too yellow” and that her bagel was “too heavy”.

sophie GIF

An educated, old as shit upper-middle-class person would be aware of stuff like say, living conditions in Soviet Russia, the Holocaust, the whole continent of Africa as a sad thing, but they can’t eat eggs, which were yellow because that’s what color eggs are, by the way, in a restaurant without complaining. You would think that having lived through two World Wars, one Cold War, the Depression, and Reaganomics, among other things would help them put the tragedy of a heavy bagel into perspective, but I guess not. Mind boggling. Another great gem is the sad-eyed “I hope you’re in school” conversation many of them like to start up with me. I am, but I could easily not be and also fuck you.

fuck you

And then there are the men.


When I made the switch from serving three hundred year old people their breakfast to serving pints of beer to people who weren’t using their last breath to complain to me about the temperature of their iced tea, I was excited.  I figured these new customers would be more normal and tolerable. But then all the men started asking me for my number.  Let me stress something about working in a bar. People basically pay me two dollars to walk three feet with a few pints of beer on a tray. If you think that walking three feet with a few pints of beer is a service actually worth two dollars, you are wrong. It’s not even up for debate, it’s not hard and it’s not worth two dollars. I appreciate it, and it’s how I make my living, but the service I provide and the reward I get is not proportional in the least.


People pay to look at us. Waitresses look cute and chat with customers and flirt with them and make them feel special. In essence, we are really short-term escorts. We pretend to like people for a few minutes and they pay us. Now let me ask you this: would you ask an escort for her number while you were out with her, knowing full well she was only out with you because she was an escort? NO, right? So why are you people asking waitresses for their number? We are personality prostitutes, plain and simple. Male bartenders are a different story altogether. They’ll give girls their number and have sex with them on a dumpster in front of eight cheering hobos for free because they’re gross and that’s what they like to do for fun.

For more Sophie, click here.

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If this were the Last Year of Earthly Things, how would you spend your time? What makes life worth living? Ty Recks reflects on a favourite past-time: porn.

It’s been a long, hard road for porn. It has come a long way (innuendo). I remember it like it was yesterday. It was yesterday. I was watching porn in my room. Flashback: October 12th, 1999 – my first ever porn search. I’m 12 years old and I type “boobs” into yahoo. My results are staggering: 700 pages of boobs. Suddenly, my three strategically placed playboy magazines throughout the house are meaningless. Why should I look at Jodi Ann Paterson’s luscious boobies over and over when I have 700 pages of newbies? (New-Boobies). That was the death of porn magazines for me, I’ve never looked back.

Welcome to the internet

Remember in that movie when that really epic thing happened? And that sweet music was playing? Internet porn was like that  for me. Exactly like that. The rise of an era. The beginning of an empire. So much so, that it’s not “internet porn” any more. It’s just “porn”. Or “my homepage.”

It’s the year 2000, a new millennium, my searches are getting more profound, more specific: big boobs, nice boobs, hot boobs, blonde girl with big nice hot boobs. It’s an onslaught. It’s the year 2000, a new millenniYUM (inuenndo). I think I’ve master(bat)ed it (inuenndo). We have 3 computers in the house, all only take 12 minutes to download one picture of boobs, some boobs are keepers, I cleverly changed the name to “batman.jpeg” to thwart my prying siblings. I’m a genius, on top of the world.

No one will ever know

YouTube comes out. YouTube. It rhymes with boob so naturally I video search boobs. Holy fuck. It’s like my whole first paragraph but everything is jiggling. That cleverly titled folder of “batman images” on my desktop gets dusty – I don’t need photos any more – I have videos.

School became a popular ground for discussing new videos, webpages and stars to discover. We were like archeologists. Exactly like archeologists. Except we touched ourselves more. We were like Indiana Jones (on a completely related note, check out ‘Indiana Joan in the Black Hole of Mammoo‘). It didn’t take long for porn to take over my computer, I could type any letter into my search bar and something porn related would pop up. It was beautiful. YouPorn, Spankwire, YouJizz, PriceIsRightGirlsNaked.com – I was unstoppable.

The computer soon became my best friend, he’d seen me do some shit, he kept all of my secrets. I did feel bad for him those days when I almost got caught “doing homework,” my brother would walk into my room and I had to turn my computer off without a moment’s notice. “What are you doing?” he’d ask. “Nothing dude. Just looking at the computer,” I’d reply. So clever. “Yeah but it’s off?” “I know. I was just looking at it.”

I'd be her Short Round

I’d be her Short Round

To be honest, not much has changed. Sure, The Price Is Right Girls have gotten a bit older but it’s okay – that’s life. The only big difference now is that we have internet access on us at all times. Which means I don’t have to sit in grade 9 math class thinking about what porn to watch when I get home. I can sit in grade 9 math class and watch porn. Sure, I’m not allowed to go back to Westmount High School, Loyola High School, Rosemount High or St. George’s any more but that janitor was an idiot for letting me in the first place. We have the power people of Earth to watch porn, not only whenever we want, but wherever we want. No wonder I take 14 toilet breaks a shift at work. Whose fault is that – mine? Or Bell’s for giving me an unlimited data plan for 60 dollars a month?

And “Opening New Tabs?” Golly. Don’t even get me started. You know how they say the key to writing a good story is to: edit, edit, edit? “New Tabs” has allowed me to edit, edit, edit my porn selections. And GIFs? Shit. Give it a quick gander, open it in a new tab, have about 15-300 opened at the same time and then, as they say: edit, edit, edit. You’ll weed out the bad ones and be left with the best porn videos of the day. We live in a beautiful world people.

Google glasses: now that's going to be amazing

Google glasses: can’t wait

Now, if you’ll please excuse me I have a date with my old pal Internet. Who knows? I may start off Googling boobs, may take a peak at Spankwire’s top rated of the month or maybe even venture over to Egotastic and see if any celebrities have shown a boob or two lately. The fact of the matter is boobs. It’s like that famous guy said once, “Forescore and seven years ago …” blah, blah, blah “… I like titties” or something like that. I’d look it up on the net, but then I’m wasting valuable time and we all know, them tabs ain’t gonna open up themselves. Happy Porning my friends. Happy Porning.

Do me a favor bloggers, when I die, please delete my browsing history. Nobody needs to see and of that. My password is “boobies.”

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Guest Blogger Series!

I WANT TO BLOG ALL THE THINGS. But I can only blog some. I am rather chuffed to announce a series of guest blog posts, helping me scratch the hard to reach places of The Last Year of Earthly Things. The theme is: that, what I just said. The Last Year of Earthly Things. What did you think it would be about? Dating? Pornography? Psychology? No! It’s about what we should do with this year. How can we make it count? Under that pretext, I will be including guest blogs on vaguely related topics such as: dating; pornography; and psychology.

There will be words, and pictures of boobs. There will be ups and downs, questions and answers, pictures of boobs, and pictures, of boobs. These words will form sentences and will be about things. Accompanied by pictures:

Blue-footed Boobies. Bloobies.

Blue-footed Boobies. Bloobies.

Words and pictures to help and document The Last Last Year of Earthly Things.

First guest blog up tomorrow.

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