"A million monkeys banging on a million typewriters for a million years will eventually reproduce the entire works of Shakespeare."

I was pleasantly surprised when I attended my company's Christmas party Fall Dance on Saturday night. In two years previously I had shunned it, mostly because everyone else did and I didn't want to be the only non-old fart there.

The party is really intended for our two Toronto locations. Us Mississauga suburbians are only invited as an afterthought. Again with the 416/905 rivalry. Next year I expect David Miller to be taxing us.

The hike across the 401 was long and the bar was pay-as-you-go, but the hall was nice, the food was good, the DJ didn't suck ass, and of course being with the right people made all the difference.

The highlight (or lowlight, depending on your perspective) of the night came when Ruta and Diane decided it would be funny to request It's Raining Men and have the DJ dedicate it to me, as revenge for a "teabagging" incident from last month, or so I'm told.

Rather than be sulky I played along with arm and legs flailing, and out came the digital cameras. What I remembered too late was that these things are capable of video as well as still shots.

On Monday I was greeted with video of me going nuts dancing to this stupid song, and stone sober to boot. There is now 300 Mb worth of blackmail material in exactly the wrong hands.

On the plus side, if it ever gets out it might actually have a date for the first time in months. Unfortunately it would be with a guy named Bruce.

This afternooon at work our United Way activities ended with the finals for our foosball and air hockey tournaments, as well a Texas Hold 'Em poker tournament that I was running.

I suck at foosball and got knocked out in the first round, but in air hockey I had been gradually picking off my opponents all week before making it to the championship round today.

To make it more of an event the organizers invited everyone from the building to watch the games, so I had a whole crowd of people pulling for me. I didn't disappoint; after dropping the first match I came back and kicked ass in the remaining two to take home a shiny new DVD recorder, and more importantly, bragging rights.

As if that wasn't enough, I beat out six other players in poker to win that game as well. I was on fire today.

It's rare to have a day when everything goes your way. I believe that everything eventually, in the long run, evens itself out. According to yin and yang I'm due any time now to be struck by lightning, hit by a bus or to wake up hung over in Vegas married to a cougar named Starla.

That's why I'm really savouring this moment. The Symcor Cup parade will take place tomorrow afternoon down Hurontario Street. I'll also be accepting sponsorships for next season, so give my agent a ring if you want your company's logo tattooed across the front of my jersey (which, incidentally, will be hanging from the rafters when I retire).

I've gotta get while the getting's good because the dark clouds are just over the horizon. I'll need every penny I can squeeze from this to pay for Starla's alimony.

Wide awake at 3:30 in the morning I wandered down to the kitchen for a snack and some television to put me to sleep. Flipping through the channels (infomercial, dead air, infomercial, phone call for $10.99 a minute) my remote came to rest on a documentary on Showcase.

This wasn't just any documentary, but one about the making of a porn movie. A show about lesbians beats the hell out of George Foreman and his grill any day, so I continuted watching.

The plot of the film centered around this intense rivalary between seven women, who start duking it out with one another and eventually end up writhing on the ground in a big old-fashioned orgy (of course).

I didn't realize that there were off-screen politics that affect the script of the movie. Apparently one of the girls wasn't very well-liked by the other six and was left out of the action, until one of the participants felt sorry her and everyone was fully engaged.

Sweet. Next time I stumble across a lesbian orgy I'll just stand on the outside and pout a little. I'm sure to get some pity sex out of it.

After the climax of the movie was filmed, the show cut to a commercial for frozen pizza. Their slogan at the end of it was, "Nothing rises like a Delissio".

Mr. McCain, I beg to differ.

Every November I hear stories about charity boxes for Remembrance Day poppies being stolen from store counters. This has been a particularly bad year, especially in Ajax where 15 boxes have gone missing.

Stealing from war vets one of the most despicable things that anyone can do. I was thinking earlier about ways to remedy the situation, like bringing back medieval punishments such as flogging or amputation of hands. (Freddy Fingers won't be swiping any more boxes with a stump at the end of each arm.) Then I came up with a better idea.

I read a story a couple weeks ago about a businessman in Afghanistan working to reopen his golf course. Yes, somewhere in that desert there exists a golf course, I'm guessing with more sand traps than water hazards.

Anyways, in addition a golfer having to worry about bunkers and trees, there's the threat of unexploded mines. To be sure that the ground was safe, the owner had a shepherd walk his flock of sheep over the course for a couple of days.

My proposition is this... Send the thieves to Afghanistan to work in place of the livestock. In doing this we accomplish the following:

The criminals gain a new appreciation for what it's like serving in a war overseas

The unluckier ones get blown up, saving on airfare for a return ticket

More golf courses open, possibly thinning the Taliban ranks as they trade in their AK-47's for new irons

Less sheep are wasted detonating landmines, increasing wool exports and helping the Afghan economy

In addition to being an effective deterrent, my plan is also cost-effective as it's probably cheaper than keeping people in jail. Also I anticipate that risk of reoffending is low, especially for someone who loses a fight with a bomb in the ground. Everyone wins!

I've done my part, now you go do yours. Get your ass out there and go buy a poppy.

Last week at work our social committee held our first annual pumpkin carving contest. Each group of four was given a pumpkin, a crappy disposable blade and 60 minutes to come up with a creative design to be judged by fellow employees.

There were many teams putting their knives to good use with some intricate designs that turned out really well. I, on the other hand, managed to lead my teammates astray by convincing them that brute force was the way to go.

We did a variation on a puking pumpkin I carved a couple years ago, this time adding some props to the mix. After a co-ordinated team effort, this was the end result:


I thought we had a good chance for first place, even taking into account possible loss of votes from the sqeamish. I was counting on the mostly male demographic (we have a large IT contingent in our building) to bolster our results.

We definitely attracted the most attention, but ended up in second because the winners were out vote-mongering beforehand. Our effort was rewarded with the medium-size box of chocolate.

From the few who didn't appreciate the shock value of our carving I received comments such as gross, sick and disgusting. My response to them was that at least it wasn't coming out the other end. I'm saving that for next year.

That reminds me, I'm currently accepting offers from anyone in need of a gently-used plastic toilet seat. Matches any decor. Any takers?

John called me Monday night with some disturbing news. His cousin Ryan was stabbed to death on the weekend. He was 26.

Chatham Daily News Article

Anyone who knows John's family would understand that if you're friends with one Campbell, you're friends with the entire extended family as well. I grew up playing road hockey and baseball with Ryan and his brothers.

Sometimes we forget how fragile life can be. At any moment any of us can die in a car accident, from illness, natural disaster, freak mishap or a slew of other things. Why is it that we have to add to all of this by turning on one another?

I'm told that there was an altercation between Ryan and his girlfriend's ex, now in custody, most likely over something trivial. Now two lives are ruined because of it. To make matters worse, the girlfriend is three month's pregnant. How will she cope?

In grade school science classes they teach us that humans have no natural predators; that we're top of the food chain. In fact, we have the most dangerous predator of all to worry about.

Ourselves.

Thoughts and prayers go out to family and friends of Ryan Steele.