An X-mas Message

So I’m driving to the bank today, X-mas day, to deposit a cheque and as I’m zooming through the nearly empty streets a thought comes to mind. A thought that this will be probably very close to what life will be like when that “future global catastrophe,” whatever that may be, wipes out nearly 90% of the human population.

Who knows when the Religious nutters in the Middle East will finally have the weapons to utterly destroy us infidels in the Free World? Or even, Dog forbid, if crazy Al Gore (Emperor of the Moon) is right and we are in for a natural disaster the world hasn’t seen since the Biblical myth of the “Great Flood.”

Who knows? I suppose anything is possible in an infinite universe. I picture the world very much like it is today; strip malls, and parking lots deserted, very few cars on the road, an inordinate number of motorcyclists out on the dust caked streets, and no one out for a stroll.

Whatev. Just a couple of happy, random thoughts for everyone on this X-mas day, 2006.


The Bean Counters Have Spoken

So there it was, Thursday, four days to X-Mas and the roads are practically deserted going into work. Mine is the first car to every red light and it feels pretty good. Then I realize I’m going to work.

Work isn’t bad, it’s not difficult, nor is there any heavy lifting involved. It’s pretty laid back, and nobodies asked me to slay children like in a Cambodian Death Camp or something. At least not yet.

It’s just not me. When I took this job I blasted through the interview with a non-chalance and confidence that I look back on with envious eyes. Why was I so confident? Because I didn’t care. I still don’t. Unlike some, I AM NOT MY JOB. I am an artist, a writer, and when engaged in those pursuits time has no meaning and I am truly myself. Big as life, and twice as fat and ugly.

Those of you (the one or two out there) who know me, already know this. Those who don’t, well congratulations! Another piece of the puzzle that is Jaeger has fallen into place for you. Only 4,999 more to go.

Anyways, I was @ work and it was the afternoon, and there was a slowly dwindling 1.75L bottle of Crown Royal in the Work Booze Fridge’s freezer and I still couldn’t believe I was still there! Out of the forty-seven people employed by the company, there was at last count only fourteen remaining in the office. Fifteen if you include me.

So why was I still there when all our work was done, all that needed to be shipped was shipped, and at the time I was drinking a strong C.R. and diet out of my tall, stainless, Calgary Flames coffee cup? Because to spite the best efforts of the General Manger to allow us to end the week early, the Chief Bean Counter said “NO.”

Then ten minutes later she took off for home. “Sorry boys,” the G.M. told us, “the bean counters have spoken.” Oh, well. . . If upper management wants to pay us to sit around with no work to do and drink for the afternoon, who am I to argue


Prepare To Be Reviewed

The Outfit

XBOX 360

Relic Entertainment and

I got this game for free when I bought
Gears of War and decided to give it a go first because I figured it would be and easier game. Guess what? It is!

The premise is a simple one (aren’t they all?): you play as one of three American Specialist Soldiers in Nazi occupied France (we surrender!) during WWII. Kind of like “The A-Team” if there was a video game based on that. All three men are (of freaking course) the “best of the best” at what they do. It’s cheesy, but can be fun, in a simple sort of way.

The game play is easy and the graphics, especially the backgrounds, are quite nice, maybe not as “next gen” as they could be, but they still beat the hell out of Perfect Dark Zero, a game that to spite it’s obvious flaws, I still like a whole lot better than The Outfit.

There is some occasional lag during some of the more clusterfucky game play situations, but for the most part it plays fairly smooth-like. There are, however a shitload of collision problems, some resulting in AI enemies being able to shoot through solid walls to destroy you, and even one extreme case, of an AI enemy that walked through a big ass rock, shot my character dead, and at the same time was somehow impervious to being destroyed. I guess the AI thought I was just shooting the rock. . .

There are some fun elements to the game which include Squad command, where you can order you minions to attack installations for you, huck tear gas at “those Nazi bastards” and entrench themselves behind cover, but these commands are only available at certain times during game play, like whenever the AI randomly decides to let you.

My favourite feature has to be the Destruction On Demand, which is kind of like Video on Demand, except instead of ordering a movie on your digital cable box, you can parachute in men and equipment to your position, as well as raining down hellish death from above onto the heads of the Nazi enemy with an air strike.

All in all the game is all right, pretty much anything in the environment is destructible in some way, from trees to fences, civilian vehicles and churches, BUT I will say this: if I had not gotten this game as a free pack-in with G.O.W, I never would have looked twice at it, so interpret that as you will.

Two Screaming SS Officers out of Five


Friday Afternoon Fukitz

Went for lunch on Friday with the boss.

I learned long ago never to say “no thank you” when the boss axes you to come out because it inevitably means a free meal is on the menu.

Caught a ride with Luke in his super cool MAZDA 6 and we tore down MacLeod, passing everyone what gets in our way. The car corners like its on rails and goes real fast-like.

Soon we are at the pub. It’s a grubby little sports bar in the Carriage House Hotel called Peanuts. On every table are several little plastic dishes of peanuts, all salted in the shell and delicious-like.

Everyone is already @ the table when Luke, Johnny, and I arrive and we are immediately set upon by a middle aged waitress before we even have time to remove our coats. I bumble my way through ordering the “special” (steak sand, medium) and a Kilkenny. I’ve always been of the opinion that life is too short to drink crap beer, especially when the company is footin’ the bill.
The drinks arrived and fifteen minutes later the food comes. As my blunted, can’t-cut-for-toffee, dull-ass steak knife hacks and slashes through the grey/pink/grill marked hunk of shoe-leather that passes for meat at this place, I’m reminded of the thick, juicy slab of rare PrimeRib™ I had the night before @ Vki’s company X-mas party. “Now that was a fine piece of melt-in-your-mouth goodness” I’m thinking as the first piece of Special-of-the-Day steak sand disappears into my gob.

My day dreams of delicious PrimeRib™ shatter into a billion exploding, razor-sharp, shards of reality as I find myself chewing, and chewing, and chewing, and freaking chewing this gristly chunk of meat-like substance.


On the upside, the beer was creamy and delicious, and the chips were thick-cut and crispy good, and by the time we got back to the office, the day was more than half gone! Huzzah!

The moral of the story is:

Stir, whip!

Stir, whip!

Whip, whip, stir!






Forest Gump was right.

Life is like a box of chocolates, but for the most part we end up getting the yucky cream orange, or the gaggy coconut, or better yet, that unidentifiable, crazy, granite-hard, nut thing that makes your back teeth shatter like Joe Thiesman's knee.

Just something I was thinking about at work today...

Prepare To Be Reviewed

Miami Vice
Directed by Michael Mann

In the big screen adaptation, er sequel, er re-imagining of the 1980’s TV series, vice cops Crockett (Colin Farrell) and Tubbs (Jamie Foxx) find themselves recruited by the FBI to help bring down a huge international drug trafficker.

The flick dumps you into the action from scene one and characterization is minimal at best. I suppose Mann expects anyone seeing this flick is doing so because they are already fans of the TV series. The film has everything the TV show did; slick fashions, (come on, who didn’t know a guy in the eighties that dressed like that?) fast cars, fast boats, sex, and violence. It’s well shot, and to spite being over two hours long, the story moves at a pretty good clip.

Miami Vice was… okay I guess, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was watching a TV pilot with swear words. It’s a buddy cop flick. A slick looking buddy cop flick. So, if you like that sort of thing, you should rent it, if you don’t then rent Dead Man’s Chest or something.

Personally, this flick falls flat because it breaks Jaeger’s #1 rule in a film like this: If you are going to have a steamy sex scene, show me some boobies or DON’T WASTE MY TIME! Come on! Hot sex with Asian Hottie Gong Li and no boobie shot? I have to shake my head.

2 out of 5

Oh yeah, and the sheer awesomeness of Colin Farrell’s mullet made me not want to shave my head this weekend.


Prepare To Be Reviewed

JAWS Unleashed
Majesco Games, Appaloosa Int.

On the surface, this seems like a great concept for a game: you play a 30ft Great White Shark who gets to eat people, attack boats, and cause all sorts of freaking mayhem around Amity Island.

Go a little deeper and you find that this game suffers from a problem all too common in today’s video game titles: Inconsistency. Inconsistency in level difficulty (some are painfully easy, while others are INSANELY DIFFICULT), lame story elements, (you game designers seem to not care in the LEAST about story these days, probably because you DON”T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT STORY WRITING!), bad, oh soooooo bad voice acting*, and the one thing that pisses me off more than anything else in video games today: Not being able to SAVE whenever I want to.

I don’t know when it happened, but at some point in the last few years some genius (errr, retarded moron) in the gaming industry decided it was a good idea to make the gamer jump through a million hoops in order to save his game. In the case of JAWS Unleashed, it’s impossible to save the game while playing a level. Well, not actually impossible, but if you want to save, and don't mind starting back at the beginning of your level, then I guess your a winner here.

This in itself should be reason enough for me to give this game no stars out of five if not for two saving graces. The game contains a HUGE open ocean area that you as the shark are able to explore in free play, plus dozens of “side missions” you are able to partake in.

This is not a terrible game, but it could have been soooooo much better!

Two Stars out of Five

*It’s a shame that developers cheap out so often at this very crucial component of game making. Instead of hiring people that can ACT, and have the ability to do a variety of voices, (like myself for example) they go the cheap and easy route of just getting some choad coder or artist from the office to do the voices. Oh well, I guess they’ll never learn…

Silent Night, Spooky Night

Saturday was the 3rd annual Vki N’ J-grr Halloween Party and for those of you choads who missed out, well you really missed out!

This year’s party rocked all sorts of roll and all the costumes were awesome. I wowed all with my fantastic pirate costume and Vki scared party goers with her spooky Death Jr. outfit complete with glowing scythe.

Films for the night included Nightmare Before X-mas, From Hell, Corpse Bride, and the uber-spooky Ju-on 2.

Drinks flowed and pumpkins were gutted left and right before the festivities came to an end sometime after midnight with a few rounds of Katamari on the PS2.

Hopefully, I’ll have some pics up on Photobucket™ in the next week or so to show those were not there the glory that they missed out on.



Things That Make Me Seeth On My Commute...

Can’t Read Guy

You know this guy, the one that pulls up to a light in the left lane and decides he wants to turn left across traffic even though the sign says: NO LEFT TURNS 15:00 – 18:00.
I hate this guy! And you know you do too.

No Signal Guy

The stupid ASSS who pulls up to a red light, waits for it to turn green, then he pulls slowly forward, not signaling for his left turn. For this guy the punishment should be execution. On the spot. First offence. No fracking mercy.

Last Second Signal Guy

(I know I’ve used the term “guy” for all these fuckwads, but they could just as easily be a girl.)

The guy that drives up to the red light, waits for it to turn green, then puts on his stupid signal light!!!!! MAKE UP YOUR FRACKING MIND IN ADVANCE ASSWIPE OR GET OFF THE FRACKING ROAD!!!!!

That’s all for today, but if I die before we meet again, “remember me as I was: filled with murderous rage!*”

Oh yeah, and to all you J-walking pedestians and pretty much all bicyclists: Wake the fuck up, or stay the fuck home!!

*Homer Simpson


stuff n' junk

Ever wonder why things happen? It’s funny; tonight at the Fan Force book club meeting we were discussing Fahrenheit 451 and Crystal came up with an excellent point about political correctness and how the society in the book had gone to such lengths not to offend every little minority that all of society had become bland, tasteless, lifeless. Much like our society today in fact where book publishers are afraid to take chances on something that could turn this fucking world on it’s ear, just so they can publish yet another boring ass book about Sally Everygirl who decides to move from Toronto to Vancouver to get away from her ex and start a new life and all the quirky little blah, blah, blah’s she meets on the way bullshit novel that seems to come out every other week.

Why are hundreds of books like this published every year in Canada? Not because they are any good, or particularly poignant, but because for a long time there appeared to be so many books out there written by men. The reason there were so many men getting published is not because they were all masterpieces (they weren’t) but because MORE MEN WROTE BOOKS THAN WOMEN.

Nowadays more women are getting into the writing game. Are there now more women writers than men? No, but the publishers in an attempt to be Politically Correct have decided they are going to publish more books by women to try to “even up” what they perceive as the “oversights of the past” of which there really were none.

So they are in effect, attempting to re-write history to show some sort of disparity where there was none to begin with. I don’t want to go off on a rant here but like I said to Kent; there is a miasma of Canadian Literary Vomit out there that may seem daunting to try to wade though to find that one tiny jewel of a book.

Is it worth it in the end? Well yes and no. Yes because for every ten Sally-Everygirl-PC-bullshit-boring-ass-tripe-wish-you-could-get-that-time-back-waste-of-paper out there on the shelves, there is the a Not Wanted On The Voyage by Timothy Findley, or a Fresh Girls by Evelyn Lau. And no because, well damn I’ve had to read some real garbage over the years and I want that time back!

Ah, well at least Harry Potter got kids reading again, so that’s a start.

Oh, wait Joanne Rowling is British isn’t she?

. . . oh well.


morals in flux

J.C. Hunter was down the pub shootin’ the shit with a couple of buddies. Well, they weren’t really his buddies; just a couple of guys that happened to be sitting near him along the bar. They noticed he was scribblin’ away in a little black notebook and of course their half-drunken’ curiosities got the best of them. So after the perfunctory intros and regular bullshit about the weather, one of the guys axed him what he was writing about.

“So whatya write? Novels or something?”

Hunter took a sip of draught and slowly angled his head toward the guy, “Or something.”

The guys laughed, thinking that was the most amusing thing anyone had said all afternoon, “You’re a funny fuck Hunter.” The other guy said. “But really, what are you writing?”

Hunter told them it’s a short story, and then suddenly they wanted to know what it was about. Hunter exhaled the smoke from his last cigarette, then took another draught from his Twisted Horn Ale™ and snubbed out the butt.

“I’ll read it to ya for a smoke.” He said.

“Fuck yeah!” One of the dudes shouted and tossed over his packet of fags. Player’s Lights.

Hunter slid a smoke from the pack and lit up with a Calgary Flames lighter. He blew out the cancerous smoke and got to it.

“It was sometime in the summer when I was wearing that promise ring that I realised that it was clearly too soon for such a commitment.

A party, I remember, running off to the back yard, to the parking pad where Hikaru had left the old Nova, hootchie at my side. It was one of our famous ‘Citrus Parties’ when we would all get together with a fifth of voddy each and a bottle of Mr. Citrus™ orange drink.

The hootchie was a citrus betty by the name of Sally, or Sara, or something, I can’t remember. I think she was only with me because of the ring I was wearing, thought it would be a challenge or something. Little did she know, or probably care, that I’m easy like Sunday morning. We jumped into the back seat of Hikaru’s old Nova and got to it, real nasty like and fifteen minutes later were getting zipped back up and I realize the ring is gone from my finger!

I search blindly around in the car to no avail, it’s too dark and I’m too drunk. A week later the fiancée is asking why I’m not wearing the ring, so I’m giving her the ‘oh I left it at home or something. . .’

So the next day I track down Hikaru and get into the back of that Nova of his and find the ring in like three seconds sitting on the carpet behind the driver’s seat in plain freaking sight.

The moral of this story? If your gonna shag some hootchie behind the fiancée’s back, take the freaking ring off first!”

The two dudes laughed like they’ve never heard anything so funny before going back to their drinks.

“That shit was bananas yo!” Said the barkeep, as he placed a frosty one in front Hunter’s nearly empty pint glass, “this one is on the house!”

“Cheers,” said Hunter, and finished off the remains of his first pint.


Beggars Can Be Choosers

It was, about quarter to ten on Good Friday 2K6 and the streets were mostly deserted with the exception of a couple of cutie-pie joggers and three Asian Hotties.

I can feel the coffee sloshing around in my guts as I press on down 11 avenue rehearsing in my head what I’m going to say to the first bum that tries to talk some money out of me.

I’m going to tell him that I’ve already given him money this month through the highest Federal taxes in the free world, but alas no one harasses me today. Yet.

So I decide to head downtown to buy some socks for the upcoming trip to visit me ole pal McBain (aka Lupin) when around 8th avenue and 6th street, this scruffy looking guy grabs my time and attention for a five minute tale of tear-jerkin’ woe which of course ends in the inevitable holding out of the hand and demanding my change.

I must admit his story sounded reasonable, so I reached into me pocket to let him have whatever I might have in my pocket that on this day amounted to a little less than one dollar in mixed change.
To this, the bum snorts: “Yeah, I really need LOONIES and TWONIES.” I tell him it’s all I’ve got and he stomps away as if I just shit in his cereal and told him it was brown sugar.

I suppose beggars CAN be CHOOSERS after all!


Samuel L Jackson's Secret Blog

Snakes on a Plane
Directed by David R. Ellis

I am often heard going on, at length, about what is wrong with Hollywood today: boring faux-historical epics, the gross over-use of CG elements that do nothing to further the story, Spielberg coming this close with War of the Worlds, then having the whiny teenager live in the end. Come on, you all wanted him to die! Admit it!

Anyway, when I first heard about Snakes on a Plane I thought; cheesy schlockfest! I’m in! So Sunday I headed over to the Chinook theatre and with buttery popcorn that cost me, like, $6.75 (and it was a medium, and I couldn’t finish it!), sat down and watched me some motherfucking Snakes on a motherfucking Plane.

I’m glad I did. Now this may be premature of me to say this, but this very well might be Jaeger’s Fave Flick of the Year™.

Do not get me wrong, this flick will win NO OSCARS, and Rex Reid probably thinks it sucks, and walked out of the theatre like the wining fucking baby he is, but make no mistake: this flick Rocks all sorts of Roll.

From the opening scenes, anyone with half a brain can figure out exactly how this flick is going to end, but that doesn’t matter. It’s called Snakes on a Plane, and that is what it delivers: A big-ass, heavy jumbo jet airplane with a shitload of snakes on it going all apeshit (or is it snakeshit?) all over many fleeing, screaming, filthy human worm-babies, and Samuel L. Freaking Jackson kicking ass and taking names.

If you expect Citizen Cane from a flick called Snakes on a Plane, then you are a retard! Or a film student, maybe both.

4 out of 5 stars.

Reviews From The Chesterfield

Ghost in the Shell Directed by Rupert Sanders Based on the manga by Shirow Masamune In the near future, the cyberneticly enhan...