Birth rights a rite

Irony is dead. Long live Irony.

Irony died in child birth. It is with a mixture of joy and sadness that we anounce the survival of her child Irony. (Born in the iron lung pictured.)

Irony is also survived by her loving partner Blunt Instrument. May she rust in piece de resistence. Man, overboard.

homo's pun wisdom 2

Last Sunday Commercial Drive was cleared of traffic for a street festival without cars. It's one of the most civilized days of the year in Vancouver, and I hope the planners succeed in making every Sunday a car free day. I strongly believe that urban areas need to be dis-carred to promote health, sense of community, reduce stress, and make more room for pedestrians so we don't have to compete for sidewalk space. And I should make a self-gratifying mention that Vancouver's most beautiful men visited en masse... drove me to distraction without vehicle exhaust.

In this photo I am "curbing my enthusiasm" (pic & pun courtesy of my buddy Gail) for the festivities to pun-der the following:

1. border collies know rights of passage
2. piety in the sky
3. mobile phoneme
4. homoless shelter
5. colitis interruptus
6. fragrant disregard
7. laugh of the party
8. savour the last dunce for me
9. the last straw dogs
10. crush course
11. chute the shit = crapshoot
12. the effluent society
13. add fool to the fire; add fuel to the fear
14. faux pause = longer than seemly
15. bottomless pity

Homo's pun wisdom

There have been no posts for many days because I've been a victim of my own disorganized thinking. But this isn't going to stop me from posting any longer. Why don't I post lists of disordered thoughts? Hopefully there will many more editions of Homo's Pun Wisdom, as well as lists of paradoxes, subjects that I've never heard songs about, and human behaviours which should be banned.

Some people don't get puns; these people are the groaners, those who groan. On my off days I groan too. But on my good days the meaningless pun gives me a tiny satori, a petty mort (petite more). I don't get this flash of joy because the pun is funny - that couldn't be possible. Maybe it's because the pun reveals the flaws in our thinking - after all, rationally we shouldn't accept most puns - usually meaningless word plays on thoughts which formerly made sense. And knowing how we don't know is more telling than the truth.

A street person at Commercial & Broadway held a sign: "I'm broker than the 10 Commandments." This shouldn't be funny, but it made me laugh - laugh enough to spare some change. And it shouldn't be funny because "broker" does not mean more broken. Yet we recognize the homophony and we make false connections between discreet thoughts.

So, the meaning of a pun is often pointless, but its always for a good cause. Well, before I get hung up I'll drop the phoneme.

1. keep out of harem's way
2. the lengths a ruler will go to
3. I smelt something fishy
4. a tenant of our faith
5. faux pause
6. colour is a dyer need
7. mail bonding
8. face, the see-side
9. a merde of cows
10. infant isle: try all of the innocents

just ad vice & serve

Majorities, are always opressive, moral or otherwise. Only the most single-minded narcissist can resist trying to appear the same as everyone else. As a consumer I feel my choices both endorse the products as well as the packaging, and all the images and language and values which appear on the box.

So, a self-identified gay man, yours truly, such as myself, using the royal we, feels creeped out buying a pack of condoms. More creeped out than a straight man. Still more creeped out than a straight woman. We all know the basic yuck feeling - like parading underthings before strangers. All but one brand of condom had heterotic foreplay on their covers. But I wonder, "Will these condoms stand up to the rigours of butt fucking?" Couldn't the package have a little politically correct sticker after-thought: "Fits fags fabulously!"

The non-orientation specific brand is Lifestyles, a euphemism for sodomy, debauchery or some other revisionist post-Darwinian strategy. But it's also the most generic, non-descript, and CHEAPEST brand. Clearly, if I want to make a statement through purchasing, this was my only choice. But I also felt like I was buying myself short, going for the non-L'Oreal; somehow I wasn't worth it. Am I getting too worked up about nothing? Hard to know, for fags like me, self-esteem issues pop up with an unhealthy regularity while cruising the aisles at a drug store, or checking out the cashiers, or watching the cashiers look wryly at my brand loyalties.

But I can't, won't buy a "straight" condom! They have such oxymoronic names. Trojan sounds like an stealth vessel, once inside enemy camp opening to release gazillions of sperm warriers. Sheik is a placating name to the injured stud whose harem is more like a glue factory waiting room.

The only solution is a slew of new brands, celebrating the sexual freedom afforded by the condom, springing from their packages upon all the willing, the able and the enabled. Bestsellers would include The Hard's Ease, Without a Trace, Kiss with a Seal or the licentious No Holes Barred.

Finally, I don't have any advice for the unbranded. If you get lucky, just grab what you can. A real man will take the wrap.