- Stop buying Sports Select tickets. You haven’t won since 2008. And frankly, you’re starting to sound like Christian Bale in The Fighter when you rant about how close you came to winning last week to the person behind you in the Shopper’s Drug Mart line.
- Dinners consisting of $12 wine and cheese buns from the Co-op bakery eaten on the toilet are exactly why your mother thinks you’re unable to live alone
- Eating Tim Bits in the stairwell while singing the Ghostbuster‘s theme song isn’t helping either. Get back to work.
- You’re one more Christine O’Donnell dream away from ending up on the FBI watch list. Again. She’s a witch. She knows when you’re thinking of her. Yes, I saw what she did with her tongue during hour two of your REM sleep, but in real life, batshit crazy doesn’t always equal freaky.
- Give JFK the movie another try. Granted, Kevin Costner is the worst actor you’ve seen and I know you’d rather watch a rabbit torn to shreds than listen to him butcher a Texas accent for two hours, but it’s a really good movie.
- Yes, we remember that Barack Obama was supposed to be our generation’s JFK. Stop seething during his speeches and get a real hobby. Maybe something active? Remember saying you were tired of your workout clothes smelling like Becel and hot sauce after going for a jog? Let’s do something about that. Go outside. Fall off a bicycle like George Bush. Pick a fight with a cop and run away. Do anything that gets your heart rate up.
- You are absolutely correct in assuming the Calgary C-Train system has achieved sentience. You should have bought those Cyberdine shares years ago.
- Start building a bomb shelter. Go through the phone book and befriend everyone with the name John Connor.
- No matter what you hear, Arian Foster will not play this week and you will have to start Deangelo Williams on your fantasy football team. I’m sorry. Don’t try to kick Mason in your rage. He’s too agile now. You’ll miss and fall on your ass.
- When you start crying in the shower after your team loses, muffle your sobs with a washcloth so that your landlord doesn’t hear you this time
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