So last night while I was laying in bed, it suddenly occured to me that Ouch, normally the bedsheet does not cause me any pain in the knee. So why was my knee all sore and tender now?

Today I had a look and my knee is all black and blue and purple, like someone had at it with a stick or club or something.

Now I don’t recall any kind of beat-down, nor for that matter do I remember taking any unexpected trips to the ground. So this can only be the result of one thing:

Evil Invisible Garden Gnomes.

They’re sneaking into my house at night and beating me with sticks while I’m asleep.

I know they’re invisible because I can’t see any garden gnomes in the neighborhood when I look for them. And I surmise that they are evil because they’re invisible, and therefore they can be evil and get away with it.

Plus, if they were friendly or visible garden gnomes, I’d like to think they would sneak in and clean my house while I slept, rather than pummel me with blunt objects.

Here is photographic proof: You can clearly see that no friendly or visible garden gnomes exist. Therefore the only garden gnomes in this photo are the evil invisible variety. It is conclusive!

If you drink beer, you have a Scott Number. It’s a mathematical constant. Or maybe it’s a variable? Everyone has their own Scott Number.

Your Scott Number is defined as the number of beers you drink before you get around to putting the new case in the fridge.

In other words: You know when you bring home a new case of beer? And you really want one? So instead of putting it right into the fridge, you set it on the kitchen table, or the kitchen counter, or the coffee table, or the floor next to the sofa, or on the sofa, or… you get the picture. And then you open it up and help yourself? And then you have another? Eventually the beers in the case will get warm, or you’ll have had enough, or whatever. Sooner or later you’ll put them in the fridge. But between bringing the case home, and putting the case in the fridge, you’ll have some beers. How many beers you have, is your Scott Number.

The Scott Number is named after a guy named Scott, who once said to me something along the lines of “Oh yeah, that case never made it into the fridge.”

Clearly, his Scott Number was 24. That is a magic number.

What’s yours?

Why does the yummiest stuff come from so far away?

I mean, I’m in Brampton, Canada – roughly 79 degrees west and 44 degrees north. King Island Dairy is roughly 143 degrees east, and 40 degrees south. In other words – the opposite side of the world. Like what’s that, 20,000 km away?

Yet they make some super  yummy blue cheese – Roaring Forties Blue – named for the winds which whip around the southern seas at 40 degrees lattitude, at speeds up to 100km/h.

I guess I should just be glad that I can even get my hands on it, here on the far side of the world. And it’s not even crazy-priced, too.

Anyways, blah blah blah blue cheese. Get some, try some, it’s the bomb.

Seems that ancient Egyptians used a base-ten system, but they did not use placement and had no concept of zero.

Whereas the Babylonians, using their base-sixty system, did have both placement and zero. Very cool stuff.

The Mayans also understood zero, they used a base-twenty system along with placement.

Who decided that two days of rest was sufficient to recover and recharge after five days of work? Whomever it was, I disagree.

It is my strong belief that every weekend should consist of three days. One day to recover and recharge from work, one day to do the housework and chores, and one day to play.

I realize that if we reduce every work-week to four days, the economy could suffer. Consequently, I have now decided that we will extend the week to eight days, with the additional day being added to the weekend.

Henceforth, the week shall consist of the following days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday will remain the traditional ‘work week’. Saturday, Sunday, and Stephday will be the weekend.

The eight-day week will go into effect starting September 1st, 2010.

Cheers.

Yesterday, instead of doing chores or whatever, I ended up sitting around watching episodes of an old TV show on the internet. I might still buy the DVDs if I find them, on account of the ads they kept inserting into the stream.

I say ads but really it was just the same ad, over and over. Four times per episode, thirteen episodes. It wasn’t even an entertaining or funny commercial. Some strange Redbull thing that involved dogs. And they made sure to draw naughty-bits on the dogs which I thought was particularily wierd.

So throughout the afternoon I had fifty-two opportunities to wonder why a Redbull commercial would intentionaly put naughty bits on animated dogs, and does that contribute to Redbull sales?

Maybe it was an experiment.

I certainly don’t feel any urge to buy Redbull. It’s very expensive and I’m not entirely convinced that it doesn’t contain some kind of exotic carcinogen. Though I suppose now it’s also linked in my brain with canine porn and bestiality. Again, not sure if that was the marketing plan or not.

I don’t really understand the whole energy-drink craze.

What’s worse than having a giant spider living in your kitchen by the window above the sink?

When the giant spider living in your kitchen by the window above the sink suddenly goes missing.

Cos now not only do I know there’s a giant spider, but I no longer know where he’s at.

I named him Skeletor. Before he went missing. On account of his huge bony knee joints.

Giant spiders have a lot of knee joints.

I’m not a fan of spiders.