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Some have you may have probably been wondering. "When the hell is Mr. Charlton going to write another blog post? What am I going to touch myself to now? Porn?" I know people, I've been slacking off. I'd say I've been busy, which would be true, because I've been busy. Sort of.

I'm no longer living in Victoria, in fact, have decided to move back to Calgary. To the people who got me both going away gifts and bought me drinks, I'm sorry you gave me presents for what amounts to a two month vacation. Truthfully, that concept in itself is so wonderfully my style it's not even funny. Mr. Charlton gets gifts for going on vacation. Let that sink in, people. All I know is I have a wonderful taste in my mouth. Matt, Kate, Rudy and Deneen, I promise I'll whip up something tasty for you guys with the knife set you got me.

Now comes the big question. Why the fuck am I coming back to Calgary? How fucking flat on my face did I fall to come swinging back to Calgary with my tail between my legs? Shit, you read that first blog post I did in the new year. I was STOKED to be leaving Calgary. Tasty Sea treats and all that! Shucks, I might have even said a rude thing or two. Rude things may have come out of my mouth! So I'll give a play by play as to what went down in Vic and why I left.

Reason number one: I brought a really shitty little laptop with me instead of my rig.

Sad, Sad Little Machine

You see that little thing? That's a netbook. One of the first generations of netbooks. It's tiny. It's made for surfing the net. Thing is, because of it's tiny, tiny, tiny little solid state drive it can't actually hold a copy of Windows. So it runs on Linux. A Linux distribution that is no longer supported. Which meant that updating anything or installing anything like, let's say, a web browser, was going to be a crazy large pain in the ass. I am not a fan of large pains in the ass unless I'm getting spanked by a 400lb dominatrix named Big Betty.

You might be noticing something about this wordstyle hero's electronic internet journal. It's got motherfuckin' pictures now! And italics! The way I wanted it. They say a pictures worth a thousand words, so that might triple, even quadruple my output. Efficiency people, I'm all about it. And italics! There's a proper English use for them, but nuts to that malarkey. You can almost hear how damn excited I am to be using a better format. On that little guy, I couldn't even see the damn 'add picture' button. No fonts for me to play with. No damn colour. I'm not a man who likes having his options squandered. My New Years resolution was to write more. This little teeny weeny laptop was limiting my efforts and I thought the blog suffered because of it.


I'll give you an example. Here's Facebook on that little punter.

At least I didn't have to see that news ticker bullshit

Reason number two: Victoria is unfriendly and people there aren't always cool.

When I first moved to Calgary, within a week I had a place to live, a job and about 10 new friends. Not just people I worked with either, actual people I was hanging out with. Goddamn did I struggle with meeting people in Vic. Me! The guy who just randomly starts conversations with people. The guy whose let strangers  sleep on his couch in the past 'cause they seemed like okay people. Struggling! Like a fish outta water. Christ, I even joined up to Meetup.com just to find people with similar interests. I joined a damn website to meet people. It's not even a dating site or anything. I can kinda get behind that, I guess. But to use the internet to make friends? Not my deal. Wasn't cool.

Victoria? More like Dicktoria

Not to say I didn't met some totally rad people down there. The boys my brother chilled with were all kinds of rad. The people I took a bar tending class were all cool. There were cool people all over the place. Just not my people, you know? Hard to describe but I just got weird vibes about the town.

Reason number three: I have learnt I cannot live out of a backpack.

I was telling people I'd be travelling the world, having crazy adventures and touring the world Bruce Wayne style, a man on a mission to find myself. Didn't take very long. You know who hates camping? This guy. This guy right here.You know why? Fucking in a hotel room is the bomb. Fucking in a tent is going to attract bears. The only time I want to be cooking over a fire is when I've got a gas stove to use. I don't want to be more than one kilometer away from a decent cocktail. I like having a choice of suit jackets to wear. There should a damn cheese store within walking distance of where I live. And here I am telling people I'm going to go overseas and busk harmonica to see the world. 

And you know what? I wasn't going to have any crazier adventures out there than I was going to get at home. It was just going to be crazy adventures in a language that I probably wasn't going to understand, not to mention the fact that would be broke and dressed poorly. Weird shit happens to me on the way to the grocery store. I've had people dressed as bears asking me for hugs. I've been threatened by a clown. I've had girls dance in front of me and then give me money! I've gotten into hi-jinx, shenanigans and sorts of tomfoolery. Why the hell was that going to be different elsewhere? Don't get me wrong, I'll get over there one day. Not out of a backpack, though.

Reason number four: I actually need to be drafting. To keep me sane.

I've got a whole of weird nervous energy that my chosen profession sucks up like a sponge. I tend to have some weird OCD-like tendencies that start to bloom if I'm not doing anal retentive artwork. My career is so finicky, so picky that all this energy gets eaten up and then some. It frees my mind so I can be myself. The uglier the project, the better. When I'm not doing it, I start to get squirrelly and strange. This is hard on me and the people around me. Idle hands are the devil's plaything and he was using my hands to touch people inappropriately (metaphorically touching).

Reason number five: I missed my friends.

Sounds sappy, I know. God awful truth. I really missed hanging with people I had some to know over the last ten years. I don't want to go out and make a whole new mess of friends. I liked the mess of friends I already have. Some people I haven't seen in WAY too long. Was that how I was going to go out? Not giving a proper goodbye? My departure was rushed and sloppy and it bothered me. People come and people go, but there was a lot of people I want to keep, even it's just for a bit longer.

So there you have it. The reason I'm headed back. Back to the land of plentiful work and cold-as-all-hell winters. Back to a pub where most people know my name. Back to the people I'm not quite done with. 

And goddamnit, back to the place I love calling home. Even if it is just Calgary.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton.

p.s. And where in the all flying hell was I going to get another bowl of that crazy Pho that's made downtown? I used to eat there at least every couple of weeks. I mean, that satay sauce they use is just so damn creamy, I get all hot and bothered just thinking about it.

Banging a Dolphin

The internet never ceases to amaze me. If there is ever a point in my small little life that makes me feel like I´ve chosen the wrong path or I haven´t succeeded, I head straight to the tubes and bask in the glory that is the internet. Usually I head to a website called Reddit because it´s basically 4chan with a filter. If none of this makes sense to you, you are more than welcome to google both of these websites, although I urge caution when heading to 4chan. As 4han can rarely offer both insight and wisdom, it is mostly known to provide perhaps the most twisted images from the bowels of the network.

Anyhoo, if I ever feel the need to talk about something other than myself on the ol´ blog here, I figured that due to my nature of coming to a conclusion with neither evidence or research I could simply wander the halls of cyberspace and comment about a story or a new fact that I learned or a political movement that I should perhaps rally myself behind. Or, you know, I could talk about a guy who wrote a book about banging a dolphin.

Let me just get this off my chest. I´m not an advocate of animal fuckers. That isn´t what Mr. Charlton is about. The thought of meerkats running all over my naked body doesn´t get me hot and bothered. The sight of a giraffe, with it´s long, slender neck doesn´t pull weight in my bathing suit area. Let´s not even get started on how two hermaphroditic slugs getting it on isn´t a steamy affair.

Wikipedia actually has a page on zoophilia and apparently furry porn has been around for quite some time. One of of the first images of beastiality was a dude with an erect penis standing behind a donkey. Standing a little too close, if you catch my drift. My mind wandered back to high school english class, where we talked about ancient greek gods banging animals or turning into animals to get banged. People fucking their pets isn´t a new phenomenon, apparently.

I´m not going down the road and talking about furries or yiffies or whatever the fuck they call themselves. That mine of weirdness is a vein far too rich to be harvested in one blog. Especially when I have the topic of man/dolphin coitus to talk about.

I´m gonna say this right off the bat. He didn´t rape the dolphin. Dolphins are incredibly powerful animals that could mess you up two ways to Sunday if you ever pissed one off on their turf. They´re also incredibly sexual animals and have been known to enjoy sex, engage in sex for fun, engage in gang bangs and all sorts of kinky stuff. Flipper doesn´t fool around when getting his rocks off.

So what ended up happening, you may be asking yourself? I have no idea, as I haven´t read his book, so I´ve decided to obscure facts by making shit up.

Peter Seafarrow, a tall, handsome man is at Seaworld one day, after a particularly nasty breakup from his girlfriend. To cheer himself up, he decided to treat himself to a fifteen minute swim with the dolphins. He heads to the change room, where he dons a banana hammock thong and greases his perfectly toned bronze body before he heads to the tank. Jumping right in, he swims out a little to where the dolphins are. The dolphins are splashing and playing dolphin games. He looks to the right and his breath is taken away in an instant. He spies this beautiful creature, this wet goddess glide through the pool and right up to him. She looks him in the eye and he gazes back into hers. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he asks ¨My, aren´t you a lovely creature. What is your name?¨ She raises her head to repond ¨Eek-EEEK-eeekekeke-EEEEEEKKKKKK.¨

The man is stunned. ¨I wasn´t aware you had such a lovely singing voice. Perhaps this is a bit forward, but would you care to dine with me tonight? I know of a lovely little seafood restaurant.¨  She playfully poked his belly with her snout. ¨EEEEKK-EEEEK!¨ He smiled. ¨I´ll pick you up at eight.¨

Later that evening, after a few bottle of wine and a few buckets of sardines, they head back to his place, where they begin to...

Alright, I promise I didn´t write erotic dolphin fiction on porpoise. We´ll keep this PG-13, I´m not going a step further. If you´re really interested, the website about the dolphin incident book is actually called wetgoddess.net. The link is safe for work, certainly not safe for the mind.


Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. If you think this was twisted, one day I´ll post my erotic pokemon fanfiction. You´ll wonder why you even talked to me in the first place.

p.s.s. Yes, the entire piece was written just so I could use that pun in the last paragraph.

The Joys of Work

I once told a man, it´s not the work I hate so much, it´s the working on another man´s schedule that happens to bother me. I´m not one for plans, if you need an example, the move out to Victoria should be more than enough to show that I tend to throw caution to the wind. Thankfully, I still have quite the bank account holding me afloat that the need for employment has yet to be a necessity.

They say do what you love for work and it won´t seem like work at all. If there´s one thing I can certainly confirm, it´s that finding new euphemisms for the word ´genitals´ is a tough fucking career choice. I don´t mind sex, so I´ve considered the prospect of selling my body to sixty/seventy year old women in exchange for presents and food. Both of these career choices seem a little far fetched, but you´d be surprised what kind of situations Mr. Charlton has weaseled his way into (it´s how I earned the nickname Weasel, actually. Story for another day).

Most jobs are places that people would rather not be at. I´m not saying that they´re bad jobs, but if I gave most people the choice between their passion and file management, well, let´s not kid ourselves. The employment world, noticing this, has attempted to emulate fun at the workplace. This can create mixed results. Spirit teams have now replaced what once was a bottle of bourbon tucked in a desk drawer. Corporate games are now all the rage, with bouts of laser tag and tug of war to stimulate the weary worker.

Some companies, that lack the resources to host such events, have to make due with the resources they´ve got. At one firm, after I had mentioned that I play the harmonica, I was told it might be fun to start a ´company band´. She further suggested that I name the band ´The <insert company name> Band´. I politely told her that I´d rather nail my foreskin to the floor and play the cock bass than do the aforementioned. At another company, the workers would tease each other with racial slurs and homophobic rants. The vice president once mused that perhaps a solution to homosexuals was to put them in a furnace (no people, I´m not making this shit up).

I´ve met some incredibly intelligent, thoughtful people through work. I´ve also met some people whose lack of self perception was so thoroughly stunning that it shocks me to this day that these shitty people quite often have children. Maybe that´s why I´m a little hesitant to get back in the game. I still have time, so I might as well use a little more of it.

Is that to say I´m not preparing? Fuck no, people. Mr. Charlton doesn´t allow himself a lot of downtime. If I´m not writing stuff or learning stuff, I´m out and about meeting people. It ain´t what you know but who you know, if anyone tells you otherwise, they´re selling you snake oil. In this day of facebook and fifteen minute fame, you´re no longer selling a product, you are the product. And you better goddamn well believe what you´re selling is the bomb or else the market will smell your lack of confidence and jerk you around because they know you won´t be struggling. You want a job? You better have an in with someone on the inside, a spokesperson. You want someone within the company selling you or else you´re just another resume in a stack. And be sure that your spokesperson isn´t a fuck up. If the guy is getting blazed at lunch time or has crashed the company truck one too many times, that person may not be the best person to be selling your brand.

Truth be told, I despise marketing bullshit to the core. Half the words that came outta my mouth make me want to stab myself in my voice box. It´s the truth, though. It´s what we, as people, respond to. Psychologists for the last eighty to ninety years have been paid to find a way into the brain to sell a commodity. After all these years, we´re not even selling a product anymore, we´re selling ourselves. Is that a bad thing? Maybe. If you ever wanted a reason as to why a grown man would spend his life collecting dolls (I mean action figures) so he could be the ´Ninja Turtles Guy´, maybe we can look to the fact that every Saturday of his childhood was spent watching hours of thirty minute long toy commercials.

What´s my point? Work sucks. That about sums it up. I guess I just find it bizarre that people spend so much time and agony and frustration at work with the only upside is a lifestyle they feel isn´t shameful. That an entire life is spent trying to feel... shameless. You want my advice? Stop worrying about what other people think about you, because usually they are far too worried about what people think of THEM to spend the mental energy to focus on you.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton


p.s. You wanna know how I stopped giving a fuck? I´ve studied under fucking GURUS of not giving a shit. Maybe one day the student will become the master. But who gives a fuck.

Correspondence

Ladies and Gentlemen and everything in between, I have a confession to make. A secret that many of you already know but have yet to bring up. That´s okay, we both know of my dark little fault. We both know that because of this, some of you would gladly smack me upside my (extremely symmetrical) head and say ¨God Damnit, Mr. Charlton, you are BETTER than this.¨ You are right, I should be better than this. So what is this small fault of mine, some of you may be asking?

I am terrible with correspondence. Flat out fucking awful at it. As in, there is no depth as to how lacking my skills of correspondence are. I rarely reply to emails, I find facebook to be an utter nuisance and I think it´s perfectly fine not to reply to a text message for days. I refuse to wish people a happy birthday over the internet. I typically shun most forms of modern day communication. I´m a bit of a miser about it, to be frank.

You see, I´m a little bit old fashioned. I don´t actually like a lot of the new technology that´s been coming out these days. I certainly find some of it useful and novel, but for the most part I find most gadgets to be short lived and a waste. Anytime someone mentions to me that a piece of technology is beautiful, the first thing that comes to mind is that in two years that same person is going to be cursing that his worthless hunk of junk isn´t up to date. Then his once beautiful toy goes into the trash.

Come sit on my knee, internet. We´re going to have a little chat about the difference between something that´s beautiful and something that´s attractive. Yes people, there is a difference. When something is beautiful, it´s timeless. It´s rare and could possibly be there for only a moment. The Mona Lisa is beautiful. An old bottle of wine can be beautiful. Baby´s first steps? That beautiful moment is only gonna happen once.

Attractive things are used to symbolize status. A 60¨ television in your tiny living room? Nice, but it´s not a thing of beauty. It´s not making people weep. New shoes? Catches the eye, but I´m not tearing up over here. Now to be fair, this is obviously subjective. I´m sure there are some people out there who well up when they get a new phone. These people also videotape themselves opening the box for the first time (look up ´Box Opening´ on youtube. You´d be surprised). These are the people who have every phone they had before locked up in a box somewhere or in extreme cases, have them framed and mounted.

I know what you people are thinking. You´re saying to yourself ¨Mr. Charlton, you started off talking about how you were an asshole for not getting back to people. Now you´re talking about how you´re an asshole for being a pretentious fuckhead.¨ Whoa, whoa, whoa, don´t you worry, I´m coming full circle on this one.

I have a hard time responding to this new form of communication because in my opinion it´s not beautiful. People used to have a stack of love letters that was hidden up in the attic. Now we have sext messages of each others fuck sticks and snatch boxes, and even that shit is more than likely going to be erased. Getting a email from a friend used to be rad, now I´m wary to check my inbox because there´s 900 new emails! Either from either Prince Suliyarwa in Nigeria who is needing my credit card number or Ron Jeremy telling me that if I don´t take these dick pills I´ll NEVER be able to grow a 16¨ cock that has the girth of a Louisville slugger!

Am I exaggerating here? Of course I am. To be fair, you´re talking to man who cringes when he sees txt wrttn lik dis. A man who almost pushed a teenager in front of a cement mixer when they uttered the word ´LOL´. But the world isn´t going to change on my behalf. It´s not going to slow down, so I might as well speed up. I´ll try not to think your mother drank a lot during term when you send me an extremely poorly spelled text message. I promise not to die inside a little when you buy a 55¨ television to replace your 54¨ television. I swear I won´t cry in a corner, weeping for humanity the next time someone posts on facebook a ´If you really care/are really my friend/part of the hivemind then you´ll agree with this post´ message (seriously folk, the ol´ copy and paste is the laziest form of slacktivism out there).

And folks, as it´s my New Years resolution, I will stop being such a stuck up, snobby, nose in the air sort of guy and will actually reply to messages and emails and facebook comments. But lemme tell you, it´s gonna be a struggle.

Sincerely

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Jon Jeremy thinks a penis is for three things; To crush his enemies, see them driven before him and hear the lamentations of their women. *Rimshot*

p.s.s. If you actually have a cause that´s worthwhile and you actually want to take it somewhere beyond facebook, send me a message. We´ll see if I can give you a hand. 99% of you will read this but only 1% will actually DO something about it. Tables have turned, haven´t they?

  ╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

p.s.s.s. If you´re going to continue with the ´99% of you vs. 1%´, please for the love of Peter change it to 100%. That´s not how that shit works.