An excerpt from today’s writings.

Round 3 of chemotherapy has kicked my ass.
I am tired. Angry. Bitter. Yet disgustingly positive that I will see through this darkness and laugh in the face of this bullshit disease.  This is the darkest post I hope to ever make.  The curse words and anger will undoubtedly see Ellen and the rest of the daytime talk show circuit exclude me from their shows of hope.  I don’t care.  This blog was made to cheer up the real fighters of cancer. Those who have gone through so much more than I.  Those colon cancer survivors who have done 20 plus rounds of chemotherapy while still keeping their shit together (no pun intended).  I’m a fool  Third round.  Chemo fighter.  Losing it.

I self talk. I yell to the Gods.  I beg for my legs to move!!  They respond like beaten dogs, afraid of their master.

Here is an excerpt of today’s, The Funny Thing About Cancer:

I write, not for everyone else.  Although, it sounds nice when I say I want to have a book in every cancer center across North America.  I really do.  I just know that, first of all, society, we are pretty full of shit.  No one reads.  My best bet would be a dual DVD with Katy Perry where she laments on the fact that positivity is the key to happiness.  Hopefully she is in something skimpy, then people would watch.  She wouldn’t be wrong, good old Katy.  But us cancer fighters, we know, positivity doesn’t make your legs work.  It doesn’t make your eyes want to open and it certainly doesn’t make you look healthy, feel healthy and want to do healthy things. 

Some days, I just pray to God.  A God, I don’t even believe it.  I wish I had Ellen’s phone to call God.  Hoping, he or she will forgive the fact that I don’t have anything to do with their charitable donation scheme; then spit down some magic to make me feel okay.   I don’t think that’ll ever happen, but it sure is funny to think about.

Ill just be the shark dancing to it’s own tune. For now.

Featured image

I love all of you for helping me through this fight.
Please help me with this book, or not.  Just share this page. Anything.  I am a fighter. I am a comedian.  I am a brother.  I am a winner.  And I will help others beat this garbage disease.

Top three things attractive people say that make me want to set their hair on fire.

The title says it all.
I’m too busy eating raw cookie dough to write an intro to this.

#1) “People tell me I look like (insert gorgeous celebrity) all the time. I don’t see it.  They must be crazy.”

Yeah, we are crazy.  You know what is truly crazy?  Your inability to be a decent human being…ever.  Your perfect jawline is probably so perfect because of all the time you spend opening it to eject gems like this phrase into the world.

You probably don’t ‘see it’ because your soul is black so when you look in the mirror all you see is Rosie O’Donell starring back.  Why is your soul black?  That’s easy, you’ve never had to work for anything ever.  A bad day for you is when you break a nail and have to go back to the salon twice in one week.  We, your average looking peers usually only get our nails done professionally for weddings.  The sad part is that we will never get to enjoy our very own wedding because next to you, we look like a shoe.  This is why we want to set your hair on fire.  I would probably kill you, but it is impossible, since you are likely already dead inside.

It’s true, personality is essential for long term love to work, too bad that only really matters at the age of 50 and over.  The time when a man’s balls touch his knees and a woman’s breasts touch her thighs.  When the looks fade it matters.  Until then, you’re a fucking star!  I have 23 more years of having to actually work hard and be charming.  You get to run around taking selfies and actually blocking people on twitter instead of begging for followers like us heifers have to.  I hate you.

#2) “You got a speeding ticket!  Why didn’t you just talk your way out of it?”

Your body is a wonderland, we get it.  You lucky-sperm-club-member- trophy-spouse you.  I bet you are probably rich too.  You’ve probably worked at your company for just 9 months and have received two promotions.  How do I know?  Your boss would sleep with you, duh.  No one cares that you type 28 words a minute and smell like Hot Couture even though the office is a ‘scent free zone’.  You get what you want – always.

For the women out there reading this, just know that there are guys who talk behind your back.  They make jokes that you probably give blow jobs to cops instead of getting tickets.  Don’t worry ladies, that’s not me.  I know damn well that you wouldn’t blow a dude with a career in the public sector.  Except politicians who make enough to be on the sunshine list – them you’d blow, maybe.  You get off (sic) on speeding tickets because you are attractive and think turtlenecks are only for days when you have hickeys.

#3) “I wish I could gain weight.”

Unless you have a serious Philadelphia-esque health condition like this guy here , ‘I wish I could gain weight’ is a completely unacceptable phrase to utter.  Ever.  Just keep your mouth full of food so no one ever has to hear that shit again.

Here’s an idea, why don’t you take the money you have saved on speeding tickets and pay me a monthly membership fee of say, $189.  Canadian Dollars are fine, I’m not greedy.  I will take your money and show you how to gain weight, complete with a meal plan and motivational sessions where you watch while I jackhammer wearing just a speedo and you can see exactly what you will look like if you follow my every instruction.  Also, sex is considered cardio so you can’t have any of that.  Not that you have sex.  Even when you do find another avatar-perfect specimen to fornicate with, you do it with your shirt on and the lights off because you think you look like a troll.  For the record, trolls don’t bleach their asshole, mmmk?

(A special thank you to Andre Courtemanche for his help, inspiration and support during the writing of this rant.)

You left your mother’s womb. Now what?

At the risk of sounding like a cantankerous old man, I am going to write about today’s younger generation.

I have such little regard for my ‘rep’, that I am going to shit all over our future generation.  Youth today are total assholes.  Yeah, eff off, I said it, assholes.  They are spoiled and lazy and whiny.  When it comes to ‘common sense’ or ‘street smarts’, today’s future generation is inept.  So inept, that they have no idea what that word means.  They are completely lost in a world of social media, selfies and self-absorbentness.

Today’s teen are a mess.  I was a mess as a teen, but I still knew the basics: manners. respect for your elders and the value of a dollar.

As I was riding the Go Train the other day, a young ‘lady’ sat on her phone the entire 30 minute ride, talking to someone on Facetime explaining how easy it was to cheat on her boyfriend.   This disgusted me, and once I Tweeted and Facebooked the events, I discovered that the rest of the world was also appalled.


32 comments and a ton of Likes.

Really though, who cares?  We all have young people in our lives.  Are any of us brave enough to speak to them about how idiotic they behave?  Or are we all too concerned with our ‘rep’ as the cool cousins, uncles, sisters or brothers; that we let them continue on this downward spiral of failure?

I would love to rant more but I am getting tired.  I will revisit this topic soon…EFF KIDS!

Top 3 Positive Spins On Being Stood Up – Brought to you by the letter ‘H’.

I’ve been watching a lot of Sesame Street since my cable got cut off; so today’s post is brought to you by the letter ‘H’.
Being stood up isn’t such a bad thing.  If you always look on the bright side of life, you never feel the urge to experiment with making toast while taking a bath.

#1) Hygiene Heroics.
Are you a knock-knock joke written for a five year old?  No!  Then why are you so squeaky clean jelly bean?  It is 10:00PM on a Saturday night and you smell so good it is like a Hugo Boss model farted on your clothes.  Your teeth are freshly brushed and it’s not even the morning!  And you didn’t just eat a a whole bunch of celery.  We all know celery is just for women with body issues and so businesses can make a profit by selling veggie platters.

Feel that cool, refreshing breeze on your crotch?  Down there is Mr. Clean bald because of the girl who stood you up, thank her!  Look at yourself, there is no chance you would have shaved your baby makers when all you had on your to-do list was just to order pizza and lie in the bathtub crying.

Listen pal, you may be bummed that your date didn’t show, but chin up!  You’re the cleanest dude in world right now.  While everyone else on earth is reserving teeth brushing for mornings and special nights on the town, your pearly whites are clean and ready for a night on the couch.  You smell great after using your ex-girlfriend’s body butter and your hair (and crotch) is perfect for Omegeling until 5AM.

#2) Hotel-clean Home.
Being the good Boy Scout you are, you knew to be prepared.  In the rare chance that everything went well tonight (translation: some poor girl made a very big mistake fueled by her daddy issues and too much Hypnotic), you wanted your home to look its best.  You emptied your ashtrays, collected all the crusty balled-up socks around your apartment, made your bed and you even did the bacteria coated dishes that had been in your sink for weeks.  Tonight, your pad could be featured in a home and garden magazine you metro-sexual you.

Get pumped!  Your house is super clean now buddy.  It is the perfect t location for you to reflect on how shitty of a person you are and what it will be like to die alone.  Like I always say, a clean house is the best place to research what kind of cat you should get.  Loser!

#3) Happy Ending.
You’re clean, your home is begging for it and yet even if you were on a date right now there would be so many variables dick-tating (yeah I did that) whether you get dirty tonight.  Don’t deny it, you’ve seen books written in braille that are smoother than you are.  Let’s face the facts here; had your date shown up, you probably were not getting laid anyway.

Good news!  Now you’re alone tonight and your internet works.  You know what means don’t you? You’re getting some, bro!  Tonight will be all about you, hands down.  It’ll be like sex an ex who knows everything you like.  The only difference; you don’t have to hear her life-sucking stories or wear a condom.  Tonight you get to go fuck yourself.  Which really, is pretty much what your date told you do.

Tweet me some of your positives about being stood up @hahahaddon
Or Facebook Me

I’m lovin’ it!

Social media heroes (SMHs) seem dead set on us all not eating McDonald’s.  As long as a double cheese burger is $1.69 and a salad is $7.99 I’m pretty sure the ‘diabetic socks’ isle at Walmart will continue to expand, perhaps even carrying brands like Spongebob or Dora The Explorer for the kids.  My three favourite attempts by SMHs to stop us all from eating McDonald’s are below.  Maybe prohibition will make a comeback, I guarantee the 19-25 year old McDonald’s eaters would cut down on their consumption.  As a designated driver extraordinaire, I would love to rid my weekend life of a car full of drunk people yelling through my car windows into the Golden Arch’s box of obesity.

Without further ado:
1. McRiblicious. Look at it, how beautiful.  Like Frosty got run over by a tractor.  I think we’ve all opened an M and M Meats product we forgot we had and ate it, even though uncooked it looked like something Sub Zero was at our house practicing his Ice Freeze.  (Back back forward?)

McRib Frozen

2. Chicken Nugget pink paste that looks like a dehydrated poo or a diva snake.  At some point over my ‘no sauce needed’ 20 piece meal last month I thought of this image while chewing.  I went to the counter and asked for Honey Mustard dipping sauce.  I feel like making it taste sweet and tangy made everything better.  Here’s my issue with this picture, it is not real..anymore.  Since 2003 McDonald’s hasn’t used mechanically separated meat washed with ammonium hydroxide to make nuggets.  But they use to, which is almost as bad as this.
Chicken Nuggest Paste

3. I haven’t seen the movie, but I’m pretty sure Precious was a story of a girl who always tried to complete her Happy Meal toy collection and get Boardwalk each year in McDonald’s Monopoly game.  Damn Hollywood for trying to get us to eat vegetables and learn to read.  And damn the SMHs for posting this picture everywhere.
Precious Fat

I’m off to get some celery.  SMH.

Menstrual Cups

This futuristic looking shot glass is designed to go in a vagina.  Where it is then filled with blood, rinsed and re-inserted for the duration of one’s ‘.’

Google doesn’t know I am a man.  Maybe they do now I’m a man, but perhaps they do not know I am lacking in the having a vagina part.  
A few weeks ago, a Google Adwords popped up pimping me Menstrual Cups.  ‘Imagine only buying 1 tampon over the next decade!’ the ad touted.  I’ve been alive almost 3 decades now and have never bought one single tampon, so I am pretty sure I have this product beat.  

‘Save $1000 over the next decade!’ the website gloated, because naturally I clicked on the link to learn more.

I can see the appeal of being a one-thousandaire, but imagine how alone you would feel since you are, well, gross.

Problems I foresee:
– Rinsing in public washrooms.  Do you waddle out of the stall with your pants at your ankles, rinse in the sink, waddle backwards and re-insert?
– Are you only able to use public washrooms that have a tank on the back of the toilet.  You know, so you can rinse in there?
– Does it get lost in there? (It totally does, Google it, it is way more fun than this blog post



Smelly cat, smelly cat, it’s not your fault.

@hahahaddon for haters.

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I like my women jokes like I like my men jokes, equal.

Just scroll down to the funny stuff if you want.

After I read a tweet this afternoon by the very talented Jarrett Sorko, I started writing versions of the age old, ‘I like my women like I like my _______________’ joke.  This type of joke was one of the first jokes I had ever heard that I didn’t understand.  I was 5 or 6 years old and the joke went something like this, ‘I like my women like I like my coffee, black.’  I remember being confused.  Very confused even, like the type of confusion I get from watching a Rob Kemeny comedy set.

As I was writing my versions of this joke, they started to flow, it was easy, it was fun, but it was very misogynistic.  I wrote about fifty or so in under twenty minutes and instantly knew I wanted to share them with those who read things on the internet.  After my last post and the multiple hate emails I’ve received in less than 24 hours, I decided to call on a fellow comedian to write some of these jokes from the female perspective.  You know, to save face?  Who is this woman with no friends and tons of time on her hands like me?  Well it’s Heather Kozlakowski. (pronouced: Caws-La-Cow-Ski I think.)

Heather Kozlakowski has been in the entertainment business for more than 10 years. She can be seen in television commercials, feature films and heard on the radio. Heather is the founder of the all female comedy group The Laugh Riot Dolls. Heather has performed her profoundly honest and revealing brand of stand up comedy in Los Angeles and Metro Detroit, and has performed with Tig Notaro and Maria Bamford.  She’s even preformed in Canada eh!

So Heather and I agreed to co-produce this post with 25 of our original yet unoriginal jokes.

Ladies first:

I like my men like I like my Hand sanitizer…63% alcohol.
I like my men like I like my Football… I don’t, I might be a lesbian.
I like my men like I like my Jeans…all over my ass.
I like my men like I like my Steak…in my mouth.
I like my men like I like my Grandpa…dirty.
I like my men like I like my Movies…In the dark and lasting at least 90 minutes.
I like my men like I like my Clowns…covered in makeup and sad.
I like my men like I like my Moby…with A Dick.
I like my men like I like my Chocolate cake…Rich.
I like my men like I like my Teenage boys…distracted by my boobies.
I like my men like I like my Algebra …almost always hard.
I like my men like I like my Panties…wrapped around my ankles.
I like my men like I like my Diet…well balanced.
I like my men like I like my Periods…on time.
I like my men like I like my Snapchats…more personality than penis.
I like my men like I like my Drowning victims…desperate for my attention.
I like my men like I like my Funeral homes…never without flowers.
I like my men like I like my Vision…in their 20’s.
I like my men like I like my Toilets…able to take my shit.
I like my men like I like my Serial killers…white.
I like my men like I like my Bike seats…Hard on my pussy.
I like my men like I like my Photos…with a filter.
I like my men like I like my Ex…behind me and pounding on my back door.
I like my men like I like my Panty liners…covered in my juices.
I like my men like I like my Cat…totally dependent on me and super cute.

She’s pretty funny…for a woman.

My turn:

I like my women like I like my Keurig coffee, disposable after a single use.
I like my women like I like my online forms, easy to submit.
I like my women like I like my tacos, hot, soft and silent.
I like my women like I like my top desk drawer, full of my junk.
I like my women like I like cracks in the sidewalk, easy to walk over.
I like my women like I like my white t-shirts. Easy to get dirty.
I like my women like I like my bananas, cheap, comes in bunches, replaceable when bruised.
I like my women like I like my wife, married, bored and sick of her husband’s shit.
I like my women like I like my urinals, doesn’t mind that I don’t give a shit.
I like my women like I like other people’s dogs, already fed and I just get to play with it.
I like my women like I like my wallet, empty and fine with being sat on.
I like my women like I like my local pub, dark, dirty and cheap.
I like my women like I like my cat, hides under the bed when someone comes to the door.
I like my women like I like Siri, only speaks when spoken to.
I like my women like I like homeless people, begging.
I like my women like I like my hat, built for head.
I like my women like I like my second hand books, well read, yet spineless.
I like my women like I like my mailmen in 2015, just a box I can visit when I feel like it.
I like my women like I like my animals, wild and with less rights than me.
I like my women like I like my golf caddy, good for every hole.
I like my women like I like my priests, sexual fucking deviants.
I like my women like I like my goatee, sitting on my face.
I like my women like I like my fisherman, always telling me how big it is.
I like my women like I like black kids from the ghetto, no idea who her father is.
I like my women like I like my female comics, working a day job and free most nights. (This one is just for Heather because she probably hates me.)
I like my women like I like the son of God, selfless and willing to be beaten in the name of sin for her ‘daddy’.

So there you have it.
One tweet.
One hour of ‘work’ and one post of 50 rude, somewhat funny jokes about men and women.
(Heather is twisted.  Which is fine.  I like my women like I like my Sister, Twisted.)

Tweet me your best ‘like my’ jokes on Twitter @hahahaddon or join me on Facebook.