Sebastien Wilcox » Blog

Kids Grow Up So Fast: The Letter C.

sebastienw — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 04:12:35 +0000

Catherine with a C came continuously ’cause Cam is the chief of cunnilingus.

“Cripes…Cam…cripes…cripes…cripes!!!”, Catherine with C called out, convincingly and cunningly.

“Crepes?”, countered Cam, confused. “Can’t cook!”

The moral of this post? Cripes and crepes cannot coexist.

Kids Grow Up So Fast: The Letter B.

sebastienw — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 04:59:25 +0000

Bob bounced the basketball.

Boing, the basketball bounced beneath Bob’s barenaked baggage of balls.

Bewildered, a belligerent Bob bellowed a Bee Gee-esque “bloody bitch!”.

Black and blue became Bob’s bounceless balls. Beefsteak big, bloated and battle scarred badly.

Bob began bouncing the basketball bountifully like a blind, bearded Baptist bastard.

“Bubble bath before bed, balls”, babbled Bob, bushed beyond belief.

The moral of this post? Bob is bummed to have been born bum brained.

Kids Grow Up So Fast: The Letter A.

sebastienw — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 03:08:08 +0000

Adrian ate Alice’s apple.

“Asshole”, acclaimed Alice.

“Accept my apology?” asked Adrian apathetically.

After absorbing what arose, along with anger and animosity, an appalled Alice asked Adrian: “How about anal at my abode ASAP?”

“Awesome!” Adrian answered, about to asiago cheese his Armani tighty whities.

“As if”, answered Alice. “When Afghan aardvarks on acid amalgamate in Alabama.”

The moral of this post? Alice is a tease.

An Open Letter From My Four Year-Old.

sebastienw — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 06:44:29 +0000

Deer Bear,

I live in North Vancouver and you come on my street and I don’t like you and you freak me out. Why do you eat garbage? Is that why you poo in the woods? I know my papa always asks my mom if you poo in the woods and my mom shakes her head. Adults can be pretty silly. Like when my dad told me that I should write a letter to you because I’m mad and that I should start the letter by saying deer bear. Why not raccoon bear? Or squirrel bear? My papa is confused and that’s why he’s always got a dumb look on his face. He even tried to tell me that bears are cool. Who is he trying to kid? I may be his kid, but don’t kid me dad or I won’t eat my veggies ever again.

Then he told me babies came from vaginas. I said good one dad how’s that non-alcoholic beer with the alcohol treating you?

I think that my dad may be part bear. He eats all my leftovers and he actually growls when he doesn’t get his way. Once he made me watch TV for twelve hours straight and when I told him I felt like reading a book or getting fresh air he said roooooaaaaaaaaaaaaar and then made himself a honey sandwich without asking me if I wanted any.

Before I forget, I must also say sorry for the way I’m writing this, bear. I have a cookie in my hand and my papa is leaning in towards me looking for a handout, and I’m running out of space on this page. And the reason I’m changing marker colours is basically because I’m throwing markers at my dad in the hopes of shooing him away. Anyways, bear, get off my street. Zach.

The moral of this post? Zach’s letter was professionally translated by a child-adult translator. We paid her in Monopoly money and told her to translate it to Canadian currency.

An Open Letter To Hans Dys.

sebastienw — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 06:08:03 +0000

Dear Hans,

I confess, I’m a knob. Every day, I call you. But I don’t talk to you. Oh no, God no. When I realize that I call you, I hang up on you. Not because I don’t want to talk to you, but seeing that I call you four times a day, we’d probably run out of things to say if we did talk.

Besides I’m a guy and I hate the phone. My favourite words on the phone are hey, yep, right right right and ah man I gotta meeting to get to can I call you back?

But Hans, this is not about me. Well, sorry, actually it is. But see, I’m too technologically dumb-dumb to figure out how to lock my Blackberry, and for whatever reason, when I bump my phone carrying pocket, I automatically call you. Then I hang up on you. Sorry, Hans.

I’ve called you from weddings, funerals, buffet lines, wrestling events, the dentist, the bathhouse (I was looking for the Library), early in the morning, late at night, on Wednesdays after my weekly soapless shower and when I get my bum massaged fully-clothed at the Library.

I need for you to understand that I don’t understand my phone. Besides, I’m going to be getting an iPhone soon because everyone is jumping off a bridge and I’m a follower. So why should I bother to learn how to use my Blackberry at this point? That was rhetorical, Hans. I’m not looking for an answer. Much like when I ring you.

In fact, our lack of actual dialogue has actually helped this whole blog posting thing.

The moral of this post? Hans doesn’t have caller I.D. If he did, Hans would have orchestrated a hit on me. Hans is Dutch. The Dutch have a temper.

Dissecting Moby.

sebastienw — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 06:34:53 +0000

I played the shit out of Moby’s Play. I was even gonna call up Moby personally to see if he could change the name of his album to Played. He may have changed it, if I had offered him enough money. I mean, this is the same Moby that sold out in every way possible by licencing all 18 tracks from this album for whatever commercial purpose Moby deemed appropriate. Not that you or I or that guy across the street with the twitchy eye would have done any differently.

One of the songs on Play, was called Honey. Apparently, Moby created this song with thousands of busy bees. Here are its lyrics, in its entirety. (This song likes to repeat itself.) Here are its lyrics, in its entirety. (This song likes to repeat itself.)

Honey (lyrics by Moby)

if my honey comes back sometime
i’m gonna rap that jack sometimes
get a hump in my back sometimes
i’m going over here sometimes

Dissecting: I don’t know what I’m singing about, but surely, Chrysler or GM or some bank or some Investment company will – and I’ll get rich from it.

Way down yonder sometimes
Gonna get my pal sometimes

Dissecting: Who says yonder? When you’re making money from selling out and licencing all your music, you have the luxury to say yonder.

The moral of this post? I don’t say yonder.

Tee Hee.

sebastienw — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 04:45:10 +0000

Tee hee hee hee hee. Tee hee hee. Tee hee.

Tee hee hee hee hee. Tee hee. Hee. Tee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee.

Tee.

And hee.

And giggle giggle. Tee hee hee hee giggle hee hee hee hee.

The moral of this post? Forget laughing, this is what you call fake writing.

Someone owes me an LOL And That Someone Knows Who He Is.

sebastienw — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 18:49:46 +0000

I probably wrote the funniest email of my life the other day. It probably took a few minutes longer to write than my typical emails – seeing that this one was filled with gut busting insights and knock-em down zingers that were giggle worthy, to say the least.

What upsets me is the response. Now, I’d be happy to share the email with you but it was one of those you-had-to-be-there moments and it was very inside as they say, “they” being the comedic gods that would surely be pissing their pants and fighting off fits of laughter if they’d been the recipients of this said email.

But they weren’t.

The man who received this email is a rude, impolite and all the other words you find when you look up dickmunch in the thesaurus.

The moral of this post? I’m an insecure little boy. Without a reaction, I’m nothing. I’m like vanilla wallpaper, flapping hopelessly under florescent light. That’s why I need laughter. It’s the best medicine. Zinger. Why aren’t you LOLing? That was super funny and my timing was exquisite.

New Logo Treatment For Vancouver Canucks. Among Other Things.

sebastienw — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 06:05:22 +0000

The 2010 Canucks team that takes to the ice in the upcoming NHL season will look a little different than in years passed. Here’s a few changes that Vancouverites can expect from their favourite team:

The whale logo will remain, although the colours are going to be a little more rainbowish – to appease Vancouver’s growing gay population.

Face off circles will be moved closer to the red line and will now look like four giant boobs in order to appeal to the macho 18-35 male.

The blue lines will now be black lines. But not only lines, all Canucks players will now need to be black – to embrace Vancouver’s African-Canadian minority.

The area inside the black line of the Canucks zone will be diminished so that the Canucks can have an unfair advantage and win more games.

Roberto Luongo will be in goal for both teams and there will be no restriction to the amount of players a team can have on the ice.

The puck will be made of ice cream. The goalie creases will be little pools of blue water for both Roberto Luongos to cool off in should he/they get sweaty.

The moral of this post? My 4 year-old forgot to draw boards.

Helping A Guy In Line At The Grocery Store Backfires.

sebastienw — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 17:12:08 +0000

So there I was at Safeway, in line, with my groceries on the belt. A guy lined up behind me carrying a jug of milk. Seeing that I had over fifty items, I did the honourable thing and told him to save my spot while I ran off and got bacon bits. When I returned, I nodded to the guy. he nodded back. Then I asked him if he wanted a bacon bit. He said pardon? I said kidding, want to go ahead of me? He said sure, half smiling.

I’m still not sure what happened to the other half of his smile.

It was his turn to pay and he said hello to the cashier and she said $4.27 please and he said do you take debit and she said yes and he slid his card in the wrong way and she said stripe down and he said it was down and she said the other way and he said like this while doing a really bad swiping motion that made me think of how shitty this guy would be at playing Charades and how he would make the world’s shittiest partner and she said no stripe towards you and then he said I thought you said stripe down and she said that she did say that but you still swiped it incorrectly.

When he finally managed to get his card in there and swiped successfully, the poor bastard forgot his PIN number. So then he took out his MasterCard which he hadn’t signed yet. So he couldn’t use that. So then he sat there opening and closing his wallet like it was an accordion but the sound it made sounded more like a man who had zero money.

I was going to offer to pay the $4.27 but I didn’t because I leave my empty beer bottles in the back alley and I’m pretty sure that this guy in line takes advantage of that.

That’s pretty much it. There is no ending to this story. I’m writing this from the line up and the guy is still playing the wallet accordion. No shit.

The moral of this post? I’m a patient man.