62. Agoraphobia

62. Agoraphobia
If I don’t have anything to say I try not to write about it. Its been a successful summer.

Today I have something to say. I am gay and have been for quite some time. I’m told that during a brief period of time in my early 3’s I wasn’t gay at all and there were a few times during my teenage years when I was possibly a bit more shy and lonely than gay. Now though, if you are someone who knows me, you know that gay describes me nicely. Otherwise:

Dear Stranger,

Dictionaries record an instance of a language. It’s kind of too bad that they can’t just define a language and be done with it, but they can’t. Also, that would be no fun at all really. Thankfully language is defined by the people that use it (unless it is a programming language). This is good for me because I want to be a part of defining the word ‘gay’. Before I go any further though, just to be safe, I should probably check what the dictionaries last said on the matter…

Hmmm. My efforts may have been wasted. A moment ago I was very surprised to learn that the very first definition of the word ‘gay’ in the Urban Dictionary is “jovial or happy, good-spirited”. Every other old stodgy dictionary I’ve checked online says that ‘gay’ means gay. We all know that old stodgy dictionaries are behind the times though so I think my work here is done.

Nod of the head,

For further discourse on gaiety please see the following:
27. Gay for a Second – Dear gay people

61. poink poink

This is my wife’s favourite comic ever. She thinks it is the most hilarious thing. Really, really funny. If I remember correctly, I promised to love her forever.

Its been a while. I don’t know if that is going to be a thing yet or not. I think I’ve just been busy but maybe I’ve been becoming someone who doesn’t send out a comic every week. We’ll see.

So I was watching the London Olympics (I’m almost done now). Closing ceremonies. There comes Oscar Pistorius carrying the flag for South Africa. Awkward.

True story. I am on stage with four of the Backstreet Boys. I am the fifth. My heart is pounding. Very excited. We are ready to rock. At least they are. The base booms and so do we. I’m dancing but I don’t know the steps. I don’t even remember rehearsing for this. Oh well, I’m pretty close and it will get better in time. I can’t think about that now. Its time to sing some sweet bass harmonies. Come to think of it, does any boy band even have a bass part? No time to worry about that now. I’ll make it up as I go along. “I MAY RUN AND HIDE WHEN YOU’RE SCREAMING MY NAME. al-RI-ight!…” uh, I don’t really know the lyrics… “al-RI-ight!” This is awesome though. I’ll just blend in when I need to. “ALL YOU PEOPLE CAN’T YOU SEE, CAN’T YOU SEE, HOW YOUR LOVE’S AFFECTING OUR REALITY…” Nailed the chorus at least. This is exhausting. Wait one crazy second. I absolutely do not dance. (That’s not entirely true. At least not when anyone is looking though.) I look like a complete fool up here. I don’t really know any of the words, and this is just the first song. Catastrophe. I’m going back to sleep.

Until next time,

60. Jones

Dear Canadian Football fans, people that believe in fair catches, and those who don’t know what a rouge is,

I think that covers everybody. If, however, you happen to know what a rouge is and are not a fan of Canadian Football, I guess this story isn’t for you.

I went to the Canadian Football League’s western championship game in Vancouver this last November; private suite and everything. My hometown BC Lions were favourites to win the Grey Cup. Whether they did or not is irrelevant to this story, also, they totally sucked and I don’t want to talk about it.

I caught a ride with a friend of mine who had also been invited to the suite. We walked into the stadium through the press/private suite entrance and headed for the elevators. There were around ten cheerleaders also waiting for the elevator when we got there. I say ‘around ten’ because you can’t be too precise about these things. Somebody might think that I actually counted them. It’s hard for me to not count things though sometimes. For instance, at a church I went to recently the organ has 98 pipes showing and I really wish I knew how many pipes were not showing. Speaking of things showing, the cheerleaders were on their way up to the suites to sell calendars of themselves to raise funds for something irrelevant. I didn’t have any cash on me. Also, I imagined the conversation I would have to have about this purchase with my wife when I got home and I just couldn’t seem to get it off the ground. I don’t use calendars anyway. Why did I even consider buying a calendar? Silly. The elevator arrived and the cheerleaders got on and faced us. I would have waited for the next elevator and felt like a wussy dufus for the rest of my life but my compadre was not going to miss this chance and I had to follow or risk feeling like a massively extra special wussy dufus for the rest of my life. I’m not afraid of a few cheerleaders anyway so, what the hay. I got on. The doors close. I realize I’ve been staring at roughly ten cheerleaders for I’m not sure how many seconds. Casual rotation. Now I’ve got my back to a number of cheerleaders. Awkward. That’s all I can say. That, and there were eight of them.

Benjamin Boyd

59. Pre-Buttered

Dear Flash Mobs,

It is time that somebody let people know that flash mobs aren’t as cool as they used to be.  I enjoy a good flash mob as much as the next guy sitting on the couch surfing the net but don’t a lot of them seem a little bit pretentious?  The first ever flash mob was a failure because they couldn’t keep it a secret.  Flash, fizzle, “Move along you crazies.”  The second flash mob was super awesome.  They didn’t sing or dance.  What?!  In Manhattan 130 people went to Macy’s to shop for a “love rug”.  It had to be a group decision, they claimed, as they all lived together in a warehouse on the edge of New York.  Now that is a flash mob.  I want to see more of those.


A slightly uncomfortable bystander

58. The Aryan Race III

Related Comics: Crap Theory, The Aryan Race I, The Aryan Race II

Eye contact and, if I like you, perhaps a slight nod,

Apparently very few of you are on Twitter.  You are to be commended for this, I think.  I currently have 4 followers.  This is what you will be missing out on however.  I plan to very slowly write a novel and to very slowly tweet it.  Slowly, I say, so as to not irritate any of my followers by overloading their tweet stream or whatever it is called. I don’t know the title of the novel yet. I’ll figure that out eventually as the story unfolds I suppose.  Working title is #Pazint.  Here is how it starts:

Time ticked by.  The leaf to the left lifted lazily into the air. Pazint trembled imperceptibly.  Her sense of jrift screamed that it was too late and she loved it.

If you’ll excuse me for a moment I’m going to go tweet that right now…

That took two tweets.  Crazy.  I have a bit of an idea what the story is about but not enough to pass for an outline that any english teacher would accept.  We’ll see where it goes.  Who is Pazint?  What is jrift?  What will happen next?  Oh my goodness, this is so exciting.

Its a little out of date already but I have a bonus Halloween costume idea for you.  Next year find someone who is not invited to your Halloween costume party and who is going to another Halloween costume party that you are not invited to.  Go to each other’s Halloween costume party and claim to be the other person in costume as you.  Afterward, please tell me all about it.

Exit without so much as a goodbye (sometimes I do that),


57. The Aryan Race II

Related Comics: Crap Theory, The Aryan Race I, The Aryan Race III


Ever heard of Kiprotich? Abraham Kiprotich of France didn’t finish the London 2012 Olympic Marathon. Poor guy. Wilson Kiprotich of Kenya was favoured to win but slipped to third. Bronze medals are clearly underappreciated. He seemed pretty disappointed. Poor guy. Stephen Kiprotich of Uganda came out of nowhere to win the gold medal. Those puppies are clearly overappreciated. How about those Kiprotiches, eh?

What is a gold medal worth?  Does it mean that you are the best in the world?  No.  If a scientist were trying to determine what the best of something was in the world the one thing that they would not do is run one test and call it a day.  Jocks love that kind of thing though.  They love to call themselves the best in the world when actually it is quite possible that they are only a statistical anomoly.  Just to be sure, they should run the marathon 10 times and then we’d know that the guy that won it 7 times is probably the best in the world with a 95% confidence level, or something like that.  That is what the medal would say, “95% likely to be GOLD!” (Don’t check my work.  I didn’t actually calculate anything.)  Sure, the Olympics would take all year but I think it would be worth it.

Closed for the day,


The Schtick Comic #56 – Math Party Halloween Costume

Dearest Readers,

So, I’m still trying to finish watching the summer olympics I taped months ago from London.

Day 15. I fast forward some events but never before at least giving them a chance. I almost broke that rule when I saw the hula hoop competition approaching. The first girl started walking out onto the floor. I have seen a similar level of swagger in…well, nobody else in my whole life. I thought maybe I’d watch for a few seconds. It was crazy. Hula hoops (also known as “the apparatus”) were twirled about like tops, launched spinning 30+ feet in the air by sweeping legs from behind the back, spin, spin, spin, spin, swirl, shwazaa and caught effortlessly in a sweet pose. I was shocked. It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen in any Olympics. I truly believe that the hula hoop girls are the most talented athletes at the games. Sure, Usain Bolt is fast but what else can he do? These girls do it all, coordination, speed, agility, strength, bendiness…everything, and all at the same time. It was better than any circus.  For about a minute.  Then I got bored. Fast Forward.

Anyway, back to Halloween.  Is the unknown scary?  I heard a theory once that it is.  Another costume idea based on that idea is as follows.  Put on a normal everyday prosthetic face that nobody will recognize.  Go to a costume party.  Don’t talk much and don’t tell anybody who you are.  Look at random people in increasingly more ominous ways as the evening progresses.  See if anybody gets scared.

Mathematicians think that a lot of numbers are part of friendly pairs.  They base this on some things that would make you stop reading this email if I were to write them down.  Long slow boring story short, they think that “10” doesn’t have any friends but they can’t prove it so…the “I’m with 10” t-shirt should be a big seller among math majors across the country.

This message has been brought to you by,


The Schtick Comic #55 – Pithy

Bonjou…no, I can’t do it.  I have to admit I don’t really like French.

I’ve had a cold for almost a month now.  I’m just getting over it.

A month or so ago I separated my truck key and key fob from the rest of my keys.  This is important.  It was a wise choice.  Well thought out.  Very smart even I would say.  I was about to go tubing with a couple friends, Mayfield and Newbury, down the Vedder river near Chilliwack BC.  This river varies between ankle deep to waist high waters. It has got some waves, nothing too crazy.  Small key ring in ziplock bag in shorts pocket.  Perfect.  These keys will not leave this pocket.  You have my personal guarantee.

Mayfield had to go to the funeral of an aquaintance that afternoon so we planned to begin our adventure as soon as he comfortably could.  It was a funeral though so not very comfortable and we didn’t start the drive to the drop zone, an hour away, until after 4:00 in the afternoon.  Two and a half hour tube ride.  No worries.  Mayfield doesn’t know what he is getting into, having never tubed before, and Newbury is game for anything so Mayfield and I head out to pickup Newbury.

This was the plan.  Newbury rides a motorbike.  So.  We pick up the tubes at his house with my truck.  We all drive/ride gleefully across town to our exit point, the Keith Wilson Bridge.  Newbury parks the bike and rides with us to the launch zone.  We float down the river like kings.  I take my safely stowed keys from my pocket and send them with Newbury on his bike back to the launch zone.  He leaves his bike there and zips back with my truck to pick up Mayfield, Mayfield’s prescription sunglasses, myself and the tubes.  We all zoom off to the launch zone to retrieve the bike.  End of a happy day.

Here’s what happened.

Its the middle of September.  Into the water in two tubes and a small raft.  The water was a little colder than the last time but quite lovely really in a breathtaking sort of way.  We quickly realized that Mayfield was having trouble steering the raft to avoid snags and branches, and to not get run into the bank when going around corners.  He wasn’t complaining but I thought he’d do better on a tube.  At the next ankle deep spot we stopped and I swapped rides with Mayfield.

Every time this particular river goes ankle deep the very next thing it does is slide sideways and run itself straight into the bank, froth at the mouth a little bit and try to rub you off against the overhanging vegetation.  Newbury has already floated on ahead.  The water and I enjoyed some witty repartee.  It complained that I wasn’t giving the shrubberies a fair chance to snag me and I suggested it could have worked a little harder at frothing and maybe worked up some bigger waves.  Being the good friend that I am, after the ride I jumped out into the thigh high water to observe Mayfield’s progress.

Now Mayfield is a handsome tall fellow who’s center of gravity moved about a little more freely on a tube than mine had especially since this was his first time tubing.  The very first thing I saw him do was get flipped over.  And then I saw him come right back up again flailing a bit but holding onto that tube like a vice…holding onto a tube.  It was upside down now and he tried jumping right back on only to slide off the side and get tumbled over a few more times.  Up again, sans prescription sunglasses, glistening in the sunlight for a split second and then down again.  I had been enjoying a good laugh but the situation was beginning to look serious.  Then he stood up again and was able to get a firm footing nearer the bank and just stayed there in the water a little bit stunned and motionless.

I started maneuvering slowly back up the river to see how he was and immediately realized that the water was at least half an inch too high for comfort, if you know what I mean, and that there was nothing I could do about it.  The boys were going numb and I wasn’t getting any taller.  You can only walk so fast in relatively swift moving, upper thigh high, water.  The river bed was an amazingly uniform depth for almost the entire distance back to my recovering friend.  When I got there we both needed a few minutes to gather our thoughts.

Mayfield took the loss of his glasses and bruised up legs really well and entered into the spirit of the adventure after vowing to never come tubing with us again.  He was just happy to be alive.  We switched him back to the raft and continued our float, taking turns guiding him through the tricky stuff.  It was now dusk.  The multitudes of fishermen on the banks in their waders, long sleeved sweaters, and fall jackets, looked at us a little weird as we floated by them and their nearby campfires.  One casually commented that we had missed by half an hour a naked sun bathing girl downstream.  We were all immediately reminded for various reasons of the funeral delay from earlier in the day.  As we made our way down the last long slow meandering home stretch, darkness set in. We spent the last 30 minutes of our journey star gazing, which I thought was a very fitting way to end the day.

Not so.  There was a way even more fitting than star gazing.

We reached the bridge and finally pulled our bedraggled, relieved selves out of the water and up the embankment to the dirt parking lot by the road.  I took my safely stowed keys from my pocket and gave them to Newbury.  Ha.  You thought I was going to lose them didn’t you?  Well I didn’t.  Newbury rode off into the night while we concentrated on not shivering until his return.  Have you ever ridden a bike while not dry?  There was no question whether Newbury would be shivering or not.

Twenty minutes go by and I spot a single beam of light off in the distance heading our way.  I immediately remembered that I hadn’t brought the key for The Club steering wheel lock…hmmm.  Problem.  Newbury pulls up on his bike.

“Club key?”

“At home.”

He literally laughed uncontrollably for five minutes.

We’re in a bit of a pickle.  Its dark.  We’re stranded a forty minute drive from home and at least an hour jog from a truck that we can’t drive anywhere.  Also, technically and legally (for helmet reasons) Newbury’s bike only holds one person so that option isn’t tabled yet and we’re all hoping it will never need to be.

Newbury, distracted by the lack of club key, forgot to bring back our dry clothes, towels, wallets or cellphones and he wasn’t carrying his phone.  He thinks he can remove The Club (he’s wrong) with some well placed brute force, so we send him back again with permission to try and strict instructions to at least bring our stuff with him the next time he returns.  This is the funniest thing that has happened anywhere near Newbury in months and months by the sounds of it.

In case I didn’t mention it before, Mayfield is a bright guy.  Immediately after Newbury leaves he suggests that BCAA (AAA’s counterpart in BC) would be very helpful if I happen to be a member.  I do happen.  Newbury fades into the distance.  I stay calm.  We’re two above average height men in shorts and t-shirts standing in a dark abandoned parking lot at the side of a bridge out in the country.  A car with two young girls in it pulls in and is about to drive through the parking lot and onto the dike along the river.  Mayfield tries to wave them down.  There is no way they are going to stop at almost nine o’clock in the evening for two strange men in a dark abandoned parking lot out in the country.  They totally stopped.  My first thought was to give them a stern talking to and send them on their way.  I’d have to smack myself later though so we instead rewarded their kindness by not being serial killers.  They loaned us a cellphone.  Thankfully Newbury overlooked bringing our dry clothes and valuables back to us the first time around so we gambled on his if-the-phone-is-ringing-I’m-going-to-answer-it-even-if-there-is-no-way-it-could-possibly-be-for-me personality and called my own cellphone.

“Hello, this is Newbury.”

“Newbury, its Ben.”

More laughing. “This is the best day of my life,” said the dry comfortable man who could just ride home anytime he wanted to.  “How can I help you?”

This was the plan.  Newburry would dig my BCAA card out of my wallet, call the number on the back, fake being me, and get a tow truck coming.

Here’s what happened.

While we waited the girls continued on their way to a birthday bonfire on the dike.  A homeless guy on a pedal bike from downtown Vancouver randomly came by and asked for directions into Chilliwack city centre (9pm, out on a country road, many hours bike ride from Vancouver).  Crazy.

Back to Newbury.  My current address is not on my driver’s license, so to confirm that he was me, my correct address held by BCAA got officially changed.  The arrangements were made and we finally got our dry clothes and valuables a mere hour after leaving the water and only fifteen minutes after uncontrollable shivering set in. So there is a tow truck coming to get the truck but how are we getting home?  Newbury hadn’t the foggiest.  A few phone calls later I found out that the flat bed tow truck had already picked up the truck.  He agreed to come pick us up as well.  We would be on our way home.  Finally.

Apparently my truck alarm went off every time the driver had to stop on his way to us.  He was a little tense by the time he got there.  We quickly explained how it was that we had gotten him into the situation, said good night to Newbury, and got our butts towed home.

There are few things more satisfying than seeing a flatbed tow truck drop off your own Toyota Tacoma late at night in the middle of the street in front of your town house with club still attached.

Good night,


The Schtick Comic #54 – The Aryan Race I

Related Comics: Crap Theory, The Aryan Race II, The Aryan Race III

Wave from a ways away,

How’s it going?  Honestly now.  Don’t tell me you’re doing well.  I never believe that.  I assume things are going really really well and you just don’t want to tell me about it because you’re worried I’ll be jealous or something.  I’ve gotta run though so maybe save it for next time.  Before I go, I just wanted to say, if this comic doesn’t make a lot of sense to you, it might help to check out comic #53.  It isn’t funny.  I hope that doesn’t bother you.

See ya,


The Schtick Comic #53 – Crap Theory

Related Comics: The Aryan Race I, The Aryan Race II, The Aryan Race III


Awkward.  For me anyway.

People I’m most comfortable hugging in order of comfort level: my wife…actually I probably shouldn’t make this list.  I might offend somebody.  Point being, I’m uncomfortable hugging most people.  I will though.  If you ever need a hug just come see me and I will be happy to provide one short awkward hug.  Hopefully that will make you feel better but I don’t make any guarantees.

You may have noticed that today’s comic isn’t funny.  It got me thinking though.  The Nazis felt that they were superior to other humans.  What logic lead them to attempt to destroy these other humans and why didn’t it apply to all genetically inferior entities, such as donkeys for instance?  I will be exploring this topic further.

Until next time,

Crap Theorist