The only Rainbow to have ever been successfully incarcerated at the new Rainbow Prison. The rainbow escaped a few minutes after this picture was taken, slowly floating on westward.

Michael Hastner, the man behind the controversial 13km/h speed limit and $100 pedestrian crossing fee, had done it again, and this time, his idea was ingenious (or so he thought).

After having been fired from his road-sign manager position, he’d found himself walking the streets unemployed and depressed.  He spend most of his days sitting on downtown park benches, looking at people as they walked busily between their respective destinations.

Michael quickly began to realize that people were always buzzing around, either on their cellphones, laptops, or tablets.  They rarely spoke to each other, instead focusing on their busy lives and jobs.  

Then, one day, something extraordinary happened: shortly after a thunderstorm, a rainbow appeared in the sky, and the busy workers, who had always been so productive, found themselves taken aback by the natural beauty of the rainbow.

Michael estimated that the loss in productivity due to the rainbow cost the city and state many working-days of productivity, and set out on a mission to convince community leaders that rainbows were bad.  The result of his crusade would be the new State of the Art Rainbow Prison, a large open space in downtown Montreal whose purpose it was to incarcerate rainbows so they could not distract hard working people, and in turn, hurt the city’s GDP.

Fried Banana?

“My complements to the chef!” John said as he burped and took a swig of beer at the same time.  

The food had been good, very good in fact.  This had surprised John who, having never traveled before, feared that the food eaten by this foreign culture would clash with his fairly conservative food preferences.  But he had been wrong, and had ended up eating every serving presented to him.

With a full stomach and an empty beer, John thanked everyone at the table and started to get up.  Before he could get to his feet, however, the family quickly sat him down again, insisting that he stay for dessert.  

“I’m not really hungry any more, but everything has been so good, I would very much hate to miss dessert,” John said, sitting back down without much restraint.

Dessert was then served: Fried Banana covered in sweet syrup and sprayed with sesame seeds. John savoured every bit of it, though the texture itself felt, oddly enough, like no banana he had ever eaten.  When he was done, he whiped his mouth and thanked everyone again.

“This was an absolutely wonderful experience.  Thank you all very much for letting me share in your meal,” he said, handing the lady of the house some money.  The lady smiled and accepted the money.  John smiled in return, adding:

“That desert was especially tasty; it was unlike any banana I’d ever tasted.”

The lady laughed shyly, then turned to her family and spoke in a foreign language.  The family then laughed out loud while John, uncertain of exactly what was going on, joined in on the laughter.

“What’s so funny?” John asked, a giant grin on his face.

“That not banana,” the lady said in broken English, “that giant fried maggot.  Personal recipe. Very famous.”

John turned green and quickly left the house.  The next day he was on a flight back home, and it would be some time before he ever traveled again.

The Real Life Evil House

There are many stories out there about evil, haunted, or monster houses.  All stories have a similar theme: the house wants to eat/harm neighbourhood children, and adults are oblivious to the evil house’s true nature.

There is one house, however, that even adults will not approach: the Real Life Evil house.  This house stands on its own at the end of a small, quiet street in a quiet, run down neighbourhood in Montreal.

Covered by overgrowth and abandoned for as long as anyone can remember, only its eerie eye-like windows warn passersby of its dangerous nature.  Of course there are some people who actively search for the house, but many turn away when face to face with it.

Only a handful have dared venture inside the house, none of which have ever come out.

Its too tight!

Hubert didn’t know much about babies.

He did, however, love his niece very much, and jumped at the opportunity to babisit her for a full day.

But when he put her in his car, and put on her seatbelts, he couldn’t help but feel that he might have made her seatbelts a little too tight…

Note: I should say that the baby in the pic is my niece, and that she was not in any danger, nor was she really squeezed.  Instead she was working on a present for her parents  

How are you supposed to play this game?

Stan wasn’t the brightest of the Janitors, but he knew how to play Bean Toss.  He also knew that school management had no idea what they were talking about when they told him to put the Bean Toss board up against the school wall.

“How are children supposed to play?” he asked.  ”How is the bean bag supposed to go through the hole?”

In an act of defiance he installed the board at the farther end of the school yard.  There, where the fenced area ended and a dense forest began, children could chuck bean bags at the board, and the bean bags would fly straight through to the other side – the way it was supposed to be.

Unfortunately for Stan, school management did not like being ignored.  The next day Stan was out of a job, and the board had been moved to where they had wanted it to be all along: up against the school wall.

Puzzled by the new placement, children stopped playing the game, and the board became ignored like all other odd items in the school yard, such as the half teeter-totter, and the swing set without any seats…

Cat-Dog Heart

Dogs chase after cats, cats chase after mice, mice chase after cheese.

And cheese, well, just sits there waiting for mold to grow on it.

But when all the chasing is done, the sun sets and the moon shines bright, everyone falls asleep together, in anticipation for the next day of chasing.

Paul the Chef

The last time we saw Paul he was struggling with his dream to be a full fledged Ninja.  Though the doctor diagnosed him with Ninjaism, and insisted he be put on anti-Ninjaism medication, Paul’s wife refused the medication, encouraging him to take on new hobbies as a way of fighting the Ninja urge.

She tried jogging, cycling, golf, clubbing, cards… anything she could think of.  Then one day she brought him to a large cooking store and – after 10 minutes of wrestling off his homemade Ninja outfit – stuck a chef’s had on his head.

The hat slid on like a glove, and though Paul didn’t move much, his wife could see a twinkle in his eyes.

In that instant Paul’s Ninjaism was cured.  But over the next few days a much worst disease began to infect his brain: Chefism.

The Devil's Hotline

Even in the realms of heaven and hell, the laws of supply and demand rule above all else, and with the number of people on the planet exploding towards 7 billion, the demand for human souls has never been higher.

Unable to cope with such high demand, the Devil has begun reaching out to living humans in an attempt to secure their souls before their death.  The following sign is an example of such marketing by the forces of Evil and can increasingly be found in large metropolitan cities around the world.

Demand is so high, however, that even the living who are loyal to the dark lord have to wait an average of 30 minutes to an hour on the line for a free operator, all the while listening to deathly music while a voice growls at them that their call is important.

Every part of the goat is used, including its balls.  These are given to the children, who play with them by filling them with air and squeezing them to create fart noises.

I swear this is what they do with the goat’s junk.  If you don’t believe me, then take a look at the documentary Michael Palin: Sahara.  The images below were taken from this documentary.

Step 1 - Create tight seal around lips

Step 2 - Blow into the ballsack

Step 3 - Close the top and squeeze for fart sounds

Me and My Niece

Something happened last week.  Something amazing that marked me in a way I never thought possible: my sister gave birth a little baby girl.

When I met her for the first time, she seemed both fragile and intimidating.  Fragile because of her size (no one is very big at 36 hours of age), and intimidating because of what she represented.

As I held her in my arms, a loud voice screamed from the back of my mind.

“You’re the grown-up now,” it said.

With it came the realization that something inside me had disappeared forever, something I’d never get back.

And yet, as I held my niece in my arms and she slept peacefully sucking on her pacifier, I knew this is how things had to be, that she now had what I had lost, and that everything would be alright.