We Love Zoom, or The Canadian Culture, Eh! Game

Zoom, you've been concerned that Canadians have no culture. You have also mentioned in the past that you love playing games. So, today I took the photo above for you, so that you can play at spotting the five things that are part of our Canadian Culture in the picture (click on it to enlarge).

Have fun! And, yes you will get a prize out of this.*

*Contest only open to those named Zoom who own a blog named Knitnut.

Dirty. Secrets. Buzz. Shower not included.

We ESIs have a recurring conversation along the lines of: Are we simply shameless? Or are we desperately shameless?

With that in mind, a new book caught my roving eye: Dirty Little Secrets of Buzz by David Seaman.

Now here's an author who walks, er, rather, runs, the talk. Scribe Seaman promises in a press release to jog around New York's Times Square naked if his book doesn't crack the Amazon.com Top 100 within three days. That takes cajones, or at least the willingness to flap them in the Big Apple breeze for all to see.

"With the recession as it is, sometimes an author has to put everything on the line to get attention for a worthwhile and exciting read," Seaman says. "Book sales are down at an apocalyptic rate for most authors due to the downturn, and I'm willing to take a risk here . . . This book is worth my reputation, and possibly a couple nights in prison."

The tome is billed as "the definitive guide to guerrilla fame and cutthroat viral marketing."

And the ESIs should leap on Seaman's advice like Jack Layton pouncing on a can of mustache wax.

A few choice chapter subtitles:

* Celebrity Tabloids: Getting in them or staying out of them
* Enemies are more important than friends
* Be Outrageous or Die!
* Google juice: hot links from highly rated sites
* TV doesn't make you - you make you
* Get ten thousand visitors for free through StumbleUpon
* Overcoming publicity post-partum depression: Knowing when and where to find the next hook

Having said all this, I'm not sure Ottawa is ready for the ESIs parading their individual wares down Elgin Street if we fail to win a CanBlog Award. (With the possible exception of Coyote, who never wears pants.)

Tracking the mint's missing gold

I happened by Mister Sloppy's place yesterday - okay, he happens to have air conditioning - and by way of breaking his grumpy Evil-Genius silence, mentioned the Mint's vanishing gold problem, and how the local Petfinder was just yesterday obsessing again about the strange silence of government, mint and red coated gendarme types.

Mister Sloppy snickered. My usually cast-iron coyote tummy clenched. That laugh is never good.

"Slop," I said, fearing the worst. "In your obsessive quest for world domination, you haven't sucked 15 million bucks' worth of gold into an improbability vortex? Or something?"

"I didn't need to," he cackled.

"Huh?" I can be a dimwitted doggy. Especially when it helps me enjoy nice cold air conditioning a bit longer.

"You know how the Tories - having such terrific heads for business - are all hot on selling off prime government assets at fire sale prices? To allegedly balance the government's books, even though it always loses major money?

"I was rummaging around a government network one night a coupla years back and sniffed out the fact that their brain trust had decided to flog the mint's extra gold inventory in secret. To - get this - one of those "We buy all of your used gold - no amount too large or too small" joints that advertise on late night cable channels. I hacked myself into a few emails as a discussion option, and incorporated myself as a cheap gold buyer the next day. Bought a few ads in throw-away tabloids and on cable to look legit. Hung out. Waited. The government showed up in no time!"

"Aaand?" I breathed.

"I drew up a contract they couldn't make head or tails of. Not that they ever make head or tails of anything," he snorted. "When the dust cleared, I had signatures on an airtight document assigning me fifteen million bucks in gold ingots and assorted refining scrap, purchased for the princely sum of thirty-seven dollars and fifty-two cents. Which, by the way, is actually about what most old gold places would have paid 'em. A buncha the backroom guys from the PMO are now so redfaced, all they wanna do is drop the whole story down a mine in Sudbury."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta pack." Mister Sloppy looked dreamy. "Maybe Switzerland. The ice cream in Zurich is fabulous this time of year."

"So you're taking a well-deserved break from planning world domination?" I said, hopefully. I've had enough Pepto-Bismol moments lately already, with Mayor Larry back.

Mister Sloppy cast an austere blue eye at me. "Of course not! The Large Hadron Collider is there, too..."

Figure Us Out: The Google Poem

* By some really weird coincidence, the police managed to figure us out by the next morning, but I think it was for the better. ...

* hang out awhile, and if you can't figure us out by then, you are hopeless!

* They are trying to figure us out by searching for us online, but all they have to really do is stop, listen, and absorb. We tend to glow

* It didn't take long for the man to figure us out. By noon, we were shown the door

* figure us out. By honoring ourselves, and living by this example, we allow others to do the same in their lives.

* ... Brett is trying to figure us out by gathering social data

* If you can't figure us out by our name you'll be too slow to keep up with our discussions of the world's ultimate racing series. ...

* you think people would figure us out by now :) ...

* Sheesh, you would think you could figure us out by now.

* If aliens from outer space were trying to figure us out by tapping into television transmissions, I wonder what they'd think.

* The teams will figure us out by the second half of the season

* Also, quit trying to figure us out by making lame generalizations, just talk to us instead.

* Like bears or any animals for that matter aren't smart enough to figure us out by now!!!!

* Maybe one day, you'll figure us out. By your statements, you clearly haven't as of yet.

* This is a good place to "figure us out" by direct observation.

[Search] [We're #9]

Tinfoil hats: a gut wrenching exposé

As avid, nay, militant exponents and proponents of tinfoil hats, especially in dire emergencies, we Irregulars have just gotten extremely distressing news:

Namely, that a buncha bright engineers from M.I.T. seem to have discovered that tinfoil hats do not protect your brain from zombifying, soul-sucking government and/or alien mind-control radio frequencies, but instead amplify them! (See the terrifying conclusion.)

Wait! This means that all this time when we thought we were laughin', and thought you were too - because you put on your tinfoil hat when we told you to, right? - all of us were actually under the influence of sub rosa mind-control rays, making us beleive things that were untrue. Evilly fostering, for instance, the illusion that our tinfoil hats were protecting us. And under that illusion, we were actually.... oh. Oh. Dear, dear me!

The very insidiousness of it all boggles one's (controlled) mind! Especially if one trusts engineers!

That we're all doomed over here, goes without saying . But hey. If we all just put on our soothing, comfy tinfoil hats, we'll never notice...