Fooferra. foo-FER-ah (n.) A situation engulfed in chaos. A state of comedic uncertainty and confusion.

Example: “When Jimmy stated to the EMS attendant that the epipen was in fact filled with Kool Aid crystals, a minor fooferra resulted until Jimmy admitted that, in fact, he wasn’t allergic to bees at all.”

This edition of Falsi-Lexi was brought to you by Jeffxa, Roaming Reporter and defender of  determinism masquerading as randomness.

– In other news: Audis are driven by total losers –

Coming home from dinner last night, I witnessed what had to be the single-greatest thing in the history of the universe: an Audi A6 pulled over on Queen St. in front of Trinity Bellwoods, waiting patiently for his ticket.  The ticket was of course, being written up by one of Toronto’s finest*, who of course was sitting on his trusty police horse.

HORSE.

A guy in an A6 allowed himself to be pulled over by a policeman on a horse.  How does that work and how could you ever explain that to your friends? That is absolutely awesome and clearly the whole SuperHorse program in play down at City Hall is paying dividends.  Go team.  Frankly, I feel safer.

* I also assign this title to: Toronto EMS, Toronto Firefighters, and DQ Blizzard servers. Note: big ups to Toronto Police Services for the photo.

Mugabe Confounds Onlookers:”Down with the British! Down with Jeffxa and his GuestiePosties”

People.  If you have ever wondered if there was something wrong with the world, well, you’re officially right.  Despite my extensive training* and Objectivist leanings, I have come to despise the Dow Jones and all those who invest there (i.e. everyone).

From the news I was perusing this morning - http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/7354266.stm - here are some facts:
- Citigroup just announced a loss of $5,110,000,000.00 (+/-)
- Investors responded by… buying their stock and sending it up: “Citigroup shares rose 6% to $25.46 in pre-market trading before the official Wall Street open”

Allow me to assure everyone, if I managed to bungle a project to the tune of the entire annual economic output of the Republic of Guinea, I would probably NOT be given a raise of 6%.  In other news, Guinea’s main exports include Bauxite… and corn… which indians refer to as “maize”.  Another famous indian was Crazy Horse.  In conclusion, Guinea is a nation of contrasts**.

* note: I know that stocks are valued looking forward, so don’t be that smug jackass who tries to make that point
** bigups: BBC and Wikipedia

Tealitist (n.) - A person who believes in rule by an elite group of tea producers, and enjoys a sense of entitlement whilst drinking said tea.

Example: “We have crates of Red Rose per our Mr. Coffee coffee supplier here, so I have deemed it less than stellar. I only tea drink tea procured from a wood paneled store owned & operated by Indian expats with 1 million varieties in very small glass jars.”

As seen above, tealitists in their natural habitat. Note the signs of wealth (feather boas), and obvious superiority (balloons).

Mildly Dull-Witted Statement: 

“The good thing about my street is that it’s a quiet little side street, but it’s real easy to find on mapquest.”

Snappy Responses:

“Much better than those tricky moving streets that are just impossible to nail down!”

“I’m still trying to figure out how a) quiet and b) ease of finding are normally not associated.  my last place at the centre of a labyrinth was super quiet, except for the sound of spartan heroes battling my pet minotaur.”

“Ohhh… see, the mythical labyrinths are the worst for trying to find on mapquest. I’m pretty sure Davie Bowie set some kind of enchantment on mapquest. “

*SNAP*

That’s right, possums! The Duotang of Lies turns 1 today. In celebration, we’ll be going to work, trudging through slush, and then later, trudge through slush to get home and hibernate. But this will be fancy hibernating—1st year anniversary style—attended* by celebrities (and everyone loves celebrities), and there may even be some special snacks†.

 * meant to be taken antonymically.

† quite unlikely.

Peeps.  My wife is hungover and sleeping in, so I have time to brew up a rare and unusual WEEKEND post.  Huzzah!

A while back, I extolled the virtues of MyFootballClub, which was - at the time - an embryonic idea to actually go out and buy a football club in England and basically run the thing.  Well, the Club has been bought - a 75% share for now - and things are flying.  Indeed, Ebbsfleet United are challenging for promotion to the Football League proper and are deep in the local cup competition. 

So, in case you were worried that this was a great big scam, it’s not.  Well, the club shop may be; my shirt has yet to arrive that I ordered in November, but that’s neither here nor there.  As one of roughly 27,000 owners, I have a 0.003% share (for now, this will go down over time *alas*) but, more importantly, I have a voice in how the club is run, what guys play, what we should spend our cashmoney on, etc.  Anyone in Toronto thinking that MLSE is a piece of crap and is killing pro sports for the *joe punchclock fan* like me should totally join up.  Not convinced?  How about some quasi-communist clip-artwork themed just so?

Check out all sorts of goodies:

Main page: http://www.myfootballclub.co.uk
Ebbsfleet United: http://www.eufc.co.uk
Podcast: http://podme.libsyn.com/rss/My-Football-Club
BBC report on the approval of the sale: http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/teams/g/gravesend_and_northfleet/7190175.stm

Anyhow, I think this is awesome and must stress that it’s for reals and for seriousnesses.  It’s not a game, it’s real-life and it’s totally awesome.  I guarantee* that you’ll love it and will also renew your love for sport and ergo your will to live.  Capital!

* not a guarantee in any sense of the word

By Roaming Reporter Jeffxa, Defender of Precipitation

For those who have not heard of this before, here is the main message to take away from today’s STUNNING events in scenic Toronto:

*** Snowstorms occurring during rush hour in Toronto are nature’s way of trying to kill you.  You, the guy reading this RIGHT NOW. ***

As reported earlier today, nature has stepped it up a notch, hurling ice at smokers along Front St.  However, there is one thing nature didn’t think about… the stunning power of the moustache and its ability to inspire and/or distract home-working slackers such as myself.

Things I have learned this morning:
1. There is a World Beard and Moustache Association (WBMA)… they have a pretty darn sweet logo.

2. They hold World Championships every two years.  2009 is to be held in Anchorage, which has all the City Fathers pretty chuffed up by all accounts.  For more information, check out their website! I will say, if the following guys showed up in my town, en masse, I would think “Hey, the world is coming to an end, I’m gonna start looting!” or “Hey, check out the Partial Beard Freestyle that that guy’s sporting!  Capital!”

I think my favourite part of all of this - except the moustaches - is the stated objective: “To raise the profile of beard and moustache clubs in order to attract new members and to bring to the general public a topic of interest and fun.”

3. Most relevantly, winter and moustaches are like *THIS* - this is a picture I found of a guy with a frozen face, essentially, but it’s made all the more noble and generally awesome by the serious icing of the moustache.  Judos to him and his exploring of the frozen land that I have deemed “IceVille”.  In other news my wild creativity has taken a hit due to tiredness from shovelling snow.

The lesson?  Grow a moustache or wear a fake one.  Especially when nature attacks.

* granted the current tally is zero.  updates expected though!

– Fairy-Princess Union Leaders Express Dismay, Outrage and Love for Ponies –

By Roaming Reporter Jeffxa, Defender of Jujubes.

In days of yore, basketball - or Duck on a Rock as my abuse-loving forebears liked to call it - was a sport played by gentlemen and gentlewomen, with an oblong ball and using leisurely-type rules that were more akin to 9-a-side peach picking than to the basketball that has recently been popularized by such 8-foot-tall gastropods as certain un-named muscle-tension-heat-pad-magnates whose names rhyme with Schnakeel O’Real.

Why is this important, you ask?  Just simmer down, lest I call you a demeaning name such as “gastropod”.  Also, please note that I will cease and decist with the faux old-timey writing which, to be frank, is more awkward than funny.

Well, for the first time in two years (ish), I laced up my And1’s and hit the courts in the Milton Basketball League, located in scenic Milton.  Those expecting a funny non-Milton location such as Malton or Halton, shame on you.  Anyhow, my status this morning can best be described as “Tuckered Out — Level 3″.  This obviously has nothing to do with the fact that I’m a) older and b) flabbier, nor with the fact that our team had 1 spare, in contrast to our opponents who had 6 spares.  The whole issue is that basketball as I know - or rather knew - it, has changed.  Long gone are the days that I could tiptoe around munching on jujubes, uttering witty remarks and winning championships handily*. 

The lesson for us all?  Beware anyone proclaiming recreational sports endeavours as being “just for fun” - these people will club you over the head and steal your jujubes and dose you heavily with Lactic Acid.

*Number of “championships” won over past 13 years: 2, all of the recreational level, consolation variety.  *DYNASTY*