By Erica Cantin

This past Christmas, my son received a Star Wars branded fishing pole from a relative. It was literally a small child-sized fishing pole with Darth Vader on the reel and R2D2 on a disk at the end of the line. It made no sense whatsoever. Even I, one who had never seen the trilogy before had a hunch that there was little to no fishing involved. Unless I was about to stumble upon a touching reconciliation-themed fishing trip between evil dark overlord and son, I’m pretty sure someone would have mentioned a desire to toss a line over the hull of the Millennium Falcon on their bucket list. But, as baffling as that toy is, I really dig it. The kids rarely pay attention to it, preferring instead the far more logical Spongebob fishing pole. That leaves me to absent-mindedly flick it across the room while sitting at the computer. I think it’s because the pole and I are a kindred spirit of sorts.

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Tags: darth vader, empire strikes back, Erica, exhaustion, fishing rod, Nonfiction, r2d2, really depressing pornography, Reviews, star wars, TLG news, vfs

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS RELATIVELY JOKE-FREE AND CONTAINS A HUGE LOAD OF SPECULATIVE NAVEL-GAZING FROM THE EDITOR. IF THIS IS NOT YOUR THING, GO READ CRACKED. I HEAR THEY HAVE A LIST TODAY.

COME BACK TOMORROW AND MAYBE I’LL HAVE STOPPED TREATING TLG LIKE A GODDAMN LIVEJOURNAL.

Tomorrow will be my first day of classes in Vancouver Film School’s Game Design program. It’s an odd sensation - I feel as though I’ve been waiting for this my whole life, when it’s really only been the past few months. And yet the feeling is appropriate; this is my first real step in becoming what I really want to become.

Just a few months ago, I was desperately unhappy for reasons I am certain will fail to titillate: I was toiling unsuccessfully towards a seat in UBC’s Creative Writing faculty with little to no plan for my future (this very site actually began as a frankly cynical attempt to establish one more source I could site on my writing resumé.) I had been rejected by the faculty once before while a friend of mine got in (now that I have left UBC, I can say my goodbyes and wish both him and the faculty nothing but prosperity and success (which is writer-speak for “fuck them and their mothers too.”)) I was running low on money, I was about thirty-five pounds overweight, I was depressed to the point of mumbling philosophical ramblings to myself on long walks through the mist, and my sleep patterns could have at best been described as “erratic” and at worst as “insane.” I wasn’t so much in a downward spiral as I was in a full-on nosedive into a black hole.

Things are, um, better now.

For one thing, I’ve lost a ton of weight and have gained some nifty-looking muscles with which I have no clue what to do. I offer the following image of my right bicep as evidence (I actually didn’t just take this; it was taken several weeks ago as an accessory to a fairly convoluted Gaffe Station post telling Micheal to fuck himself sideways. It… it made sense at the time.)

And I’m going to a school where I’ll work towards something I want in courses I’m actually passionate about in a city full of life, color, and sound while surrounded by young people who want the same things I do (but who I’m also convinced don’t have ideas that are anywhere near as good as mine.) So there’s that.

I hope I don’t fuck this up. I know I’m essentially repeating what I said back when I started the site in October (not that most of you will remember that, what with the post where I said it having been deleted for several months,) but trust me - this time I’m serious. Not only because I doubt I’ll get a chance better than this, but also because it’s good to be happy again. It’s not pure happy, of course - it’s not the white-hot fanfare of trumpets on the front of your brain that is joy, and it’s not the electric whip-crack flavor of love - it’s just the dull, low-intensity contentment that comes from knowing that you’re doing the right things for once.

Sorry if this comes off as smug. It’s just good to talk about it.

Some actual site stuff for those of you that have remained conscious through my rambling: this program, incredible as it is, is also very intense and a ridiculous time commitment. I will be taking thirty hours of classes a week and doing an estimated thirty additional hours of homework. I have been doing my best to organize site affairs before classes start (such as the forums and the ads (which have earned me a whopping six cents so far,)) but content production and publishing has always been the major time-suck.

What I’m saying is that barring a mass attack of brain hemorrhages in my contributors that causes them to turn in their articles on time while neglecting family and work obligations, as well as a bout of divine intervention that puts approximately thirty more hours into the week… longer updates might come a little slow. To compensate for that, I’ll be attempting to do more of these shorter, bloggier thingies between the longer feature pieces. I don’t doubt that I’ll be short on inspiration.

This is normally where I might say something like “And if that isn’t good enough for you then fuck off because we do this for free,” but I don’t feel like saying that today. We do this for free because we love to do it, and we hope you enjoy the things we do. That’s the beginning and end. I want to write comedy because of gasping, gut-wrenching belly laughs. I want to make games because of unreserved, jaw-dropping joy. I want to do things I love because of love.

Today I am happy.

Tags: career, creative writing, future, Malcolm, Nonfiction, not very funny, post-secondary, schooling, Site News & Bloggery, ubc, vancouver film school, vfs

By Jay Thomas

It may sound weird to some readers, but I haven’t listened to pop music since N*sync broke up. I shudder to think that there is a correlation there, but I digress.

"Music peaked with N*Sync" - TLG Contributor Jay Thomas

Don’t get me wrong, I still listen to the radio, but only for sports talk, because I’m a man. A man that loves sports and steak and boobies and any combination of those. But I prefer listening to uncensored, uninterrupted music on my mp3 player rather than going through the torture of local DJ’s and what I assume is shitty music. But that is really an unfair assessment. After all, how can I judge what I have not listened too? It is with that cavalier attitude that I resolved to listen to a few popular songs.

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Tags: 3oh!3, black-eyed peas, death is too good for Jay Thomas, fergie, Jay, Jay Thomas hates America, Jay Thomas is a Communist, lady gaga, music, Nonfiction, nsync, pitbull, Reviews

By Malcolm Christiansen and Michael Rader

Malcolm: Sex! It’s fun, everyone wants it, and there are any number of ways to get it. But where can you go if you’re creepy, spastic, ugly, or just generally unfuckable? The Internet, of course! The Internet is choc-full of creeptastic homebodies hungering after a few sweaty minutes with the person of their choice; some of them are women, most of them are men, and they’re all downright terrifying!

Lucky for you, TLG is on the front line, keeping you safe from scary old men who want to fondle your parts by making ass-fun of the terrible personals they post. For every installment, two TLG contributors will make accounts on one of the many dating sites that populate this web of ours, be immediately inundated with moist fuck-mail, and reluctantly pick out several choice profiles to riff on.

In this inaugural installment of TLG’s newest feature, Michael and I will be examining Seeking Arrangement, a charmingly upscale little slice of webspace dedicated to connecting hot, lazy, young people with rich, horny old people in a process that is just this side of prostitution. In other words, it’s where sugar daddies come to find sugar babies, and that means some truly alarming personals. Let’s jump right into it!

“Muy intersante!  Verdad?”

Michael: Oh… oh man.

Michael: He’s almost 70.

Malcolm: The description of the type of arrangement he wants is what terrifies me the most.

Malcolm: “Satisfying.”

Malcolm: That could mean any number of gruesome things.

Michael: It could mean pumicing his feet for all these unassuming women know.

Malcolm: Or it could mean feasting thrice nightly on the blood of virgins pure.

Malcolm: He looks almost a little too proud of that boat, you know.

Malcolm: I am willing to bet all the cash in my wallet that it was carved from the bones of orphans.

Michael: “I will expect you to fuck the boat. Fucking the boat is a must.”

Michael: “And I will watch.”

Malcolm: “Fucking not of the boat will have consequences. The boat will ANGER.”

Malcolm: “The boat will fuck YOU.”

Michael: Was the boat made in Soviet Russia?

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Tags: boners, creepy, Don't Fear The Creeper, intoxicating wealth, Malcolm, Michael, Nonfiction, old men, petty classist revenge, Pictures, really bad idea, sex-clouded judgement

By Michael Rader

I began attending bible camp during the summer at the earliest age possible, 8, and started working there at 13. My memories of camp at an early age are fuzzy at best and completely missing at worst. I’ve never been able to pay very much attention to my surroundings; often I was completely absorbed in doodling, flicking pieces of paper into the smelly kid’s hair or reading Song of Songs* and wondering what it was like to touch a boob. A girl boob.

Pictured: Girl boob, flourishing in its natural habitat.

All I recall from my first year is that I couldn’t remember my camp counselor’s face or name and often wound up in the wrong groups for activities, I vaguely remember getting hit in the face with a pillow and breaking my glasses, and I every so faintly recollect having a friend, “His name was Matt…or Mark…or something with an M,” I explained to my mom. She never could understand why I wanted to go back every year.

My third year at camp I got lost during a nature hike on a sheep farm.

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Tags: a girl boob, boob, boobs again, ginger boobs, ginger kids, girl boob, have we mentioned boobs yet, Micheal, Nonfiction, our top story tonight: boobs, the boobs of girls, this just in: boobs

By Jay Thomas

Dear Ignorant Cunt Who Ran Me Off The Road,

I hope this letter finds you well, as you were obviously too preoccupied with some personal problem to check your blind spot before merging into my lane. Elementary physics tells us that two objects cannot occupy the same space simultaneously. Obviously you don’t quite grasp this concept, as you attempted to disprove it with your mid-80s-model Tercel.

This blatant disregard for the core tenets of physics and basic spatial relationships should have come as no surprise to me, as you were somehow able to wedge your cellulite-addled girth into that poor compact car despite the fact that, to the naked eye, there should have been no way to force your way through the rusted red door. I have my own theories on how you were able to manipulate the enumerable rolls of lard, like those that hung so heavily from your bulldog-like jowls. These theories involve manipulation of cabin pressure by way of a large vacuum. Regardless of how you managed it, the feat remains impressive.

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Tags: fat bitches acting like they're shit, impolite behaviour, Jay, Nonfiction, road rage

By Malcolm Christiansen

Last week I introduced the Internet to some of the targets of a landscaping laborer’s mangling ministrations, and in this Saturday edition of LAWN TERROR I’ll be taking you through some of our equally clumsy and imprecise devices for getting the job done!

Well, apart from mulching plugs, the use of which essentially amounts to buttfucking your lawnmower without lube.

A WARNING: The sheer variety and lethality of the landscaper’s arsenal may stagger and befuddle the uninformed, but know this: Mother Nature would like nothing more than to see clean, hard-working human men and women such as yourselves forced out of their home and jobs by unhealthy floral elements. Lawn-care professionals need nothing less than the most up-to-date array of tools in order to stem the unending tide of leafy intrusions springing from Gaia’s viridian vagina.

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Tags: aerator, axes, bucolic coworkers, dethatcher, fertilizer, fuck nature, lawncare, lawnmower, loppers, Malcolm, Nonfiction, pickaxes, relentless backbreaking labor, shears, sunburns, tasting blood, trimmer

By Daniel Dean

(Alternative Title: SECOND-BEST AT WHAT HE DOES)

What can we say about Wolverine that hasn’t been poorly spelled in all-caps before? He’s Marvel’s most bankable mutant and currently appears in about every third comic Marvel publishes. They have even taken to specifically labeling comics which don’t have Wolverine on them. Yes, seriously.

Use these to recognize the increasingly-rare Wolverine-free Marvel titles!

In the comics Wolverine seems aware of his best-selling status, missing no opportunity to talk down to his teammates and trash-talk his enemies, generally glowering at everything and wishing he could fuck a dead woman. This would all-be par for the course in comics but, dammit, he’s just so cocky about it, as are his fans. Well I say we take Wolverine at his word and see whether he really is the best there is at what he does.

What exactly is it that Wolverine does, you ask? Let’s check his stats:

KILLING

Want context? Purchase "The Dark Phoenix Saga" trade paperback and hold on to your balls.

One thing that always drew fans to Wolverine was how lethal he was. Banshee would yell at you, Cyclops would look at you, Professor X would make you think bad thoughts, but Wolverine… he will stab you. As time went on this aspect of Wolverine’s character was played up more heavily as fans couldn’t seem to get enough of Wolverine losing his shit and killing a room full of dudes. One of the things that catapulted Wolverine to fan-favorite status was him cutting up an entire building of dudes after getting left for dead in the sewers.

GRADE: B-

Apart from cannon-fodder henchmen, Wolverine really hasn’t killed as many people as you would think. Of those he has killed many of them really had it a long time coming, so the whole “loose cannon” angle just doesn’t work. He probably would have scored higher if not for the fact that he has failed to kill so many of his arch enemies when killing people is his whole deal (see below.)

HEAD OF THE CLASS: TOMMY MONAGHAN

I could have said “The Punisher” because both of them have pretty impressive body counts but A) the Punisher didn’t really start killing a lot of guys for a long time (since he was a Spider-Man character and mostly hung around threateningly) and B) Tommy Monaghan killed a shitload of guys in way fewer issues than the Punisher ever did. Still, both characters held mainstream titles and killed way more people than Wolverine ever did. For those unfamiliar with him, Tommy Monaghan starred in DC comics’ Hitman by future Punisher scribe Garth Ennis and his book was pretty righteously funny in its own right, which earns him some extra credit.

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Tags: bub, Daniel, Fiction, gaaaaaaaaay, Lists, Nonfiction, snikt, terrible dress sense, wolverine

By Malcolm Christiansen

Even though producing and publishing top-grade internet comedy meets my financial needs in ways that most men can only dream of, sometimes I get a hankering for an honest day’s work amongst the little people. Or even nine hours of honest day’s work, five days a week, in the beating sunlight and blisteringly fresh Vancouver Island air.

Yes, I have recently found gainful employment with a local landscaping company. The Comox Valley (where I live,) houses many such businesses, as it also has the world’s largest population of retirees living in houses with yards that are far beyond their means to maintain. This means that basically anyone with a lawnmower, rake, and a truck to carry them around in can slap a phone number on a business card and have a hundred clients inside a week. I’m doing my best to avoid outright calling landscaping a conspiracy to take advantage of the elderly, but after two weeks on the job it’s pretty hard to see it any other way. In our defense, those octogenarians are totally asking for it.

"No, don't bother telling us your hourly rate, we'll just sign a cheque and leave it blank."

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Tags: backbreaking, blisters, callouses, exhaustion, hatred, heat, lawncare, Malcolm, Nonfiction, old people, sweat

By Bobby Ingram

When I got the word from Malcolm that I had been accepted as one of The Last Gaffe’s new writers, I was pretty amped about the whole thing. That feeling lasted for a solid fifteen minutes, before it turned into an intense sense of dread at my complete dearth of ideas for what to write. I hadn’t really been doing a lot of writing the past few weeks, and while many writers would come out of such a stretch with a back-up of great ideas just waiting to pour out of them, I came out with fresh memories of how much more fun Resident Evil 5 is than writing.

It's not racist because the girl's black, you guys!

And so I found myself staring blankly at a word document that was, well, blank, trying my damnedest to come up with something that would be both funny and a good introduction to the Last Gaffe audience. Something that truly captured who I am. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a whole lot of time to come up with something good because I was also in the process of moving to a new house. And then, in the process of moving, genius struck.

In the form of idiocy.

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Tags: anti-handyman, Bobby, child labor, crayon, crying, failure, Nonfiction, persistent virginity, Pictures, utter incompetence