Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Crate Expectations - Building a Dream Crate

Crates are great.

This statement is not just me trying a new gimmick where I rhyme the first words of a post (although expect "sun is fun" at some point this summer and "orange is...dammit!" sometime after that).

Instead, the original statement is meant to be a comment on those wonderful monthly parcels that come for you with a bunch of secret goodies inside. I'm currently subscribed to a pro-wrestling themed crate, which my sister got me for Christmas because... she gets me.

But imagine being able to create your very own "Dream Crate". Cool swag that makes you, you, delivered to your doorstep.

Or as all crates should be, dropped at your doorstep via parachute.

Like anyone born in the 80s, I love the 90s. That decade resonates with me because those were some formative years. Ages 5-15. You can imagine the gamut of interests I had during that time. I'm into the...dare I say... "nerdier" things in life. Always have been.

Comic books, video games, TV and movies were a big part of my upbringing, so my dream crate would mostly revolve around those things. The folks over at Loot Crate provide a pretty solid template for those things (and they have specific themes to narrow down you nerdiness).

But if I were to build myself a Dream Crate, it would definitely be nostalgia themed, and firmly set in the era of neon colours, badass anti-heroes and horribly unhealthy school lunches. I would imagine before ordering my crate, I'd fill out a big survey asking me what from the decade I was into, and what I wasn't. That way I'm not bombarded with Tamagotchi or Sailor Moon stuff that I don't want. I want to love EVERYTHING in my crate, so an intuitive survey to set my profile would be great.

Based on that, here's what I'd love to get... 


n.W.o T-Shirt  - As I mentioned up there, I'm a pro wrestling fan. Have been all my life but the boom period of the late 90s was a super special time that will never be matched. Wrestling will never be that hot again, but I'd love to see a reminder of that time when it was. Nothing would say that more than an old school shirt of the New World Order.

Movie themed sports jersey - I loved inspirational sports movies in the 90s, and being able to rep my favourite fictional teams and players would be amazing. A classic Mighty Ducks Adam Banks jersey? Done! (nevermind the fact that he was a cake-eater). A Daffy Duck Toon Squad jersey from "Space Jam"? Yes! How about a Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez Dodgers jersey from "The Sandlot"? Guarantee you will regularly get comments about how awesome your choice of attire is when out in public.

Satin Starter Jacket -  These things were EVERYWHERE in the 90s, and for good reason. They are beautiful. There is almost nothing you can wear that is more indicative of the era than a red satin Chicago Bulls jacket.

Tearaways - I can't really explain why it would be awesome to own another pair of these pants again. I'm not gonna get called off the bench at a basketball game anytime soon, nor will it be necessary for me to convert to shorts as fast as humanly possible (got no time for pulling down pants!). I just remember them being awesome and would love the option to dramatically pull these off in one fluid motion again, although it NEVER happened perfectly. There was always those few snaps that stayed attached making you look like an idiot as you go for the second (or third!) pull.


I've seen some 90s nostalgia boxes before, and was unimpressed by their food selections. If I want a Ring Pop or Fun Dip or Popeye "Candy Sticks" (we all know what they were), I can go down to the store right now and get some.

What I'd want is those delicious tastes of the 90s that I can't get anymore. Things like:

Soda Licious - I'm well aware of how this may sound, but Soda Licious may go down in my personal history as being the first thing I ever loved besides my parents. My siblings and I had antagonistic  relationships (not uncommon for kids), the Pink Power Ranger was as unattainable as she was fictional and sports hadn't really stolen my heart yet. It belonged to this amazing snacks I would love to see in my dream crate. They were so delici- OH MAN! I JUST GOT THAT!

McDonalds Pizza - Granted, this would need to be wrapped in some sort of foil to lock the heat in during it's journey to my doorstep, but damn I could go for some McDonald's Pizza right about now. I honestly can't even remember if it was any good or not, but the ability to render that verdict as my grown up self would be well worth it. And yes, I'm aware the picture does not look terribly appealing. I don't care. I still want it.

French Toast Crunch - I can still get my Cinnamon Toast Crush on whenever I please, but it's that forbidden fruit I'd love to see in my dream crate. A box of French Toast Crunch would always hit the spot. It doesn't matter if it's for breakfast, lunch, dinner, brunch, second breakfast, elevensies or a midnight snack.

Squeeze-it Drinks - The tops were an arduous task to get off, but damn if the sugary drink inside wasn't worth the effort. If I'm going to wash down my Soda Licious with anything, I want it to be this. Wow, all of a sudden my childhood sugar addiction is becoming clearer than Crystal Pepsi (which should ALSO be in the crate)


You can keep your Trolls, and your POGS and your Beanie Babies. Not interested. What I deem to be a must-have collectable from the decade are a little more rare. Stuff like:
Green Ranger Dagger - It was a knife, that was also a flute, and it summoned/controlled an awkward giant robot dragon. It was wielded by the biggest badass of the mid-90s and it would be amazing to find in a Dream Crate.

Zack Morris cell phone - Forget about "Wall Street". Nobody refers to this monstrosity as a "Gordon Gekko phone". It's a "Zack Morris phone", and I'd love to have one. If it was functional, that would be amazing. I spend too much time on my smartphone anyway. The data bill on this thing would be nonexistent!

John Hammond's Cane - I love Jurassic Park, and short of having my very own baby Raptor to play with (I'm 99% positive that would end up with me being eaten), having a replica of John Hammond's "Mosquito in Amber" cane would be amazing. It would have to be a bigger crate, but this would be beyond cool.

Loki's Mask from "The Mask" - Super underrated film memento, but I loved this movie when I was a kid, and having that mask on my wall or in a sweet display case would be sick!


Pocket Nintendo 64 - Nintendo made a big splash with their pint sized version of the classic NES. The thing hit hard with the nostalgia community, and with news that they recently discontinued it, that got me thinking about what would be cool to take it's place. I thought it would be cool to have a retro, pre-loaded Super Nintendo, but this is a dream crate people. Sometimes you just gotta dream a little bigger. If I opened it up and saw a mini N64 with like, 10 of my faves pre-loaded on it I would lose... my... mind. (Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, Super Mario 64, Goldeneye, Mario Kart 64, Mario Tennis, WWF No Mercy, Perfect Dark, Super Smash Bros, NFL Blitz and Bomberman 64).

Classic Board Games - The 90s weren't all about video games, as I remember some of my favourite nights involved gathering around with friends and breaking out the board games. "13 Dead End Drive", "Gooey Louie", an updated DVD version of that amazing "Nightmare" game where the Gatekeeper degenerated as the game went on and yelled at you, and "Dream Phone" (yes, Dream Phone!). Full disclosure, I used to play this with my sister all the time. It was dope.

Travel Hot Shot Basketball - I didn't even need to travel to play the hell out of this game. Get in my crate!

Gak - Not exactly sure how you "play" with Gak aside from just stretching it and pouring it from one hand to the other, but I'd be delighted to find it in the crate all the same. I still remember that smell. I bet you do too.

There are countless other items that I'd love to find in my dream crate, but I think what I have up there would be unreal to find on my doorstep. It would take me back to a simpler time before bills, jobs, complicated relationships and.... just about every responsibility that comes with being an adult.

My dream crate is a big box of nostalgic comfort. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks for reading

- jB

Sunday, April 9, 2017

That Time I Learned A Lesson About Self Haircutting.

In the interest of brevity (I know we all got shit to do), I will open this up and put the lesson I learned about self haircutting right out front for you.

Don't do it. Just... don't do it.

(Duh Naa Na-Na. Duh Naa Na-Na Na Na)

In the interest of fleshing that out a bit if any of Monpeeps are up for a read, I will elaborate for you.

It was Christmas 2016, and I requested and received a Conair Lithium Ion Home Hair Trimmer. Why did I ask for it? Well aside from that fact that if you slap "Lithium Ion" on anything I will want to buy it...

Bought 'em. Don't even have a dog

The real reason I wanted this is because if you are a frugal dude with short, simple hair (and simpler tastes), going to get a haircut is bullshit. I go to Great Clips, and although they are plenty nice there, I don't feel like I'm the recipient of a great haircut.

Also, although the sign suggests it, I'm not really able to relax when someone is using sharp objects on my head

They do fine work there. I'm not slagging them off or anything. But shit takes 8 minutes, and costs me $20. If they threw in a sucker or a can of Dr. Pepper or something, I'd be a lot less agitated about that.

I know a lot of people have more complicated hair, care more about it than I do and pay WAAAAY more than $20, but this is my beef. I cooked it and I'm gonna eat it. I'm not trying to do anything fancy with my hair, you get me? I'm not a DJ.

Pictured: A box of fucking lies

So I got this thing for Christmas, but haven't really trusted it enough to use it. Hair cuts are slippery slopes. You can take more off, but you can't put more back on.

I always say that when getting my hair cut, and I'm pretty sure the people at Great Clips make mention of that in their computer database right next to how I usually have my hair cut.

"Length #2 on the sides and back, finger length on top. Says that fucking thing about not being able to put more back on every....single...time."

So I recently got back from 7 days in Las Vegas, which felt like 3 weeks, and I had to get a haircut on my one day off before going back to work. I was busy, tired and the nearby Great Clips was all the way over there....

(*points to an actually not that far away Great Clips*) I decided to just say "Fuck it. I'll do it myself with that thing".

Just so you know, if you are ever in the same boat I was in, THIS is the moment where you stop, think about what could go wrong, and just go and let someone who moderately knows what they are doing cut your hair. Even if only for that fact that they can see all of your head without awkwardly holding and maneuvering a mirror, these people are who you need.

Plus, they went to school for this shit

My self haircut went south, immediately. It is nothing like on the commercial, where the dude is calmly using the cutter, moving it in a circular motion, and his hair looks great. He looks handsome too (just saying), and his lady is super into him, but mostly it's the impeccable EVEN CUT of his hair that is most impressive.

Pfft! I can do that. Not a problem.


The top portion of my head was cut simply enough. Looked fine (ish), but for the life of me I could not successfully cut the hair on the sides of my head or the back. Maybe this was a horrible time to find out I had a severely misshaped head? I dunno. But what I did know was that my hair looked like shit, and I was already in too deep.

I finally knew EXACTLY what Sum 41 was talking about.

I tried many different cutting techniques to get those pesky hairs, but to no avail. I was also very aware of the fact that my ear could get caught in this thing and then I'd have bigger problems (like trying to finish the haircut before going to the hospital because who wants to look stupid in two different ways?)

After a frustrating few minutes, I lowered the length setting and tried again. Not sure why I thought that would solve anything, and I literally had the EXACT same problem as before, just a little bit shorter now.

So I stood there, looking in the mirror, clumps of hair strewn about the sink and floor in my bathroom, and I considered making a concession.

I will go to Great Clips, hat in hand (or definitely "on head" in this case) and ask them to fix what I had done.

Yeah, I TRIED to save time. That's why I'm in this mess

But I'm petty, you see. And I did not want to give them the smug satisfaction of bailing me out and correcting my botched home haircut. They probably live for that. All it would take is one "Y'know, you really shouldn't try this at home" and I would feel as bad as I currently looked. And believe me, that's pretty bad.

Then my plan presented itself: I go in, say I got drunk with my buddies, passed out and my friends did this to me, and I need them to fix it. 

It was one of the better ideas I had come up with that evening (low bar notwithstanding), but all it really did was bum me out that I'm kinda past those days, y'know? I don't even know if they'd believe me.

"Sir, you definitely look to be in your 30s and your wildest night is finally watching through at least 4 things on your Netflix list. We don't believe you".

So I abandon that plan.

My next plan was to just quit while I was far, far behind and leave my hair as is.

That plan was under consideration for a time as short as the hair on the top of my head (but not the sides or back of my head).

Throw a little bit more on top there and you've basically got it

It was then I knew what I had to do. I had no other option than to execute a Scorched Earth protocol. A "page one rewrite" of my own head. The only way to ensure it would grow back at the same length, was to make it all the same length. My brother shaves his head with clippers, so I borrowed his (because FUUUCK that Conair thing) and I "finished the job".

I find the pink shirt distracts from the hair. I've been wearing it for 6 days

I... wear a lot of hats now. For the next little while at least. Response has been politely positive and I've come up with fun ways to say why my head looks this way, such as:

- I lost so much money in Vegas I needed to cut my shampoo budget by 98%
- I sat in the barber's chair and said "give me the Britney Spears meltdown look, please".
- I'm just, like, REALLY excited that Prison Break is coming back.

Just a show about tough dudes with shit haircuts. I'm in!

So let that be a lesson to you out there. If you are a frugal, moderately competent person, with a misshaped head who is prone to bouts of terrible judgement, do not cut your own hair.

Also, Conair, your thing is garbage and your commercial is bogus.

And, AND, you need to change your fucking name. I don't care about the roots of your company or how far it goes back. I don't give a shit if it was founded by Benjamin Conair III.

There is only ONE Con Air that I choose to recognize:

(Hey, Poster Guy, zero of those names are in the right place!)

Thanks for Reading

- jB

Saturday, December 31, 2016

New Year's Is My Favourite Holiday

Happy New Year's, Monpeeps.

This will be my last post of 2016. It will also only be my third post of 2016, but that's not what is important here.

I've got a few things set to come out in the next week or so wrapping up what was a perfectly yearly year filled with death, broken bones and disappointing films.

Your a dick, Batman vs. Superman.

I just wanted to quickly drop in and express something I don't think I've ever mentioned on the blog before: I love New Year's. It is my favourite holiday.

I woke up today on New Year's Eve and was super excited. Ridiculously excited. I get this way every New Year's Eve. It's like Christmas Eve to me. In fact, I will declare it the superior "Eve" in the month of December.


It's pretty basic and simple actually. Much like people bitch about the over-commercialization of Chrstimas, I hate the over-hypifcation and over-boozification of New Year's Eve. The holiday is about a lot of things, but it's generally looked at as an epic, all night boozefest where all your dreams come true.

Fuck. That.

I'm pretty sure those people in the crowd aren't allowed to leave to piss or shit.

I love New Year's because it is the one time a year where the vast majority of people are looking to better themselves and their situations. It a time of reflection, when people take stock of the year that was. Good and bad. No year is perfect. It's insane to think that they will be, but that doesn't stop people from hoping and trying. I dig that.

Had a tough year? Well it's over now. Acknowledge what happened and keep moving forward.
Had a great year? Awesome. Good for you. Acknowledge what happened and keep moving forward.

This is the one time of year where most everyone is focused on making positive choices in the next 365 days and bettering themselves as a person. Dicks are still out there, so that's why I say most everyone, but it's inspiring to know that for a lot of people, it's another shot at having it be "their year".

It's not about resolutions either. Not really. People might not stick to them, people may fail by January 2nd. That doesn't matter. What matters is that this is the time of year when people are at least TRYING to institute positive change. Hopeful change. The promise of a supposed "Blank Slate" is enough to excite anyone and inspire them to action.

That's what I love. It's naive, but it helps me. In a year that saw a lot of bullshit and nonsense, what value is there in looking forward to another year of doom and gloom?

And every year is like that. Guess what, although 2016 might have been extra shitty, there was a lot of 2015 that sucked as well. And 2014. 2013? Buncha horseshit! And so it goes, back and back and back through time.

1993 was the last truly great year and it was primarily because of "Demolition Man" and "Jurassic Park".

So whatever you choose to do tonight, just enjoy yourself and make some decisions that will make your next year good.

Not great. Not amazing. Not epic.

Just good. With all the hardships that we cannot prepare for, the ones that sneak up on us on a random Tuesday in mid-July or a late evening in October, having a good year is the best we can hope for.

And hope is why I love this day. It's a lot easier to see.

Happy New Year!

Thanks for Reading

- jB

Friday, November 4, 2016

Should Me And The Guy At Subway Be Friends By Now?

Monpeeps, I'm just gonna come right out and say it:

I like to eat fresh.

(Perhaps not the best place to do that, but within proximity to work it... still isn't)

I work near a bunch of restaurants in downtown Vancouver. At least that's what I'm told by my co-workers who are more inclined towards variety than I am. Instead of the wide array of sushi places, Indian food places, Thai food places and the two nearby 7-11's, I usually wind up at ol' reliable: Subway.

Now, Subway has gone through some tough times in the last few years. It seems like ages ago Happy Gilmore was pounding those things into people's mouths with a golf club and their spokesdude kept showing off his giant pants to showcase his weight loss. Obviously, in the years since they have suffered a lot due to some extremely questionable decisions and a swift fall from grace of one of their previous pitch men...

(This will never not be "a thing that happened". It will exist until the Earth explodes)

(NOTE: The Sandler joke was RIGHT there. We all know what that other asshole did so I'm not gonna sully the good mediocre name of this blog by talking about it. Let's just all take a deep breath, say aloud "Fuck that Jared guy." and move on)

The main reason I'm writing this post is because, as usual, I am at a loss regarding a social situation and I'm not sure what my course of action should be. Also as per usual... it's pretty dumb. And for the "per usual" hat trick: I'm overthinking it.

But I'm honestly wondering if me and the guy who works at my nearest Subway should be friends by now.

For a little more background, I eat at the Subway near my work a lot. We've established that already. I'm food-lazy and I have disposable income. I've made my peace with that. I'm also not a creature of variety when it comes to food, particularly what I eat for lunch. I'm purely in it for sustenance.

(I would eat these things if I felt I ran enough to feel confident buying them. I will never run that much)

Foodwise, routine is fine. However, when it comes to human interaction and conversation, repetitiveness is as uncomfortable and annoying as....

( I can literally do this all day. Which saddens me as I loved a handful of his movies. My five are probably the same as yours)

Where was I? Right!

There is a dude who works at the nearby Subway, has to be full-time, and we see each other a lot. We make eye contact and engage in the EXACT SAME CONVERSATION every single time I go in there. I can recount it right now, verbatim, purely from memory. Much like the lyrics to at least 100 songs from the 90s, I feel like it will be burned into my brain for the rest of my life.

(Decades later and I still remember everything this guy wished for. Everything)

So what do I go through every time I walk through the door at Subway? This:

 Guy At Subway (GAS): What can I get for ya?

jBow: Footlong turkey breast on honey oat please.

GAS: Cheese and toasted?

j.Bow: Yes please.

(after much cheesing and toasting)

GAS: Alright. Veggies for you?

j.Bow: I'll get a little bit of lettuce. Onions. Olives. Black pepper. Honey Mustard sauce. And Southwest sauce on half of it, please.

GAS: Meal for you?

j.Bow: Yep I'll get a regular drink and a bag of Baked Lays please.

GAS: Okay, that'll be $11.50.

j.Bow: Debit please.

GAS: Go ahead when you're ready.

(after much debiting)

GAS: Would you like a receipt?

j.Bow: No thank you, I'm good. 

GAS: Have a nice day.

j.Bow: You too.


(The internet doesn't have a picture of that exact sub, so here is the closes thing with some bullshit peppers and cucumber on there)

There is a lot to dissect up there, so I would kindly ask you to ignore the following things about my regular Subway order:

1) I only prefer a little bit of lettuce, but want a healthy amount of onions. Sometimes the people making my sandwich assume I want a "little bit" of all my toppings. Having to ask for more onions specifically drives me nuts. I shouldn't have to order like I'm a telegram from the 1940s.

"I'd like a little bit of lettuce (stop). Onions (stop) Olives (stop)...."

2) I like getting Southwest sauce on only half of it. Honestly, I like the anticipation and surprise of not knowing which half I'm about to bite into when I start eating it. Whatever. I like me.

3) I'm fucking polite as shit.

Moving on from that, it may not seem out of the ordinary on the surface. I'm sure that is how a lot of your interactions with people in customer service go. The main issue I have is that the conversation is the exact same every single time word for word. It's like I'm in Groundhog Day.

(Ahh a good movie reference. Also the Cubs won the World Series. It's nice knowing that Bill Murray is happy somewhere)

I feel like after all this time me and that dude's customer/sandwich artist relationship should have evolved to the banter stage. He says something different, like... asks me about my day, or something. Perhaps he is thinking the same thing about me and we are locked in this game of conversational chicken.

If that's the case, he has NO IDEA who he is dealing with here (because he clearly hasn't made the effort). I'm petty and stubborn. There is no way I'm gonna blink first in a game of conversational chicken.

But I do find myself wondering if I should. I dread going in there and seeing him, because I know it's just going to be the same thing. There was this one wild time they were out of Baked Lays, but I didn't say anything and bought Sun Chips instead. A few days later I took the plunge and added something new to the conversation when THIS SHIT HAPPENED:

j.Bow: Are you still out of Baked Lays?

GAS: Yeah.

j.Bow: Oh....okay then. I'll get Sun Chips instead

GAS: Okay. 

Shit blew my mind. However, that was our best chance to get some sort of rapport going. To bond over the fact that someone dropped the ball, BIG TIME on the Baked Lays re-order.

But no. Nothing happened outside of that little conversational hitch. We don't make small talk about sports teams, or the weather (and it rained A LOT in October). Even being on a first name basis is a real tricky thing to manage here. I already know his name. It's on his name tag. I'm not wearing a name tag so that is a huge committal leap for me to share my name. Why would somebody do that? That's a weird thing for a customer to just offer up out of nowhere.

Although it would be equally weird to prefix it with:

"Hey man, I'm in here everyday and we have the same conversation and I order the same thing. I just wanted you to know my name is j*****. I don't know why I need you to know that".

That's another thing: It shouldn't have to be me. Why doesn't he make some sort of comment or attempt to bond in some minor way? I have a moderately interesting sub order (half Southwest sauce? Whaaaaaat??) or the fact that it is exactly the same every time is also something that I imagine would warrant a comment.  Or my manners. Pleases and thank yous droppin all over the place!

Point is, I'm an affable chap. I'm never cold, impersonal, rude or giving off the "fuck off and make my sandwich" vibe. I order with a positive, downright friendly inflection in my voice. You'd know I'm up for some banter, so what's this guy's problem?

By the way, I'm well aware that this is a weird thing to be writing about. Fully aware of it. I'm listening to "Jumper" by Third Eye Blind at this very moment. I don't know why... but it feels so right

Side note: I was having a similar crisis with the delivery guy from Papa Johns, although we did recently bond over the fact that the couch in my lobby had it's cushions stolen and is basically useless. Me and that guy are cool now.

(The deliciousness of their pizza is matched only by the simplicity of their slogan. And the truth of it!)

Some of what I'm going through here could be residual feelings of regret over what happened with Bethany from Quiznos in 10th grade.

Who is Bethany from Quiznos? Good question, glad you asked.

Bethany Whateverthefuckherlastnamewas (it's origin is Dutch I believe) worked at a nearby Quiznos I went to lunch for every day when I was in 10th grade. She was really cute and I had a crush on her (omitting the fact that she was at work during my High School lunch hour, thus immediately putting her several years older, out of my league and potentially in jail should anything AWESOME happen).

She'd steal a glance, I'd steal a glance. I'd see her smile or laugh at something I said to my friends, but I never said anything to her outside of the order I placed (which, yes, was the same thing every time I went there). Who knows what could have grown out of extending that olive branch beyond the normal customer service interaction we've been through countless times?

I could have ended up marrying that girl.

(Catering? DONE!)

I'm not asking for the Guy At Subway to hang out with me. Perhaps I was a bit overzealous with the title of this post. But you never know where one friendly comment can lead to. Life is funny that way. Funny to the point where I find myself wondering if the Guy At Subway could potentially end up being Best Man at my wedding...

Actually, scratch that. That position is already filled...

(To be fair, he IS the BEST MAN.  It does the role a disservice to select anyone else. Look at him no-sell those spiders!)

I just can't help shake the feeling that I should either

A) Make some sort of friendly comment next time I'm in
B) Just order something different and see if HE makes a comment or
C) I should just stop going there so much. The social expectation for even the smallest shred of small talk is unbearable.

And that's why I've decided to stop eating at Subway so much. Or eating out in general. I would save not only money, but social awkwardness (which speaks to me a lot more). Plus it's a bit more grown up to make my own meals and be a bit more careful with what I eat. Like The Rock would.

That's what I've landed on. Whatever it took to get me there, doesn't matter. It's a good thing to do.

So thank you, Guy At Subway. You've shown me the better way. The fresher way. And in this moment, you've made an impact that only someone I would call a friend could have made.

All this time it felt like this was a post about one thing, but it turns out to be about something else entirely. Like how we thought the movie Funny People would be funny.

(One more for the road)

Thanks for reading

- jB

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

The Most Heartfelt Dunkaroos Review In History


How's it going?

That's awesome. Happy to hear it. I am well also.

This is kind of awkward after all this time but.... I missed you.

In case those words don't send the message enough, please let this solemn looking Bulldog puppy contemplating it's own existence do it for me...

("Majestic" doesn't even do it justice. "Fucking Majestic" is a bit closer)

It's been a long time, Monpeeps. You know that, I know that. Clearly blogger knows that as they tried to lock me (j.Bowman) out of j.Bowman Can't Sleep due to inactivity. The amount of dice I give to that is severely low, however, so here I am. 

How I have been? I've been well, I suppose. I sleep a lot more now. The usual marathon 9pm-4am writing sessions I used to undertake on this blog are a thing of the past. Got a regular job, a regular girlfriend and a regular way of life. It's pretty sweet, but there is something.... missing.


But what should I write about? It's been a long time, and A LOT has happened. I had an awesome writing gig, which I still can't believe I got to do for 3 weeks, let alone 3 years. I hosted a series of instructional forklift safety videos (which is too random to make up). I gained a bunch of weight, then lost a bunch of weight, and repeated that dance for several years, thanks in no small part to the excellence of Papa John's pizza.

Seriously, expect a lot of Papa John's references in the future.

(I don't even mind that he creeps me out as much as he does. The pizza is amazing)

Oh! I've also got a long-term relationship I've managed to keep going amidst years of asking her random questions like "How do they build bridges?" and "How do hammerhead sharks know what they are swimming towards?" and  having her patiently explain to me that Ponies aren't actually baby horses.

That is a real thing she needed to teach me. I now know what a Foal is... although I still think I'm kinda right.

(Not Pictured: A baby horse... apparently)

So what topic is it that gets me back in the game? What gets the Sleepless Knight in a tizzy? Why is tizzy such a fun word? So many damn questions to address.

I wish it was something significant or something earth shattering, but what I have to say on this blog isn't that important and is never meant to be. It is just as it was years ago when I started this: Me, you, and unimportant nonsense. The one thing I have chosen to unburden my soul about after all this time is....


Yeah. Dunkaroos.

It's been ages since I've eaten Dunkaroos, and they used to be a staple of my lunches when I was "but a wee lad".  Although if you are looking for my all-time favourite, watch this shit!

(Note: I also love Sodalicious because I respect tasty treats that keep their pun game strong).

But have one of the all-time classics, Dunkaroos, held up? And what led me to ask such a question and embark on my journey to find the answer?

To be perfectly honest, I had the idea for this post last year. I was out drinking in copious amounts and I went to the supermarket after the bar, which, y'know, is always a strong idea (and the main reason for every 2 or $x chocolate bar deal in the history of ever). I had 3 items in my basket, and the random combination of them was unsettling to me so I needed a 4th.

(I can't go up to the register like this. It's too weird!)

I drunkely took to Twitter to ask Monpeeps for suggestions on a 4th item, and someone suggested Dunkaroos. It was perfect. But I had no idea where Dunkaroos were located in the supermarket. Not a clue. Even sober I wouldn't know where to look. I checked the cookie aisle; nothing. I checked the snack aisle; nada.

It got to the point where I approached a kid who worked there and clumsily asked him where the Dunkaroos were sold. He was unclear as to what Dunkaroos were (this generation, I tell ya *shakes head*), so I proceeded to act out and explain the very simple lunchtime snack I used to love.

"Well... they got this like... cookie... com-com- compartment! And there is a separate bit for your frosting. And, and you take-- cookie and dip in frosting and...and... it's great!"

From what I can recall, that is exactly how the conversation went. I acted it out and everything. If I was playing charades, EVERY SINGLE PLAYER would have known I was looking for Dunkaroos.

Except that one person in charades that is terrible. We all know one.

(Turns out Bradley Cooper = one of those guys)

The clerk WAS ALSO THAT GUY, and clearly had no idea what I was talking about. He politely told me to "Check aisle 8" which I actually interpreted as "Get the fuck away from me". I was disappointed but continued my search.

(Sadly, the sign did not say "Dunkaroos", so I was not optimistic)

I then got sad because I couldn't find them. I kept trying aisle after aisle and got more desperate as the night went on. I also had to pee. It was dramatic.


I don't remember what song was playing at the time, but I'm fairly certain it was "Lose Yourself" by Eminem. That song has been playing for every significant moment in my life since 2002.


As I took that picture, I looked down the aisle and saw the clerk I was speaking to earlier. I excitedly showed him the Dunkaroos and he nodded and gave a thumbs up. In a different world, we could've been friends I think. But in that world he probably wouldn't have sent me on a wild goose chase to Aisle 8 just to get rid of me. That world is a nicer place.

But for now, I had what I required. The 4th item that... actually made my basket seem even weirder.

(The purpose of that endeavor was widely missed)

I took them home, ate them, started writing this post and then was distracted by Youtube videos or something so I didn't finish writing it. I eventually crashed, woke up and kept living my life, this Dunkaroos review sitting dormant for no real reason other than I got sidetracked.

Been happening a lot, lately. Getting sidetracked. Makes me sad occasionally. This blog was started in difficult times, and turned a lot of rough nights into something someone could enjoy or get a laugh out of. It was supported by a lot of people and then... I don't know. I fell asleep, I guess. Lived a dream that I got to write professionally for a couple years and then just... sleepwalked for a bit.

But in an effort to get a little Bowmentum going, hopefully write a little more and leave nothing I've started go unfinished, I'm back a year later to finish this post and let you know how Dunkaroos are in 2016.

I bought some earlier today and am excited to let you know...

(the "D" stands for "Drumroll"... or "Dunkaroos". Honestly could be either)


They're a bit shit, actually.

The cookie is much bigger than I remember. And I feel like the frosting section got smaller. Both those things are heading in the wrong direction.

I also found the cookie to be pretty stale. Dunkaroos come in a 5 pack and I ate them all, so there was AMPLE opportunity for just one of those cookies to have the cookie crunch required for maximum enjoyment. Instead it was several packages of strikeouts.

6/10 (which is 2/10 factoring in nostalgia inflation)

As you can see above, the cookie also has weird pictures on it, like a hot air balloon and a motorcycle. Some cookies had a plane and what appeared to be the Kracken sea monster on them. Why? No fucking clue. The only thing that's constant is the "D", which would be a great slogan for a sperm bank... if they had slogans.

They may not have slogans, but they have cornered the market on uncomfortably staring at your phone or your feet as you wait to do what you are trying to pretend you are not about to do.

(I feel like the guy on the right is there for recreational reasons).

And yeah, that's pretty much all I have to say about Dunkaroos.

A little bit of realness mixed in with some pointless jokes, observations and a meandering tale from my personal history.

Picking right back up from where I left off. Not any wiser, just older.

I don't know how frequently I'll be writing here again. I hope to get some work done and update those tabs up there and clean this place up a bit. It's got the stench of 2011 ALL OVER IT! But for now, just know it's satisfying for me to see "2016" in that column on the top right of the page that lists the posts by year.

And to the nearly half a million people represented in the number above that, to old readers, new readers and speed readers,

Thanks for reading.

- jB

Actually, fuck speed readers. All running their hands across the page while reading words like they're trying to impress somebody with their speed. What a bunch of assholes.