My li’l brudder!

He blogged this, so I assume it’s safe to reblog it.

It’s my Mittens!! He’s so talented. Give his video some views. ūüôā

Drumroll please…

And now, the much-anticipated Interview With My Sister! She has her own web presence at and she is witty and errm, unique, as you will find below.

Me: Would you rather be a toaster or a lamp, and why?

Sister: I would rather be a lamp, because I can imagine that being a toaster would get quite itchy, with the crumbs and all.

Me: Makes sense. Besides, who doesn’t love lamp?¬†Now, what would be the most dramatic way to announce a life-changing revelation to your friends and family? (the time mom found out about our tattoos does not count. I’m talking like, you’re secretly amphibian. Or lamp.)

Sister: First, I tell them that you got me drunk when I was fourteen (deflection) and that I think that’s the probable reason I’ve drank away my university fund. Then, I tell them that I dropped out of school. I say I got four more tattoos (and that one is of Christopher Walken’s face) and two tongue piercings, and am considering one on my weenus (I’ve seen it done before, don’t give me that look). I explain that I am moving away to live somewhere shittier than Ottawa, like Scarborough, to be with my baby daddy. I then tell them not to worry, because his parents have promised that he can stay in the basement without paying rent as long as he’s unemployed.

Then, after mom has fainted and won’t hear the bad news, I tell everyone that I’m an amphibian and they’re all happy for me (their newt-dars had been ringing for a while) and then they all buy me zippy newt food so I can lift them up when I’m big and green. (please see picture below).

¬†Me: Good job on pasting photos here, sister. I’m assuming it was a picture of Ned’s Newt, who was actually blue. WAY TO REMEMBER OUR CHILDHOOD. Here’s a chance at redeeming yourself:¬† Turn a random word into a euphemism and explain it.

Sister: Impossible, I cannot think of a single word which is not already a euphemism.

like, egg, or velveteen, or arpeggio.

See what I mean?!

¬†Me: Huh, good point. Along the same, euphemistic lines,¬†what’s the stupidest thing you ever ate?

Sister: Well, funny story about this one, for years I thought the answer was MY TWIN WHILST IN UTERO because a certain family member used that as an explanation to why I had an apparent twin in the ultrasound pictures, but not in real life, even though she was only like nine and clearly had NO IDEA.

probably a turkish delight.

¬†Me: Ugh, I remember that. You were throwing up for hours.¬†It was gross. Kind of like the time you… oh never mind, I won’t post it on the Internet. It’s too embarassing, even for an older sister to point out. Now, if someone you kind of know, but not really well, smells awful, like, embarassingly awful, are you going to tell them? and how?

Sister: I won’t tell them, their cologne was probably really expensive and even though it’s illegal in nine countries and smells like Bigfoot’s dick, I hear that it’s *actually* the smell of a woman’s desires.

Me: 99% of the time, it works every time.¬†Here’s a random question: Which is your favourite pair of socks and why?

Sister: The ones Charlotte (baby sister)¬†stole from me (shut up, that kid has ABNORMALLY large feet) when she was here because she has them and they’re mine and I want them!

And also because they had rainbow stripes ūüė¶

Me: Imagine every enemy you ever had was now a four foot bug. What would you do?

Sister: Oh dear lord, I get my roommates to kill them. We actually put guns on the shopping list in case we ever see a Coconut Crab (picture below)


 Or convince them to ride in anything with a Capissen 38 engine (they fall right outta the sky).

(what, you can turn them into GIANT BUGS and I can’t get a low- level english comprehension from them?)

Me: Capiwhatnow? I don’t even know what that means. Capybera. Ahem. In which category will you receive the Nobel Prize, and for what?¬†

Sister: Hmm, well there isn’t a category for anything I excel at (sarcasm, drinking diet coke like it’s my job, or David Bowie fan- girling) I guess I could try physics. It seems easy enough.

Me:¬†Isn’t your major politics? Seems like that’s pretty easy, if Ford can become mayor of Toronto. He gets scared of 60-year-old ladies in Warrior Princess dresses. Sheesh. Moving right along.¬†What’s the best bathroom graffiti you ever saw? (bonus points if you recreate it and post a picture)

Sister: I can do you one better- I saw this lovely picture (below) and began recreating it whenever people write whiny things on bathroom walls.


Me: I once got into a theological, social, anthropological and psychological debate about chastity balls (lol balls) on a bathroom wall at U of T. Loves it.

Sister: Time for a shameless plug? OK! ¬†Follow me on tumblr if you like music from the 60’s to late 70’s (with a bit of 80’s and a sprinkle of 90’s), pictures with “funny” captions, generally nerdy .gifs, Matthew Gray Gubler, allusions to my childhood and the inevitable nostalgia that follows, or David Bowie’s crotch. Below is a typical blog ¬†entry.



Kate actually helps me find pictures on occassion, so following me would be like following her. But less deep, if that were possible) (It’s pretty difficult to get less deep than me.)

 Convinced? Not Convinced? Go to to decide for yourself. (You sound like a voting ad.)
Me: Well thank you, sister, for being such a good sport and fodder for my blog on a day when I felt like Bejeweled was going to eat me with its shiny, shiny gem-teeth. One last parting shot: Write a paragraph (of at least 12 sentences) about whatever the flup you want.

Sister: What I really want to do is drop out of school and join the Beatles. I heard they got acid from their dentist, and well, I don’t trust mine for things like that, so I suppose that’s the only way around it; I’ll have to use theirs. Problem is, he’s the dentist to the Beatles, so I’d have to join to get the acid. I’d be quite easy on him, considering the lot her normally deals with, eh? I’d totally be great for fanservice, because I would ensure there were rumours that members of the group were sleeping together. The rumours would be true, of course, but only 25 % true; I’d only sleep with George because his hair is adorable, I really like skinny awkwardness in males, and he dances worse that I do (which is a complete turn on). [No, I am not being funny, George really is my favourite.] Of course, when John heard the rumours, he would assume I was sleeping with Paul – wildly considered the prettiest- and get jealous, creating a wonderful sort of dramatic irony. This was my goal in life for about five hours, until I regrettably remembered something of crucial importance; I’d end up making a movie like Magical Mystery Tour, and that simply wouldn’t do. So I guess I’ll finish school and become batman.

the end.