Summer From the Midriff Down

Enough play.  It is now time for DRAGONE to contemplate a serious topic.  My summer shoes.

red shoesI know, I know, there’s a lot going on in this picture.  So let me break it all down for you, from the bottom up.

My red Tommy Hilfiger low rise sneakers, if I may make up my own term for them.  I grew up wearing sneakers, but then at some point all the cool kids started wearing sandals.  So even though sandals felt weird at first, I played along.  And now, with the idea of wearing sandals still a modern thing to do in my mind, I look around and all I see is fat middle-aged men wearing sandals.  Well not all of them are fat.  And so, being the cool kid that I still am, I have gone to the summer sneaker look.

My swim suit.  If I have to be fashionable with my footwear, then allow me to be comfortable with my mid-section wear.  The beauty of wearing these babies all day every day throughout the summer is NO UNDERWEAR!  That’s right, swim suits have built in underwear.  Sort of.

I then thought I would tease all the ladies with my midriff.  Yes, I know that my hairy navel is sexy to look at, which is why I capitalized on the product placement Tim Horton’s cup.  Delicious navel, delicious coffee.  It’s a mind manipulation tactic.  Don’t blame me, I didn’t invent psychology.


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dinosaur eyeDRAGONE does not blink ……………………………………………. first.

Go ahead and try me.  Stare into my big bull eyes.  I dare you.  Guaranteed, you will blink first.

Why? Because DRAGONE would rather cry than blink.  To hold in pain with a stone cold face is to be a man.  You will not even get a blink from my eye.

But DRAGONE will blink when you’re not looking.  Go ahead, look away from your screen.  I will blink.

Because everyone blinks.  Eventually.  Unless they die first.  Then typically the coroner closes their eyelids, never to reopen.  But that is still not a blink.

Okay, there you go. I blunk.

If you blink you will miss something.  Miss what?  Misunderstanding.  That’s what you get when you don’t blink.

If you blink you will lose that moment.  That moment where everything makes sense.  One moment its there, and the next its gone.  The whole universe and the meaning of life made sense, in a brief and fleeting moment.  And then its gone.  You’re no longer sure if you took the red or the blue pill.  You can’t even remember which pill is reality, and which is not, and so it doesn’t matter anyway.  You will never know if what you remember is real or fantasy.

One moment you are a baby.  The next you’re a smart ass teenager.  Then you go to work, and then you’re an old woman or an old man.  It all happens in a blink.  Tyrannosaurus Rex ruled the world for millions of years.  And then he was gone.

If you blink then you give in.  You say “I’m human.  I’m not a T-Rex.  I’m not a machine.”  So what have you got to lose?

DRAGONE has convinced himself that he can blink first.  His eyes are rather beautiful actually.  Blinking keeps them soft and vibrant.  And if one moment is lost, then another will be found.



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I Can’t Think of a Title

BlahDRAGONE is bored.  He is bored of the Sun.  He is bored of the calm and bored of the drama.  He is bored of that piece of popcorn that is stuck between his molars.  DRAGONE sighs.

Another boring person walks past his window.  With a dog.  Then a car.

DRAGONE is bored, yet his heart is beating.  His world is uncertain.  Action is just around the corner.  A corner, somewhere.

Sadness is boring.  Everyone is sad.  Even the happy people are sad on the inside.  Sad and bored.

DRAGONE is waiting for a miracle to resuscitate him with some serious mouth to mouth.  He can keep waiting.  And waiting.  Because miracles happen, but not very often.  When they do happen its usually because you’ve jumped off a bridge and are daring them to happen.  And then they still usually don’t.

Miracles especially don’t happen to boring people.  In fact, nothing happens to boring people.  Nothing good.

DRAGONE is sad.  Nobody can see him.  Except for the children.

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Roseanne Barr Back with New TV Show

RoseanneWord is that Roseanne Barr, who’s roller coaster popularity was going straight downhill after her series of bizarre racist tweets a couple of months ago, is on her way back up.  Feeling awful after tweeting “Muslim brotherhood & Planet of the Apes had a baby” in reference to a senior advisor to President Obama, she decided to make amends with the Black community by starring in a sequel to the movie “Planet of the Apes”.

aunt JemimaAfter being told that it had already been done she came up with an even better idea – a TV show about Aunt Jemima.  “The idea of the show”, says Roseanne, “is to highlight a strong African-American woman who is in touch with her feminine side.  Aunt Jemima so strong that she doesn’t need to pretend to be a feminist.  She spends her time in the kitchen crafting delicious maple syrup recipes.  Did I mention that she is Black?”

Critics concerned about lack of content for a weekly television show based on a fictional character that we know nothing about, other than she is Black, need not worry.  “First of all”, Roseanne explains, “my make-up people have come up with the perfect skin tone for me to wear on my face.  All of my Muslim sisters are gonna love it!  And I’ve got lots of ideas for episodes.  Like when Auntie J struggles with whether to remove her hijab in order to wash her hair.”

Oh Roseanne.  I’m not sure you get it yet.



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The Art of Working Out

As you all may have guessed by now, I have always fancied myself a rather accomplished amateur bodybuilder.  I was really into it for a while.  And let me tell you, the strict regimen is grueling to say the least.  Every day taking copious amounts of vitamins such as stanozolol, anadrol, testosterone, and so on.  Keeping track of doses.  Oh my gosh I’m getting anxious just thinking about those days now.

And then, after doing this for the better part of a year, another bodybuilder told me that I needed to supplement my vitamins with weight training.  Well that was just too much for me, so I quit.  Cold turkey.  But not before I compiled this list of gems which I will now purge to you, my beloved readers, for no cost.

  1. Symmetry is the key. Step right, step left.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Wax on, wax off.  Yin yang.  For example, if you strain the left side of your lower back while doing some heavy squats then do your best to duplicate the same strain on the right side of your lower back.  That way you will not inadvertently bulk up asymmetrically.  For it is better to be a cripple with puny legs than to end up with that ball-and-chain prison swagger.
  2. Avoid injuries at all cost. One might argue that the best way to do this is to not do any physical activity at all.  It’s a seductive thought.  However, in the spirit of vainness, I suggest that you continue going to the gym but wearing full protective gear.  A hockey helmet and mask comes to mind.  Because concussions are a thing now.
  3. When it comes time to flirting with the opposite sex, subtlety is the key. Do not glare through just one mirror, as I have found that clever women are on to that trick.  Use several mirrors and vary your angles.  The image of your flirtations may be quite small this way, so don’t be afraid to carry a pair of binoculars with you.
  4. If the woman you are flirting with (I am switching to the point of view of a heterosexual man now) is wearing loose fitting clothes, know that there is only one possible reason for this. She is ashamed of her body.  Be sensitive.  Let her know that you sympathize with her condition, and don’t be afraid to offer her some helpful advice on dieting or work out tips.  She will appreciate your honesty and helpfulness.  Maybe you can even suggest going out on a date, perhaps some “Netflix and chill”.  When doing this I find that the added touch of speaking with a Russian accent warms her up to you even more.
  5. And finally my number ONE piece of advice is this: Love your body.  If people can see you loving your own body, then it will just make them want to love your body too.  Touch, caress, fondle, and grope.  Remember that your body is your own temple to worship however you see fit.  And really that’s nobody else’s business.


p.s. I’m thinking of changing my name to VOLKANO and would appreciate some input around this.  If you like this new name then click “Like”.  If you prefer that I follow my old name then click “Follow”.


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The Art of Blogging

Due to my great perceived success as a master blogger, and fortunately for you my humanitarian tendency/strategy, I, DRAGONE, shall empty my skull to give you, the bloggee, my pearls of jam.  I have compiled a list of advice in chronological order which, for the sake of suspension, I will impart to you in reverse, starting from number 5, a la classic clean-shaven David Letterman.  Unfortunately the clever auto numbering feature on WordPress does not allow me to number items in reverse order, therefore you will have to remind yourself that the order is, in fact, desrever (and no, in case you were wondering, that is not a palindrome).

  1. Don’t hinder your creativity with annoying copyright laws. It is not a sin to Google.  Google to your heart’s content.  And if anyone has an issue with it, take it to the privacy of your own bathroom, along with your laptop of course.  Its not like you’ll go blind or anything.
  2. Never blog about blogging in your actual blog. Its like having a side of nachos with your 5 dollar all-you-can-eat spaghetti meal.  Its rude, meta, and just plain bad luck.
  3. Save your bad blogs for sunny days, just like you save your bad underwear for those incontinent days. That way, only the palest of readers will be subject to your incoherent ramblings.  All of the jocks and beautiful people who you aspire to read your ramblings will be out playing beach dodgeball.
  4. Save your really bad blogs for your worst enemies. Tag them with clever phrases such as “this one’s for you Stacy”, or “suck on this Chad”, or “rude door-to-door energy salesman”, or “noisy dog next door”.  They may not find their way to all your intended homes, but this form of carpet tagging will take out some of your most annoying followers.
  5. And finally, my number 1 piece of advice. Blog what you love, love what you blog.  If that happens to be plus sized furry cat models, then so be it.  If you fancy pregnant grannies (who I affectionately call prannies), then who is the public to judge?  If it is photography, or poetry, or nature in general that you love, then even you are entitled to your beliefs.  This is a free country.  Well mine is (Canada).  I don’t know about yours.


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Back when I was a simple man (circa last week) I understood only 2 feelings:  Good and Bad.  So, according to probability theory, this meant that I was in a good state of mind 50% of the time.

Recently, however, it has been expressed to my old simple self that Good and Bad are very vague and simplistic concepts.  So now I have a new language to use for feelings.  There’s Happy.  And then there’s Sad.  But wait, there’s more.  Lurking in the trenches is an emotion called Mad, which also goes by the name of Angry.  Mind blown.

Now you may think this is good news.  An expansion of the heart and mind of DRAGONE.  Well, unfortunately, probability theory says otherwise.  The way I see it:  Happy = Good, Sad = Bad, Mad also = Bad.  Therefore, I now only have a 33.33% probability of feeling good.  (Note that this is not an exact number but has been rounded for the sake of brevity).

So when a so-called feelings expert (such as your therapist, or your significant other who tends to be female in gender) tries to convince you that there are many more feelings, in fact entire poster sized charts of many more feelings, you just tell them to stop it right there.  Is Hungry on that feelings poster?  What about Tired?  Or Itchy?  Or Sexy?  No, they’re not.

In fact, all of the so-called feelings that are recognized by feelings experts can be essentially boiled down to the 3 aforementioned.  Feeling jealous?  That sounds like a form of Madness to me.  What about proud?  Well that’s just a form of Happiness.  See what I mean?

I’m thinking of going back to Good and Bad.  I like my chances better that way.


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Look At That Guy’s Face!

I’ve been experimenting with beards lately, but after a couple of starts and stops I found myself in a conundrum.  I’m too lazy to shave but can’t stand the itchiness and overall feel of a beard.  And then I had one of those EUREKA! moments which come to me on a daily basis.  I find the vast majority of EUREKA! moments to be false alarms, but not this one.  This was truly a legit EUREKA!.

My new look would not be a single look, but a three week cycle of beard growth.  I have decided to shave once every three weeks (and a few of those lower neck shaves in between to make sure everyone knows that I am not just incredibly lazy).  That 3rd week is a little tough as I do get itchy in that week.

Two weeks would have actually been better, except that I have a slew of doctors, therapists, ADHD coaches, and grocery store clerks that I visit on a two week cycle, and what would they think?  They would think that I meticulously cut my growth to the exact same amount every day, as that is how they would see me every time on that two week cycle.  No, I can’t have them thinking that of me.  I mean, I do have some self esteem left in me yet.  So no, a three week cycle it is.

Which brings me to the joy I get from my 4-year-old son who, due to my beard obsession, has been trained to comment on all of the baseball players’ beards and long hair that he sees as we scroll through the highlights of every game every day.  His cute commentary has now jumped from the television screen to real life as the other day he saw a long-haired bearded man (wearing a Hell’s Angels leather jacket in the brutal heat of the summer) stop in front of our house, and he pointed his finger at him and yelled “Daddy, look at that guy’s face!”

Oh, my cute little Dragone-lite is a chip off his pappa’s block, and I couldn’t be more proud.



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My Thirst For Knowledge

I’ve never fully understood the expression “thirst for knowledge” until today, at 5:30 in the morning, when I woke up from bed very, very thirsty.  I could feel a hairy lump in my throat which could only signify one thing – the onslaught of a summer cold.  And speaking of cold, I have chosen to quench my dehydration with a steaming hot pot of coffee.  Throw in some ADHD stimulants and Voila!  Let the day begin.

Now back to my thirst.  I had a dream last night of a fine powdery blue excrement that was excreting from my skin.  It gave me a sort of sickly, pale complexion which made me think of how sickly and pale my entire life is.  I had to examine my skin with a magnifying glass, under the glare of this ultra-violet light that I bought to ward off the winter blues.  Hmmm … I’m not sure its working as advertised.

Anyways, I was so incredibly thirsty that I just gulped down that pot of coffee / ADHD stimulant medication mixture so quickly that I started seeing stars spinning around me out of control.  And that’s when it hit me.  I’m not just staring into my 12 by 8 foot mural of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” superimposed by a giant Batman heeding the Bat-Signal which adorns the ceiling of my bedroom, I am truly thirsty.  And still thirsty.

Well the coffee is all gone, so I can no longer blame my thirst on any of my physical yearnings.  Therefore, I must be thirsty for knowledge.

I’ve been seeing this psychotherapist for a few months now.  Oh no, its not what you think.  I’m not having encounters of the romantic kind with her.  Its strictly psychotherapeutical.  Damn Microsoft Word spell-checker, do I have to input another word into your incomplete dictionary?

Anyway, Jennifer as I like to call her (my psychotherapist, not my spell-checker), has been such a mystery to me.  I mean, she knows so much about me, yet I know so little about her.  What’s up with that?  And so, as any competent academic worth their salt would feel, I feel thirsty.  Thirsty for knowledge.

Where does Jennifer live?  Is she married?  Is she happily married?  Where does she go shopping for her tight-fitting yoga pants?

I have trusted my handy Google assistant to research this knowledge for me.  Jennifer, as it turns out, lives in the suburbs.  I know this for a fact because her white suburban SUV parked out in front of her office is also parked out in front of the house that Google View has shown me.  Therefore, she must be married.  I will hypothesize no children, as I do not see any child seats in her car.  Therefore, she must not be happily married.  Therefore, she must be open to affairs.  Therefore, she must be attempting to seduce me with her yoga pants.  Where does she get those yoga pants?  Well, some things in this universe must be kept a mystery, otherwise what’s the point of it all?

Damn I’m good.


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My Dingy Basement

I’m starting to get used to my dingy little basement.  I have been banished here for 3 months now by Mrs. Dragone, or shall I say the ex-Mrs. Dragone.  That’s right, its unofficially official.  The ex-Mrs. Dragone may have tried to slay me with her sharp sword made of molten silver saturated with garlic powder (in case I am also a vampire, which I am), but she did not succeed.  She only made my wings soar higher.  Harder.  Better.  Faster.  Stronger.  And a single man I am once again.

I shall embrace the hollow pit of a feeling in my stomach by spending the day tomorrow racing roller coasters with my hands held up in the air.  I shall fantasize about having my wrists tightly secured to Olympian gymnastic metal rings, held high in the air, while beautiful women tickle my armpits.  I shall scream like a little girl.  No, even worse, like a little boy.

I have fallen in love with the demonic posters that adorn the walls of my new dingy bedroom.  Held up by masking tape, these collector’s items came free with the various Xbox games that my teenage son spent my money on.  My teenage son who is no longer the master of this dingy little basement, for he has moved on to bigger and better basements in his mother’s house where she lets him drink and smoke pot to his lungs’ content.  These demons surrounding me do in fact belong to me.

Now don’t you worry about me, dear readers.  I have endured far worse at the hands of psychotic exes.  My party has just begun.


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