Shrug Life

Tuesday, October 31, 2006


Thanks for the heads up Tom. I'm leaving for the train station in five minutes, I'll figure out when I can get there and where I can stay when I get there and find a play to stay. This should all make sense when I see the big man and talk to him and figure out whats going on.

Wish me luck everyone.

I love you all.

Back again.

Okay, well it was easy to get away from him because it's Halloween. I just through on a mask so he wouldn't see me and kept my eyes on the ground until I got to Chapters.

I bought Lisey's Story and so far I'm not finding any clues, in fact, it seems irrelevant all together. Now I'm sure that it was all just to seel books. And the ironic thing is, I am one of those suckers.

Hopefully when the buzz of this book dies out, things will return to normal. They have to right? They can't stay like this forever.

The Cracking

There is a crack in my toilet lid that was never there. I can hear the crack getting bigger as I sit here. It sounds like someone is walking on an icy lake and it is slowly cracking. I am leaving to get Lisey's story but I'm afraid of coming back and I'm afraid of staying out.

Unusual stuff

I don't feel safe in here either. It's become unusually warm even though it's fall and I don't have heating. I hear the hum of my television even though its off. I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket, but it's neither on or in my pocket.


Thinking about that new book of his. Should I leave the house to get it? I don't feel safe away from home.

Monday, October 30, 2006


Called into work sick. Unplugged my TV and turned off my phone. After this I will be unplugging my Internet. Need time to recuperate.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Has this ever happened to you?

Has this ever happened to you? You think that time—no, days have past when really you've just slept a few hours?

Shortly after my post I went to work like any other Thursday (only really late), got there, and it was closed. Strange, only not to the security guard who assured me it was a Sunday. And it is a Sunday. I quickly hailed the first yellow car I saw and hopped it, never once glanced at the driver, never looked out the window, never took my eyes off my feet. Though when I heard the dispatcher's voice on the radio, I recognized it as King's. Don't ask me how or why, I just know it was him.

But I can remember the last 4 days vividly, really. I know that Monday I had lunch with Tom at Bojangles. And know that yesterday Boris was wearing an ugly yellow tie and it made me laugh. I remember it all and yet, it never existed, at least according to the my calendar and the rest of the world.

Feeling refreshed

Sorry I haven't posted in a while, but I've just been having such a good, calm, Stephen King-less few days, that I didn't wanna come back to this and be reminded of how stupid I was going.

Every thing's reverted back to normalcy and work and Kelly the inconfident receptionist and people who look unrecognizable. Nothing funny to post, but if you want a good laugh, read my blogs from the last week as you watch a good man go stupid.

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Creepshow 2

“Creepshow 2” is on TV. Stephen King basically just said "nigger" and left. I can't even escape him from home.

Told Tanya

Told Tanya about my theory. She thinks I'm nuts. I sent her home in a cab and when I looked out the window, the cabbie had those fucking buck-teeth and glasses. This is out of control.


I've figured it out. This is all some sort of elaborate marketing campaign. It has to be, that's why I'm seeing Stephen King all the time. Because it's in promotion of his new book.

Take a look at what I came across while Googling Stephen King sightings:

No, it's not more sightings, though I'm sure theirs been plenty. But King just released a new book. When? October 24th, the day this all started happening.

I don't know how much money those fucking publishers have to send out look alikes everywhere, but I can see why. Not going out tonight, Tanya and I are watching movies.

Didn't go out last night either, another Tanya night. Luckily, she looks nothing like Stephen King. Haha. That felt nice. Anyway, I guess I'm tossing Halloween parties out the window this year. Oh well, not really in the mood and neither is Tanya.

A camera

... I wish I had one, or at the very least, camera phone, so I can take pictures of these guys to prove to you all that I'm not nuts.

Friday, October 27, 2006

No more laughter

This has gone beyond funny, spooky, or “the willies.” At first I thought I was reading too much into this, and you're probably thinking the same. Tanya, sorry about this afternoon – but I can't accept laughter anymore, this really isn't funny to me anymore. I'm... scared. Plain and simple.

I saw him again and this time it was him.

Treading down the busy Granville sidewalk, headphones on, mp3's rolling. I kept my face to the pavement because... well, I suspected that I could avoid another instance like this by simply avoiding faces.

I suddenly felt compelled to look up, completely uncontrolled torque of my head. And ahead of me, meters ahead of me, barely even visible in the clustered crowd, I caught his face. And I swear to God, I stopped. I couldn't move, Completely immobile, I could feel shoulders aggressively bumping into mine.

And the lookalike, well, as he came closer he began to look directly at me. Smiling the entire time. And not one of those smiles a passing stranger gives you when you've been staring too long, but a “I know-you know” smile. A vicious, maniacal smile. A smile I hope to never see again.

I stood there for a while looking straight ahead at where he once walked. No more faces looked like his so I finally got moving. It wasn't until I got to work that I noticed the freakiest thing at all. That I had spent the last 20 minutes listening to the public sounds around me. My iPod had completely shut out, I checked and the battery had died, but a) I charged it the night before, and b) I distinctly remember listening to it before shit went down. I remember it was Nina Simone's “Young, Gifted, and Black” but for some reason it just shut off without notice.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Stephen King is out to destroy me

Okay, this is started to get really weird.

You know when you hear learn a new word, then start hearing it all the time? Like hegemony, read it, looked it up, acknowledged it – suddenly its in every news report.

Well that's what's going on with my life only not a harmless word – and a hundred times more freaky.

Today's scenario, my waiter at the cafe.

I sit down with the Georgia Straight, start shuffling through the pages and suddenly I feel the pits of hell on my legs, only in liquid form. I throw the paper, litterally throw it up like in an overacting sketch comedy player (right, Tanya?), and I start hopping on my feet.

Remember, I have no idea whats going on, I was just innocently reading the paper.

I pull the front of my pants forward, you know, like get the smoldering lava off my skin, and then I hear, “Motherfucker!” So I look up and see him: STEPHEN KING, in a brown apron over a stupid white golf shirt.

He's looking right at me, as if I AM the motherfucker he speaks of. I'm completely nonplussed, I let go of my pants and let it burn through my thighs. I really can't feel a part of my body anymore. In many ways, he looked the most like Stephen King. More than the unstable driver or sad-sack Russian. In hindsight, those guys only resembled King – this guy murdered King and wore his face as a mask!

Only he was younger, much younger. Like a awkward and gangley 23 year old who never grew up out of that stage on his graduation like most teen dorks do.

When I realized this, and looked behind his thick frames and disheveled wig, and acknowledged that he's 1/3 the author's age and weight, I said, “What the hell is your problem?!”

Finally, “...I'm so sorry.” But the way he apologized was so insincere. As if he planned it, like he wanted to burn me into with the third degree. I ate on the house (obviously) and they punched two entire coffee cards for me to bring me back, but not if that punk ass demon is still employed there.

You're probably laughing (so am I, just so we're on the right page) but this is starting to haunt me. So many men look like Stephen King, or rather, one person a day in Vancouver looks like Stephen King.

I better not need a skin-graph to repair these thighs of mine.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Stephen King is far too sensitive.

I never noticed how many guys there are out there who look like Stephen King. Another guy today. This time the paper-delivery man at the office. Granted he was a little bit shorter than your average author, almost elfish if you stared at him too long. But anyway...

So he comes into the office and I see him in the corner of my eye dropping the boxes and to the photocopier. And like deja vu, my mind flickers with a thought: “Is that Stephen King.” And then I remembered yesterdays bus driver and broke out laughing. Like a real LOL but coming from my mouth and not the keyboard.

My boss, who's standing by with the reciept and clipboard, checking to make sure its all there (like the picky bastard that he is) and the paper guy turn to me. Boris, my boss, asks me what's so funny. And I ask the paper guy, “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Stephen King?”

He just grunts like, “huh?” He turns to Boris and—this is where it gets great—talks to him in Russian. Boris says something back like, “Dhzdjjosh joshz joshz Stephen King jagkjhfsdgkhsd.” (This is what Russian sounds like to me.) And the guy shakes his head at me, but not like “No, I've never been told that.” But more like “Shame on you.”

So after the guy leaves, Boris sits on the edge of my desk and waits for me to say something. I'm like, “What? Doesn't he?”

And Boris tells me, “That was rude, Jason, so rude.”

Then he just got up and walked away.

How is that rude? Am I rude? The guy looked like Stephen King, sure, not the best looking guy, but in no way is that intended as insult!

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

The bus driver from hell, or a #1 Bestseller

On our way to the Tanya's parents tonight, Tanya and I had a bus driver who looked EXACTLY like Stephen King. I mean, un-fucking-canny. Thick square glasses, full head of bad hair-do, and that round face with the blocky chin. It very well could have been him, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a bus driver.

However it may explain how crazy a driver he was. Fucker almost drove through two stop signs and apparently is yellow-green color blind cause he would just idle throw the yellow lights. And ironically, he had the nerve to honk at like a million taxi cabs.

What exactly are the prerequisites for a Class 2 license? Opposable thumbs, I figure.

PS: Tom, go ahead and try to blackmail me. You know I got enough dirt on you to have you blacklisted by humanity.

Monday, October 23, 2006

You speak redundantly. Or no?

You ever meet one of those people who kinda need your approval for everything they say? Like they're so insecure about every statement they make that they have to ask you if you agree?

The receptionist at work is like that. Kelly, ends every sentence with “Or no?” Example: “These phones just won't stop ringing. Or no?” Like, yes, I agree, they won't stop ringing.

“I like your shirt today, Jason, it's very neat... or no?” Like, can the neatness of my shirt be objective? Is there a National Council of Neat Shirts (NCNS?) that we can get a concrete YES or NO from?

Sometimes she doesn't even finish her little add-on. She'll just say “or...?” And sometimes just “err..?”

“I suffer from a terrible insecurity about my own views on life. Errrr?”

Sunday, October 22, 2006

My life may need a laugh track

All right guys, so I've finally given in to this whole bloggity blog thing, and I've decided to blog it up. I figured that if Iran's President Mahmoud Ahmadinijenad (there's no way I've correctly spelled that, nor do I think there is a way to correctly spell it) can maintain a journal of his most outlandish thoughts (and get national press) so can I. Only I'm not expecting national press.

Besides, Matt's Shipper-Receiver blog has been an effective tool for keeping connected with friends, and just bridging relations. So I guess this way I can avoid those emails to all my distant friends and relatives that I keep repeating over and over, to each one, because they all wanna know “How are you, Jason Mckinley?”

I guess my main influence for this is Tanya, my girlfriend, who tells me that I live a sit-com life. She's referring to the time I dropped my keys down the elevator shaft. Or the time I got arrested to for moving a park bench from one park to another (I was 16!), or the way we met — during a zombie acting class when we were both extras in Resident Evil 2.

So what crazy stories do I have today? Nothing really. I received a scarce amount of fudge on my McDonald's sundae, and when I asked them to give me more, Bobby—the most precocious 14 year-old I've ever met—told me that they had insufficient fudge. I just had this funny image of “INSUFFICIENT FUDGE” flashing on a debit pin-pad screen.

It looked nothing like it does in any of these models:

Maybe it was only funny to me.

I'll try for something more compelling tomorrow. Sorry that my life isn't as thrilling as Tanya tells people it is. I think the kick she gets out of these things is simply because she lives such an uneventful life. Sorry babe, but you know its true :)