Leah hates Kris: A Doversport

Game Over: Leah Wins!

2006-11-17T10:56:00.000-05:00

Pardon the disappearing posts, for those who saw it - gotta keep my study habits to myself, they're the only thing I'm good at, intellectual property and all that.

Anyhow I've just realized that this contest doesn't actually involve a prize! I've been duped! So I'm calling the whole thing short and calling Leah tha winnah.

Besides, I've got PhD to do, man. I'll blog some other time.

Be sure to watch out for Leah's next blog - whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be a rip-roaring good time.

Later,

Kris

I'm Not Dead!

2006-11-15T03:29:00.000-05:00

I had planned an extensive post detailing my whereabouts after some speculation about my death. It somehow turned into 3:30 am, though, and now I can't be bothered. I was at the GSU Pub last Friday, where they have my favourite painting in this whole city pasted to the wall. It's right beside my pal Sungjo, here. It's a picture of Venus, but where Venus is actually Paul Stanley from KISS.

Ha HAH!!!

Eh, I guess mostly you can just see Sungjo. But what a good lookin' feller, ay?

The Punishment: Getting the Creepy ON

2006-11-13T21:17:00.000-05:00

The actual script on this was explained to Leah as follows:

Leah: Grr. Dan. Grr. Comin' ta getcha. Grr.

After two takes, she couldn't get it right. I decided to accept her being afflicted with some weird case of verbal dyslexia, and used this.

Voting Over, and the Victor is Kris

2006-11-10T10:16:00.000-05:00

Yes, in LHK's very first landslide, Kris comes out on top. Consequences to follow, with punishment to be meted out on not only my hapless 'competitor', but also on this week's lone dissenting voice, dan-o-mite. Let this be a lesson for you to try a little harder to be on the winner's side there, Dan-o.

CHALLENGE: America's Next Top Roommate

2006-11-09T01:11:00.000-05:00

Wednesday means two things to me: Top Model and blog challenges.

So it was a natural fit that we combine these two weeknight rituals for LeahhatesKris's inaugural America's Next Top Roommate challenge.

Taking a cue from tonight's episode, Kris and I will demonstrate the "action modelling" lessons we picked up from veteran top model Gabrielle Reece. Each roommate must select a "verb" and "adverb" (gold star to Tyra for upping ANTM's educational content) and model the results.

Will camera-shy Leah pull an Anchal and "flee aggressively" in shame?

Or will the judges finally realize "mature model" Kris could break a hip on the runway, and boot him back to the Stettler A&W?

You decide. Who's gonna be on top?

Hot! Hot! Chip!

2006-11-08T22:43:00.000-05:00

Despite the headline (and you'll see what I mean by clicking, here) Monday's Hot Chip show was excellent.

So excellent that Toronto was dancing. And not just that typical big-city self-conscious head-bobbing. I think I actually spotted one guy voguing.

I'm not about to give Toronto too much credit, though. Not yet.

The second song in, I distinctly heard a loud shout of "Edmonton!" At first I thought it was just some weird self-important delusion. Then I noticed Cadence Weapon was about three rows behind me. That would probably explain it.

If only there were more Edmontonian hipster celebrities available for export.

Hello Toronto, Goodbye Roommate?

2006-11-05T13:51:00.000-05:00

I'm back.

Kris, however, isn't.

I'm not going to trouble the police with his missing-ness. No need to rouse the bloodhounds or dredge the ravines. There's a few extra boxes of raisin bran in the kitchen; he's still lurking somewhere.

But he's scared. Scared of the competition to come.

What's the matter, little Kwis? Aren't you roommate enough?

VOTING OVER: WE BOTH LOSE

2006-11-01T00:40:00.000-05:00

I almost begged some of my friends and acquaintances to vote this time around, to no avail. I tried guilt-tripping some guy who came over drunk on Saturday night and was breaking shit into voting. Nada. So this week, there are no winners, only losers.

I don't know whose crotch that is. I'm pretty sure it's not mine.

A contest of spooktacular booportions

2006-10-30T22:51:00.000-05:00

As Kris announced earlier today, this week's contest was delayed due to my jet-set adventures in western Canada. I apologize for doing my homework, and I regret I have little to report.

It snowed a lot.

My mom fed me plenty of yummy homecooked meals.

I visited a few Halloween parties full of newspaper kids I didn't know. I felt as though I'd mysteriously transformed into blog pal and old-school Gatewayer, Neal Ozano. But Neal wouldn't have dressed up like Margot Tenenbaum. He would have just hung out at the bar and called everyone dum-dums and bore-o-saurs. Which is to say he's cooler than me.

All this leads me to announce this week's challenge: a costume contest.

Kris suggested it, leading me to believe he'd been spending all those months cooped up in Robards hand-stitching sequins under fluorescent light.

He'd proven himself a considerable opponent. Last year, he wowed the blog-o-sphere with his interpretation of Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby. The competition seemed stiff. That is until this morning when I chatted with Christie, who informed me it was she who conceived the Rosemary costume.

And video evidence would seem to prove Kris is in fact completely helpless without a lady friend to help him navigate his closet--fashion missteps such as purses and red heels, aside.

The poor little fella seems to have wandered out of the apartment in his underpants out of frustration:

A cheap ploy. Your votes will only encourage him.

I Am A Bespectacled (sp?) Monkey

2006-10-29T01:49:00.000-05:00

While Leah's been galavanting around, watching rock and roll shows and stuff, here I've been, hunched over the computers in the anthropology graduate 'lab'. What time of day is it? Who knows, in this windowless space where I'm working on a project of indefinite length, time has no meaning. I do love those chairs, though, they are so very, very comfortable. Don't I look comfortable? I sure do.

Leah's in Edmonton now (oh how I envy the jet-set lifestyle of a journalism graduate student), so no hundred meter dash for a couple weeks. Next challenge is coming up though, it's about Halloween costumes! Predictably!

This one's for the hope chest

2006-10-24T21:01:00.000-04:00

My eyes are pink with too much school reading this week. But still, I like to find time for a little recreational magazine skimming, as well.

So, mad props go out this week to blog pal, Tyson who sent me a copy of my new favourite Western Canadian publication: Alberta Husband & Wife.

This month's Sears portrait studio power couple: Rob "Power 92" Christie and Phyllis Diller.

I've been taking notes on the articles that I think I should share in case any of you are contemplating a stale marriage. Some romance tips from the editorial:

"...Wear flowing and sensuous fabrics. A wispy silk skirt or sari for the woman and an open necked silk shirt and tight jeans for the guy. ..."

"...Be playful. Just happen to have a basket of delicious red cherries dipped in chocolate hanging from a lattice or a tree. Hold them by the stem and dangle them for your partner to enjoy the luscious taste and pampering."

"What about the mosquitoes? Yes, they can ruin the moment. We are in Alberta, and we just can't ignore them. I could tell you to put on Deet, but how responsible is that? Kissing your parntner's soft skin and ending up with a toxic chemical in your mouth just takes away the romance. Beside [sic] it stinks and tastes horrible."

Col. Sanders is the dreamiest

2006-10-23T18:40:00.000-04:00

In belated weekend news, I reviewed The Killers Friday night.

I mention this only so that I can post the following photo caption:

SOME BIRDIE TOLD ME

Puns!

Leah's Gonna Hand You Your Liver And Make You Eat It

2006-10-22T22:40:00.000-04:00

This punishment was going to be for Leah to read some 19th century poetry while wearing a moustache and my stingy brim pork pie hat. However, I haven't had time to find a moustache yet, so I just got her to throw on this Mexican wrestling mask that I got at my buddy Kirk's wedding in the spring, and growl a little. Why not?

Moustache and poetry will come soon, as I've figured out a way to do the hundred meter dash without outside help, and there's no way I'm going to lose that, baby.

VOTING OVER: KRIS WINZ!!!!!!

2006-10-20T09:49:00.001-04:00

I can't give credit to my ingenious, zombie-like delivery, nor Leah's wild, desperate attempts to out-Britney Britney. Gotta give it to the Boyz and their lyrics - "I don't care what you did?" What? What if she smeared her face with shit and then went out and bought a medium mocha with foam from the Starbucks? Would you still want her to love you then? Huh? The embarrassing, shit-face-in-public girl? Want her to love you, huh, would ya?

VOTING OVER: KRIS WINZ!!!!!!

2006-10-20T09:49:00.000-04:00

I can't give credit for this victory to my ingenious, zombie-like delivery, nor Leah's wild, desperate attempts to out-Britney Britney. Gotta give it to the Boys and their lyrics - "I don't care what you did?" What? Like, no matter what she did? What if she smeared her face with shit and then went out and bought a medium mocha with foam from the Starbucks? Would you still want her to love you then? Huh? The embarrassing, shit-face-in-public girl? You'd still want her to love you, huh, would ya?

Compelling.

Karaoke-tarded

2006-10-18T23:17:00.000-04:00

Both Leah and I are completely swamped to our ears in schoolwork, so this seemed like the perfect time to do our most time-intensive challenge yet. Using Leah's completely awesome karaoke machine with a mic that doesn't work, she picked me a Backstreet Boys tune, I picked her a little Britney ditty, and it was on. Check it! Vote!

How many people live in Tori Amos' head?

2006-10-17T23:29:00.000-04:00

Always delightful blog pal Christie paid a visit this weekend.

Back when Christie was still acting den-mother of the Little Edmonton crew, she could always be counted on for her savoir faire. She always knew of the hipster-iest night spots, the cutting-edgiest boutiques, the lip-smacking-est cafes.

And though she's since taken up a country life on the Isle of Jersey, Christie's clearly still in-the-know. It seems all she needs to do is listen to the wind on the Jersey moors to pick up on the latest pop-culture zeitgeist. And that wind of hipness is Kate Bush's "Wuthering Heights."

Here's what I'm talking about:

And here, here, here, here, here, here and especially here, and also here and here and here...are all the people who know what I'm talking about already.

To think that Saturday night after the Oilers game we were all so out of the loop. Thank goodness Christie was around to educate us Toronto simpletons:

Like a Badly Drawn Boy

2006-10-17T22:54:00.000-04:00

Perhaps Madonna will take this as inspiration to swap the unitards for chunky knits.

Badly Drawn Boy at the Mod Club:

And the review: here

Given the subject, MS Paint might've been a more sensible medium than shaky digital video.

Shiny Doorknobs!

2006-10-17T01:09:00.000-04:00

Well, the broken doorknob on my bathroom door finally got the better of me last Friday. After closing the door (from the outside, thank Christ), I found that I couldn't actually open the damned thing to get back in. But what do you know, I called the landlady at 10 am, and when I got back around 6, low and behold these shiny new doorknobs, that work a good 90% of the time. If I could also note that that parquet-looking stuff down there is actually parquet-patterned linoleum...

In celebration of my new doorknobs, I've done a new picture of the landlady in Microsoft Paint, since she is now the best landlady in all West Queen West.

WW-RRJ-D?

2006-10-16T13:21:00.000-04:00

A red-eye bus trip to Montreal, 30+ interviews, more skinny jeans than I've ever seen in one place, 4000 words (which I later nipped in half).

One online feature for the RRJ.

Humiliation: now in streaming video

2006-10-15T13:03:00.000-04:00

By request, and never to be repeated again (if only because I don't want another pair of shoes to be mangled by Kris' man-feet):

Director's note: I think I'm going to start wearing heels at breakfast, too. As demonstrated by Kris before the camera rolled, they're excellent for reaching those out-of-reach shelves.

What'll it be, good sirs?

2006-10-13T18:39:00.000-04:00

I don't beat Kris every week to validate my totally wicked-awesome self. No. I do it for you, the blog-o-sphere.

And today I feel like I ought to keep on giving, paying it forward with cruelty, as it were.

This week, you get to humiliate Kris. Or, the person with the best suggestion gets to.

Get commenting, pals. Democracy's a beautiful thing. Remember I have total access to our unwitting victim, and full video capabilities.

Your choice seen here, as of tomorrow.

Challenge No. 3: Video Evidence

2006-10-12T20:54:00.000-04:00

Whatevs, Kris. The camera--and the noisemaker--don't lie. Don't you have some more reading to do?

CHALLENGE No. 3: Read to the Death

2006-10-12T20:27:00.000-04:00

After generously agreeing to a challenge I could never win last week, I thought I'd definitely have the advantage on this one - a read-off.

Two equal-sized pages from two different issues of Harper's were chosen. First person to get through the whole page had to grab this Bike Throttle With Motorcycle Sound, make a Motorcycle Sound, and be declared the winner.

Well, the vicious results are below, with Leah redefining the phrase 'reading every third word'. By, like, reading every fiftieth word or so.

Anyway, I read a fascinating account of how people might populate Mars. Yup, very engrossing, very slow-reading inducing. Had to read every fucking...transitive verb...and little connector word and shit.

I wouldn't bother asking Leah what she read, cause she won't be able to tell you. Unless she read it afterwards or something.

Better than Thanksgiving

2006-10-12T18:43:00.000-04:00

Forget Turkey. For the rest of my Toronto days, it looks as though a New Pornographers show is my favourite October tradition.

For those who find my wordy prose vaguely entertaining, and others who just read it to feel better about their careers, Chart should have the review up sooner or later.

Edit: Link finally relevant.

This just in: women aren't people

2006-10-11T13:20:00.000-04:00

In our 'hood, crazy is included with the rent. But if you're a regular rider of the TTC, crazy will follow you to school/work. That's value.

Today, I was on the streetcar with a self-styled Peter Mansbridge.

This guy wasn't just ranting to himself, no, he was giving us "the news," as he'd frequently remind us.

Among today's headlines:

Poor people smarter than rich people and entire working class: crazy dude

Global warming melts children's ice rinks; hockey industry devastated

"Long-haireds" usurp television industry

Native man challenges entire Chinese army, wins

And my personal favourite, as directed to a woman exiting the streetcar:

Job action for would-be career gals: Women everywhere enlisted in army mission to recover missing children.

At least it's not purple.

2006-10-09T20:11:00.000-04:00

I feel dumb. And it's not because Kris beat me at some blog-challenge. No, I doubt I'll be feeling that brand of humiliation ever (although he has challenged me to a 100-metre dash. It'll be wheezing, pot-bellied poetry in motion, folks. Mark your calendars).

No, I feel dumb because I dyed my hair today--and I can't really tell the difference.

I've never dyed my hair (outside of a few odd high-school flirtations with a friend's bottle of Alpine green La Riche Directions). At my last visit to a Toronto salon, though, the stylist, while hacking her way through my impenetrable locks, was convinced otherwise. "Bad dye job?" she asked, overly made-up face askew, while combing through red (natural) highlights. Nope, totally mine. She gave me a complimentary makeover later out of awkward guilt.

As for those "terrible" highlights, I can still see them through the black dye. Funny, considering I'd often indignantly point them out when people would describe my hair as black. "Fucking Helen Keller knows my hair isn't black!" I'd scream, "It's clearly chestnut brown with auburn highlights! And then I'd round-house kick them in the gut while tossing throwing stars made of colour-swatches at their eyes.

I'm tired of fighting, though. Next time, I'll go to a salon. I'm sure their dislike of my natural hair colour will yield favourable results.

Plug For My Non-Voting Non-Brother

2006-10-08T16:43:00.000-04:00

Despite my disowning him for promising to vote in challenge #2, and then not voting at all, I'm putting out a short plug on my erstwhile brother Richard's behalf. All you suckas in e-town should go see his debut Edmonton performance at Shadow Theatre, in something called While My Mother Lay Dreaming. Starts Thursday, apparently. Here's Richard playing Hedwig of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, last year, in Red Deer. I poached this picture off of a blog called Still Spiffy, whose author Cheyenne saw Hedwig, and describes Richard as "honestly the most beautiful person that I've ever been witness to", and further notes that "I was absolutely stunned, I even cried during Midnight Radio". She then goes on to describe how she backhanded some kid later that day after he attacked her and her friend Becky with some pylons.

Leah doesn't hate penguins

2006-10-07T19:12:00.001-04:00

This Saturday I've done little more but stuff my gullett with store-bought pumpkin pie. But last Saturday, let me tell you. Sure there was plenty of over-eating, but the stuff worth stuffing was poutine, smoked meat. Yes, sirs, I was triapsing around Montreal.

I was there to do some reporting for an article coming soon to the online Ryerson Review of Journalism. But between red-eye bus trips I also took some time to sight-see...

(Celine Dion's wedding dress as preserved in the basement of CBC Montreal.)

(An astroturf car, outside the Berri-UQUAM Metro station.)

(Chilling proof that those east of Lloydminster believe lady-Albertans are actually grain elevators with fantastic taste in shoes.)

I also took in the BioDome with dad, who happened to be visiting the city on non-comic-book-related business. And really, there's not much more to say about that, than:

PENGUINS!!!

Or, as the French say, PINGOUINS!!!

Plus de PINGOUINS!!!

VIDEO-PINGOUINS!!!

Humiliation: Part Deux

2006-10-05T21:31:00.000-04:00

As drawing was the challenge, it seemed only appropriate that Kris' humiliation should be similarly themed.

This little masterpiece is a Mike Winters sketch I only found today on the back of a crumpled issue of Frank magazine. I happened to be leafing through the magazine in preparation for a class exercise, and there it was. Truly, it was fate that Kris lose so sorely.

Also, considering the deep investigative reporting within Frank's pages, I have no reason to believe the cartoon's claim is anything but true.

So Kris, please, keep the whoring to a minimum. I know we all have rent to pay, but some of us don't like sharing our apartment with Bay Street stooges with a taste for the ladyboys.

My Actual Life

2006-10-04T23:38:00.000-04:00

Whatever. Everyone knows that drawing is the thing I'm the absolute worst at. So, well done Leah, you beat me at something I'm completely terrible at. Honestly, I'm more worried about the thumb wrestle. Although I'm sure I would have won that had Leah not maced me in the eye (the shot doesn't show it, but that's why I screamed like that).

Anyways, this whole thing is little more than a ruse anyways, since I hardly even live in the apartment. I mostly live here, in this not-even-a-cubicle they call a 'carrel'. It's in the basement of Sydney Smith, the shittiest building at the U of T. I study here, eat here, exercise here, I even shower here (there's a towel underneath that horrid green jacket there).

At the apartment, I sleep. Or sometimes I just lay there, feeling myself filling with bile.

CHALLENGE No. 2: Portrait of a Landlady (Leah edition)

2006-10-03T22:08:00.000-04:00

VOTING CLOSED: LEAH WINS!
My prize: I think I'll begin by watching Top Model...

Throughout time, all artists have found inspiration from the female form. Leah and Kris are no exception. Their muse: the landlady.

The rules of this week's challenge: Equipped with Microsoft Paint and five minutes apiece, each roommate must create an accurate rendering of their landlady.

Please note the attention to detail, dialogue, safety pins and twistie ties.

Then, please vote for your favourite. The winner will rejoice, the loser will be taunted and booed--then blogged about in a humiliating fashion.

Commence!

CHALLENGE No. 2: Portrait of a Landlady (Kris edition)

2006-10-03T22:03:00.000-04:00

Hmm - our landlady actually looks less like a goat than this. It's still better than Leah's.

Leah hates sleep

2006-10-03T13:09:00.000-04:00

Notes from the Cansei de ser Sexy/Ladytron show last night:

Ladytron’s closing their Toronto encore. The menacing strains of “Destroy Everything You Touch” blare while singer Helen Marnie glowers from the edge of the stage. But her ice-queen veneer is melting. Like the rest of the band, she’s been rooted to her spot all night, blank-faced and untouchable – the perfect poster-girl for nouveau kraut rock. But suddenly she’s attempting movement (an overhead hand-clap here and there) and cracking a half-smile.

Even the crowd is warming up. Most of the hour they’ve been politely nodding along to the Liverpool group’s dark disco tracks (the set-list covers a little bit of everything, from 2001 club hit “Seventeen,” to samplings like “Sugar” from their latest record, The Witching Hour). But now, they’re frenzied: crowd surfers toss overhead, dancers rush the railing.

All the adoration isn’t for Ladytron, no matter how powerful the song is. Hands clamber towards a pair of legs. They’re wrapped in leopard-print and rainbow spandex and kick above the crowd. Lovefoxxx, lead singer for Cansei de ser Sexy, is in the house, and she’s bringing it down.

Straight out of Sao Paulo Brazil, Cansei de ser Sexy (English translation: Tired of Sexy, a name they attribute to a Beyonce quote) is easily the most fun you’ll have at a Ladytron show. The five ladies and one gentleman of CSS are as equally brash as they are cutesy-pie, and their music reflects it. On disc, the sound is garage-style electro-pop, with plenty of high-hats, disco guitar riffs and even some early-Blondie-style girl rapping. But on stage, their songs (which rip on Paris Hilton and art-school snobs and give props to Death From Above) go from neutered pop to electro-punk.

Shouting “CSS Suxxx” the band leapt on stage. In seconds, lead singer Lovefoxxx was channeling Jane Fonda, bouncing like a rock-and-roll jazzercise instructor to the beat, and stripping through sweatshirts down to a t-shirt and leopard tights. If the disco pop didn’t get you shaking, Lovefoxxx was dedicated to getting the party started any other way she could. There was go-go dancing on the speakers (after the rather petite singer cautiously gauged whether she could make the leap), and a stage dive during “Meeting Paris Hilton.” It was too early, though, to make a proper go of it. “Ok, that didn’t work,” she admitted, but she wasn’t going to give up on the party. High fives, for all, instead. And later, a duet or three with the hardcore pockets of fans, screaming lyrics and love into the mic.

Within three seconds of Ladytron’s taking the stage, fear set in: was the fun over? The sound of a Ladytron show is astonishing: being washed over by brooding synthesizers (no less than eight), with the added crunch of live bass and drums. But the performance is too austere to be entertaining, even for a group that’s built a reputation for its nouveau Kraftwerk persona.

There’s no talk and no movement (outside of a few batted eyelashes and shoulder shakes). Helen Marnie and Mira Aroyo perform like they’re robo-Abba, singing pretty (but dark) melodies side-by-side without movement or expression –that is, until somewhere near the end of the set between “Discotraxx” and “Playgirl.”

A pocket of dancing broke out during the middle of “Discotraxx,” eventually erupting into a mosh pit while Aroyo flatly speak-sang the song’s chilly Bulgarian monologue. Behind the writhing lunky guys in NIN tees were a few familiar faces—the ladies from CSS, laughing with beer bottles in hand. Mid-way through “Playgirl,” Marnie’s pulling a smile and staring into the crowd. It’s not hard to see why. Lovefoxxx is making her way to the front of the stage, lifted on the shoulders of a bandmate, pumping at the air and shouting until one of the security stooges gets her to simmer down.

She complies—for all of 30 seconds. Soon she’s rolling above the crowd, gaining a few surfing followers. Marnie’s performing harder, now, reaching out to the crowd from the edge of the stage. Eyes are on Lovefoxxx, though, who’s giggling as she’s passed throughout the Guvernment. The show was stolen, and she wasn’t even on stage. Clearly CSS makes electro-pop fun — even when it’s not their own.

Septic

2006-09-28T23:14:00.000-04:00

Given my (undeserved) loss in the thumb-wrestle, I suppose Leah gets the initial edge in this battle. But she's already stooping to stale jokes about my purse and unsubstantiated claims about Don Iveson - desperation moves, clearly, and I think we'll see the tide turn shortly.

Some context: This hothouse of hate isn't all our fault. The slummy circumstances of our existence would put anyone on edge.

Exhibit A: This is the inside of my toilet, where you can see the flushing device is being held together by a broken safety pin. This is how my landlady dealt with my toilet after I phoned to tell her that it wasn't flushing. My toilet stopped flushing after the twist-tie that had previously been holding this chain together fell apart and disappeared.

Humiliation: Part One

2006-09-28T11:55:00.000-04:00

After winning last night's challenge, it was decided that in the spirit of juvenile competition the loser should suffer some sort of consequence.

However, making Kris scream like an bullied child doesn't just come with trophies and an irrepressible feeling of self-worth. It also comes with responsibility, the responsibility of devising a suitable humiliation.

So, Mr. and Mrs. Internet, behold Kris' purse collection. All of them the same, all of them ugly, all of them inappropriate accessories for a fellow of 29.

We can only hope there's enough storage space between them to make room for all his tears.

CHALLENGE No. 1: Hand-to-hand Combat

2006-09-28T07:20:00.000-04:00

For this inaugural roommate challenge something grand was in order, a competition worthy of testing our fine knowledge of art, sport and procrastination. So, naturally, we thumb wrestled.

To the casual observer such a pair of competitors would appear unfairly matched. What sort of unchivalrous lunk would think it sporting to face a slip of lady (with exceptionally weak wrists, no less) in bare-handed combat? That lunk would be Kris. Clearly, he keeps his man-parts safely tucked away in that "satchel" of his.

But enough talk, let the games begin!

The Dovercontestants: Let's Get Real

2006-09-27T22:15:00.000-04:00

Yes, there are two Dovercontestants, but only one Dovercontestant that matters. That's why there's only a picture of me up there, and I'm Kris. Also, I don't have a picture of Leah. Anyhow, get ready to feel sorry for L'il Leah, week after week after week. Cause I'm the shittiest roommate of them all.

The Dovercontestants

2006-09-26T23:27:00.000-04:00

Two bedrooms, two baths, two snarky roommates. And five months into their 12-month lease on a musty Way-Queen-West apartment, the thin veneer of "friendship" and "basic hygiene" has disappeared.

From this poorly decorated bubbling cauldron of squalor and contempt only one will emerge victorious.

And to make good on this statement, these roommates will endure weekly challenges proving their skill and wit.

Let's meet our contestants:

Leah: Whip-smart and invariably smelling of delicious cupcakes, she's the odds-on favourite for all future competitions.

Kris: Enjoys eating perogies and imitating motorcycles. He also owns a purse.