Barry Weiss and a Bunch of Boobs

As you know, I am short.  Just scraped the five foot mark and stopped growing.  It would appear that my pituitary gland is an underachiever.  I do, however, own a nice pair of what Barry would call “sweater puppets.”  Some men are leg men and others are boob men.  With a pair of stubs, I am ill-equipped to turn the head of a long-pair-of-stems seeker.  Thankfully, based on many of Barry’s Storage Wars comments, it would appear that he is the latter–a fan of fried eggs, flesh bulbs, fun bags…you get the picture.

He has admired the psychic’s stack, Mrs. Dotson’s double D’s, and Brandi’s Bra Buddies.  Surely, my jolly jigglers would also capture his eye.  And his imagination.  (My husband just rolled his eyes.  He finds my Barry crush entertaining–almost as entertaining as my aforementioned boobs).

Barry recently found himself surrounded by a heaving herd of headlights–the Hooters kind.  Yes, only Barry could steal the spotlight from the tightly shirted, short skirted Hooter girls.  Check out this video to see the suave Mr. Weiss in action for yourself…

Barry and the Hooter Girls

If you see this man hanging around this block, contact me immediately.

Amber Alert:  If you see this man hanging around this blog, contact me immediately.


Check out my latest mental musing at The Embiggens Project

I cheer, Barry cheers, we all cheer for Thom Beers.

I feel personally indebted to Mr. Thom Beers.  Without him, I would have led a Barry-free existence–one without clever storage-locker puns, the Cowboy Cadillac, skeleton gloves, and Boston Joe.  I wouldn’t have met the silver phlegm holder or my personal favourite–the “Reddy Kilowatt” lamp.  Nor would I know that a Kit-Cat clock is the key to putting the “kitch” in my kitchen.  This blog would not exist.  And I would have to seek some other witty and charming, silver-haired piece of eye candy to salivate over.

Barry Weiss and Boston Joe

Focus, Kim.

Thankfully, Mr. Beers knows a star-to-be when he sees one and Mr. Weiss can now visit my living room every Tuesday night.  Yes, Beers brainchild, Storage Warshas become a  tremendous success and cultural icon, but not all of his inventions have fared so well.

A few of his lesser known titles include Whisker Wars–yes, people with really long beards gelled or teased into styles so ridiculous that you wouldn’t be caught dead walking on the same side of the street as any of them, let alone marry or bear children with them, Dead Tenants–people hire Ghostbusters, none as funny as Bill Murray, to rid their homes of non-paying ghosts, which makes me wonder if the problem was that they were ghosts or that they were a bunch of lazy-ass moochers, Wing Nuts–people who make furniture out of old airplane parts, which I really don’t understand because airplanes are not exactly known for comfort, so why would you want to put the crap from inside airplanes into your own house, and Ax Men (or, as we would say in Canada, Axe Men), in which men chop down trees and try not to squash each other with them.

Yes, these flopped forays into the world of reality television did not stop Mr. Beers from persevering and creating the masterpiece that most call Storage Wars–but I call a half hour with Barry.

Well, here is a video starring Barry Weiss, himself, presenting a faux award to the man who discovered him…

And don’t forget, if you see this man lurking about this blog, contact me immediately.

Barry in paisley


You can also check out my latest post on The Embiggens Project…

To flub or not to flub? Barry Weiss hitches his sitcom star to the Great White North

I always knew there was something I liked about Barry–well, several things actually–but here is yet another to add to an ever-growing list.  He fits in well with Canadians.  And I am a Canadian.  He has already guest-starred on This Hour Has 22 Minutes twice.  Yup, TWICE.  He has been schooled on Canada’s most beloved–and insanely creepy–children’s television stars, “Casey and Finnegan.”  Mind you, he was rewarded with some liquid gold (aka Molson Canadian) for enduring that supposed honour.  (Notice the extra “u” in honour.  That’s how we roll up here.  Barry probably knows that).

Canadian children, myself included, were enthralled with this creepy little boy and his mute dog.

Canadian children, myself included, were enthralled with this creepy little boy and his mute dog.

Which probably led to our desire to consume this.

Which probably led to our desire to consume this.

He has even hung out with Canada’s most famous “recluse,” Santa Claus–paying thousands of dollars for Saint Nick’s stored belongings–including a reindeer-shaped skull with a bright red nose.

Another creepy Canadian.  Think about it.  He comes into your house while your sleeping and he has a thing for small children.

Yes, the world’s favourite (yes, we put a “u” in this word too) home invader is a Canuck.

Barry will be making his sitcom debut and it’s going to be on Dave Foley‘s new CTV show, Spun Out.  Yes, none of that CBC crap.  He is going to be on the self-sufficient station that brought us Corner Gaswithout the benefit of public funding (but that’s a whole other story).  Although, I’d be all for my taxes paying for more Barry Weiss-related television.  Who wouldn’t?

Weiss admits to having trouble getting used to a script and claims to have “flubbed” his lines at least 25 times.  But he got it done.  And I can hardly wait!

Here’s a shot of him without his trademark specs in Chatham, Ontario.


And remember people–if you see this man hanging around this blog, contact me immediately.

Although he usually has a well-dressed body attached.

Although he usually has a well-dressed body attached.

If you want more, visit my latest post on The Embiggens Project…

Does Barry Weiss know why pen lids have pointy things on them?

I have, obviously, been collecting the wrong stuff all my life.  Apparently, I should have been investing in comic books and jewel-studded letter openers.  Yup, Mr. Sheets actually found a device for tearing open envelopes–because the pointy part of a Bic pen just won’t do–that was worth $27,000.  And that’s not 27,000 Maldivian Rufiyaa either.  Or maybe it is.  Anyone know the current exchange rate on Maldivian Rufiyaa?  Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass.  I just like saying  Maldivian Rufiyaa.

Letter opener?  Chew tow?  Or giant ear cleaner?

Letter opener? Chew toy? Or giant ear cleaner?

While I’m on the subject of Bic pen lids, I have always wondered why they have that really sharp, pointy, hanging-down thing (now that was a carefully composed sentence, wasn’t it?).  I have chewed on one of these before and, while it does offer variety to one’s pen chewing experience, it can result in the painful puncturing of one’s palate ( I thought a bit of alliteration would make up for the previous awkward sentence).  I have seen people clean their ears with it (hopefully, not before chewing it).  Ack.  And I have seen it used to launch elastics at the nerdy kid in math class.  But no one seems to know what it’s really for.

It looks like it could be designed to keep your pen in your pocket.  But who would trust a cheap, leak-prone, globby Bic pen in their suit pocket?  I’d really like to hear from you on this topic.

Back to the value of collecting letter openers and comic books.  I’ve always been a fan of comic books.  Not the standard Marvel or DC superhero variety.  Those were for the boys–or so I’ve been told.  No, I was more of a Scamp, Pink Panther, or Baby Snoots kind of girl.  And I still get annoyed with my mother for selling my comic collection at a yard sale.  With my Mad Magazines.  And my Rupert Bear Annuals.  Somewhere out there someone is having a financially worry-free existence because they attended a garage sale “giveaway” on Elm Ridge.

These could have funded a Monacan holiday.

These could have kept me in pedicures and eyebrow waxing.

These would have paid for my NYC apartment.

These could have financed the movie that I could have produced based on my yet-to-be-published novel.

And this could have spared me a lifetime of paper cuts.

It turns out that Dan and Laura actually auctioned off a locker that contained a stolen Nicholas Cage comic book that was worth 2.7 million dollars.  I’d have to work several lifetimes to buy that comic book.  And that is sad.  It is even sadder that someone successfully stole a 2.7 million dollar comic book and lost it for failing to pay their monthly locker fee.  That is one dumb criminal.

And now I must turn the spotlight over to the topic of this blog–everyone’s favourite Storage Wars cast member, Barry Weiss.  Although he may not have hit upon any million dollar treasures in his lockers yet, he has enjoyed the hunt more than anyone else.  And even if, according to him, he is his own biggest rival.  And, according to me, incredibly sexy.

So this experiment in social media continues.  And still no word from Barry.

But here is the man of the hour on The Insider.  Check it out.

Barry on the Insider

Barry Weiss sports a blue mustache

I must admit that I am not a huge fan of mustaches–especially big furry “haven’t quite finished eating the squirrel” types.  I think this stems from my Obsessive Compulsive fear of accidentally ingesting someone else’s snot.  You are likely confused by that last statement.  Let me explain.

Everyone needs to blow their nose from time to time–and I can only assume that owning a mustache does not exempt you from this necessity.  And snot has a poor sense of direction.  It does not know that it is supposed to fly in the direction of the Kleenex.  We’ve all had to wipe a rogue booger off our lip, chin or–on one occasion, our forehead.  Don’t ask.  In my opinion, the mustache is the perfect hiding place for a renegade snot to dwell.  And I don’t want to kiss someone who has a nest of boogers residing directly above their lip.

But I must confess that Barry Weiss would be the exception to my mustache rule.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that he doesn’t have a hairy upper lip–but if he did, I would learn to cope with it.  And all the stray snot.

Thankfully, Barry appears to be sticking to the Sharpie-style ‘stache–in a lovely shade of royal blue.  If you’d like to see what Barry would look like with an upper lip of bushy blue, check this out…

Barry’s blue mustache

Barry Weiss loses arm up crocodile’s ass

As many of you know, I love puppets.  I have a few really strange ones in my possession including a giant snail, a police officer, and a hand with a tarantula attached to it.  I do not, however, have a crocodile.  Or an alligator.  I have no idea how to tell them apart.  Let’s just say I have no scaly green things with large teeth and a tale that can knock a buffalo off its feet.

It turns out that Barry Weiss does.  I’m not sure why.  And I definitely don’t know what a croc/gator has to do with a streetcar, a midget with a French mustache, a magician’s hat, and a knapsack full of what appears to be underwear.  But it sure makes for an interesting picture.

And let’s face it…Barry makes everything look stylish.  Even a giant reptile mitt.




Barry and his merry band  Yeah, that's it.  Misfits.

Barry and his merry band of…um…misfits. Yeah, that’s it. Misfits.

Barry and His Mustache Can Play a Mean Harmonica

I can “sort of” play a few musical instruments.  As I’ve said before, I possess the attention span of a gnat on Redbull.  I have strummed a few strings and tickled some ivories over the years, but I have never felt compelled to master anything more than a few tunes.  Tunes that I have long since forgotten.  And, yes, I did try to learn the harmonica.

Have you ever had a nasty paper cut in an awkward location that just won’t heal.  Well, a tongue is an awkward location.  And, harmonica cuts don’t heal very well either.  Needless to say, I gave that up too.

My tongue felt like this.

My tongue felt like this.

Well, according to Facebook’s Barry Weiss Storage Wars Fan Club, the multi-talented Barry Weiss has also been blessed with a tough tongue–one quite capable of mastering the mouth organ.  And mastering it completely.  The fan club claims that this is an old clip of Barry showing off his musical prowess with The Tall Guys.  Yup–Barry with long, flowing locks and a furry friend on his upper lip.

It takes place in 1989 in Pennsylvania and some claim it isn’t the same Barry–but others say it is.  Check it out and be the judge for yourself…

I ask you, do you think this is THE Barry Weiss?

Photo credits:  cut tongue (

Barry and Some Creepy Little Puppets

As you already know, I love pop culture collectibles–everything from Cornelius Rooster to Snoopy.  But I am Canadian.  And what the heck is a Canadian pop culture collectible?  Unless I want to add a bunch of beer memorabilia or…ack…a Celine Dion poster to my collection (which I don’t), it will continue to be a mish-mash of British and American offerings.

Unless I can get my hands on two Canadian hand puppets that I–and every Canadian child–grew up with.  Barry Weiss had the honour of putting his paws on them–and, perhaps, in them–for an episode of CBC’s This Hour Has 22 Minutes.  

You can see Barry and these two Canadian icons in action right here:

I have to admit that Casey and Finnegan do look a tad bit horrifying–just lying there all limp and empty.  But they held generations of Canadian children spellbound in their heyday.  Maybe we’re just a nation of idiots.  Hm.

But watch this and witness the magic for yourself…

Now that’s four and a half minutes of your life that you’ll never get back.  Okay, Casey is creepy–like a puppet pedophile.  But Finnegan is still rather neat.  And much more dexterous than his rubber- faced, squeaky- voiced friend with the abnormally rosy cheeks.

I wonder if Barry ever has nightmares about that ratty little freak.

Barry Weiss, his house with many rooms, and the perfect guest

It’s like minus gazillion outside today–and that’s without the windchill.  We Canadians are the toughest people alive, but I’m tired of being tough.  I want to schlep my pasty white, vitamin D deficient carcass to the golden California sunshine and thaw out my perpetually frosty toes (which would be greatly helped if I put on socks.  But I hate socks.  I’m a barefoot kind of gal).  Did I tell you that we have about two feet of snow out there?

Barry Weiss proudly states that he is a born and raised Californian.  He has likely never endured weather-induced hardship.  Or had to drive in freezing rain.  Or put snow tires on his Cowboy Cadillac.  I wish he’d invite me to swim in his outdoor pool–which by the way, Canadians only get to enjoy for 5 or 6 months of the year.  I’m on a well.  It would look like I was swimming in apple juice–or a giant urine sample.  Ack.

I’m not fussy though.  A stay in any Beverly Hills mansion would be divine–not quite as divine as one that comes with Barry, but divine just the same.  It would appear that Barry feels the same way as evidenced by this clip:


According to Hollywood spies  Paparazzi, Barry actually lives in a 1928 Spanish Revival Home on a street named after Cecil B. DeMille in L.A.’s posh Laughlin Park neighbourhood–kitty corner to Natalie Portman.  Here are some shots:

Where does Barry Weiss Live? In Laughlin Park gated community in Los Angeles

Barry Weiss house satellite photo

Pretty sweet digs.  Surely, he must have a guestroom that a winter-weary Canadian can borrow.  I’ll even polish his cars.

Barry Weiss’s Failed Attempt At Walking

I recently wrote a blog at  The Embiggens Project about a Kansas town called Spasticville.  As a complete and utter klutz, I was relieved to know that, finally, there was somewhere that I would fit in.  

I have fallen in a hole at Walmart and broken my arm; dropped an old-school metal typewriter on my foot and broken it (the foot, not the typewriter.  Nothing could break that thing); spilled boiling noodle water on my belly button; fried my arm and wondered what the funny burning smell was; fell off my high school stage and landed in the splits (doing some major ligament damage); and managed to become airborne after a Honda Accord collided with my butt.  I am spastic.

I am quite pleased, however, to discover that Barry Weiss is a fellow klutz.  Not only have stray storage locker items tried to render him unconscious, but, as the following video shows–sometimes walking and talking should never be attempted at the same time.

Perhaps, he and I can limp traipse off into the sunset and  suffer sunstroke live happily ever after in the unfortunate happy town of Spasticville, Kansas.