...the baker, the candlestick maker...

You'll settle down and marry me after I get rich with my new idea:
Laptops for babies.
Because babies need laptops.
Studies say that they should be able to use laptops before they leave the crib.
Otherwise, they won't be able to figure out how to buy shoes online.
Or check this blog.
The laptops will come with the tiniest little mice.
Which will be purchased seperately.
That's where most of the money will come from.
Which will of course afford me the oppurtunity to settle down with you.
Everyone will know that you married me for money.
I'll be fine with it (you will be too).

So, I'm in Harbour Breton now.
I met the principal of the school today.
She told me that I should eat more.
There's a coffee shop that was converted from a fish plant.
I'll probably be there every day.
The floors creak.
They sell muffins with stuff in them.
The woman working the counter told Miranda that she apologized for coughing while she spoke with me.
Even though I didn't tell this woman that I was living with Miranda.
In fact, we barely spoke.
She coughed while we did so.
Which I was very offended by.
I feel like as much an oddity here as I suppose I am.
So it's not so bad.

Today was the 40th anniversary of Sesame Street's first airing.
The show that taught children everywhere.
That the letter 'P' is a legitimate sponsor.
And that it's cool for men to bathe together.
As long as they sing about it from time to time.

Breaking Even

I'm nautious.
I went to a pamper party last night.
In some house in the woods.
There was a generator and a hockey game.
I was the newest human by what must have been at least six years.
I played poker and lost.
I played 'Chase the Ace' while stoned and won.
Then I ate onion rings with my father at two in the morning.
And lost again.

Speaking of losing, I'm moving to Harbour Breton.
At least for a little while.
Emotionally speaking, you're all coming with me.
But I can tell you what's not coming with me:
My toothbrush, phone charger, socks and underwear.
Some of those things won't be easy to replace.
Definitly buy my underwear at K-Mart.
Definitly at K-Mart.

Check this out.
(You're welcome).
Actually, you should be thanking Burton.
Turns out he's good for something.

You Missed Me, Alright

Remember:
Those paper things that you bake cupcakes in may look like little coffee filters.
But they're not.
Even if you distribute them around the filter basket really carefully.

My ex keeps asking me to put her in the blog.
I've been avoiding it, but I'm finally crumbling, I guess.
I still have a closet-full of her conservative black dresses.



I want my flat iron back.

A Full Body Corsage

Doing comedy is like going to the prom.
With the hottest chick from your graduating class.
And you're acting as naturally as possible.
As naturally as anyone can act in a cummerbund.
But you know that they know that she's way out of your league.
And no matter how charming or how suave you are on prom night.
You never get to bang your date.

Actually, maybe that last part is specific to me.

Those Three Simple Words

You know why Twister™ became so popular?
Because people like wagging their body parts at one another.

The internet has so many dim-witted people that sometimes I feel like taking a bath after using it.
With this dog.



I Love You, Dog @ Yahoo! Video

Sure, he says it to your face, but on a Friday night you're sitting by the phone.

It doesn't even sound like the dog is saying "I love you."
It sounds like the dog is saying, "Rowr rowr rowr!"
It sounds like the owner is saying, "I love you."
It also sounds like the owner is saying, "I don't have enough friends to organize a dinner party."

Missing Something

I've spent the past few days getting ready for my Halifax trip.
By cutting the crotch out of all of my pairs of underwear.
It's a shame, really.
I got through nearly the entire load before I realized that they had holes already.
Live and learn.

There are a lot of people I'm looking forward to seeing in Halifax.
Jon-O.
...
I guess that's about it, really.

Mark Forward stopped by the club.
He did comedy, and there were people there.
But I think they may have been his family.
I only conversed with him for a total of maybe twenty minutes.
And despite that I felt hauntingly compelled to give him a birthday card.
Having met him half an hour beforehand, I say:
"When's your birthday?"
He tells me (it's June 17th).
Saying nothing I write it on my hand.
He pauses, and then he whispers, "Are you going to do a trick or something?"
Sometimes these people come by and they're so funny that you want to vomit into their luggage.
You'd be jealous of them but you can't be jealous of them because they're so funny.
And you want to steal all of their material, but you can't because they're still in town.
I can't be this good in 27 seconds:

Drop the Beat OR Return to Neverland

I know that we should really leave Michael to rest-
Wasn't he supposed to roll back the stone of his tomb after three days, by the way?
What happened to that?-
But I was thinking about all of those pesky molestation charges of his.
And I realized that, unsavory sleepovers or no, the flak was all his fault.
Because when some woman accused him of being an illegitimate father, he wrote a hit single.
No one ever brought it up again.
Soooo...
After the kids tattled on him,
Or the parents made the kids lie,
Or whatever...
He should have called up Quincy and said,
"They're at it again. I need a beat."
Then, he could have died in obscurity like a normal king of pop.



All jokes aside. Seriously.
I could listen to this song over and over again.
It's my favourite of his.
Just goes to show what you can achieve if your father beats you enough.

Sound engineers are incredibly adept at bedding women, by the way.
I had a friend in Banff who was a sound guy.
He had a piranha, a stereo system that snaked his entire apartment, and two girlfriends.
Who were both cultured and beautiful.
And were cognizant of each other.
He was integral to my self-esteem.
If I carried on a conversation with a female customer for more than three minutes, he would chastise me for not asking her out as soon as she left.
He insisted that I should give them staff discounts.
And then ask them to get undressed with me.
In not so many words.
"Just say to her, 'We're not supposed to do this, but I can give that to you at cost.'"
He believed that 100% more women were interested in me than I did.
Really, I should've listened to him.
Two girlfriends.

edit:
I had to add this video cause this kid is sick.
And adorable.
Like if you took all of the fattest Basset Hounds* and baby penguins.
And sleuced them through a meat grinder.


*check the link! check the link!

Bobbing for Titles

I have those ribbon bumper stickers all over my body.
Because I support everything.
But I don't want to taint my car's non-colour paint job.
They keep coming off in the shower, though.

Alright
Alright.
So it's Halloween or whatever.
I'd be out Trick or Treating with my children.
But they're all illegitimate, so I don't have to deal with them.
That's what social workers are for.
Have you all inserted your needles and pins into your apples yet?
There's not much time left...
Why is it that there's always one year, during childhood, in which you dress up like a hobo?
And parents always let their kids get away with it.
Not me though.
If my illegitimate kids track me down
And they want to dress up as frigging vagrants, I'll set them straight.
"No dice. You're all going as vampires this year.
You'll have enough time to dress up as hobos when you're homeless.
Now start slicking your hair back."

I'll upload pictures of it around Christmastime.
But rest assured, this is the most lackluster year for a costume yet.
Due to a number of things.
Primarily, I just don't care anymore.
I've lost the energy.
But more so, Esteves already beat me to the Elvira costume idea.
Just as well; I can't fit into my dress anyway.
I've been eating too many molasses candies*.

*I couldn't find a picture of these.
I really wanted to.

PunchMuch

I began reading Paradise Lost.
Which I believed was all about the Paradise election that's in the news.
I thought I was reading local politics.
Which I've been concentrating on lately.
Because I desperately want to undress Debbie Cooper.
Anyway, turns out it's about some guy named Beelzebub.
Whoever the hell that is.

Speaking of uphill battles.
I've noticed that the more difficulty I have flirting with a woman.
The more attracted I am to them.
Like someone who can't swim worth a damn insisting they join the polo team.
The water polo team that is.
Not the kind with horses.
I was doomed from the start, really.

If you could punch any television personality in the face and get away with it...
...who would it be?
Mine? I'm glad you asked.
Rick the Temp.
And I certainly wouldn't give him an explanation.
Not that he likely needs one.
He probably gets struck in the face on a daily basis.
Half of you are reading this and uttering, "Damn! He took mine."
But we can share it.

A Warford Divided

I'm really depressed.
Let's see if you subordinates can cheer me up.
I may be depressed for any or all of the following reasons:

(A) I've been doing math recently.
(B) Fall in Newfoundland is just a more colourful version of winter.
(C) Tony and Michelle flew away on a plane a few hours ago, and I wasn't on it.

It's hard to explain how such an amorous bond can develop in such a short period of time.
Such solidarity.
I don't know if it was the rails upon rails of cocaine that we did together.
Or if it was the laughing that we did as Tony slugged mailbox after mailbox while I drove and Michelle took pictures.
It had to be Tony; he has the longest wingspan.
Though I never told him, Tony made me feel okay about every time that someone has said to me:
"Paul sit down. You're making me nervous."
I visited them in their hovel yesterday.
I was in the bathroom, tasting Michelle's makeup
When I noticed their little travel tube of toothpaste.
And as I did, I realized that I wanted so badly to be them.
So, I've been speaking with my agent. And my brother.
About moving to Toronto.
But let's not tell mom just yet.

I'm in the Education building library right now.
Because I have trouble letting go.
But not as much as I have trouble with straightforward calculations.
Which I have been doing all afternoon.
Sort of.
I figure if I brush up on my Physics I could substitute teach Physics.
I'm only at displacement and it's not going well.
Anyway, I just noticed an anonymous tube of lip balm.
And I took it.
Because I was complaining all weekend that my lips were chapped.
Now I'm taking the initiative.
Don't worry; I'm going to sanitize my hands very thoroughly before I use it.

"You Can Both Have Me!"

This weekend I've been doing comedy.
With Tony Krolo and Michelle Shughnessy.
I find them exactly equally attractive.
So it's a matter of pistols at dawn if they want to win my love.
Which I can only assume they do.

In other battles for affection, I convocated yesterday.
I forgot to wear deoderant and my gown was very hot.
I tried to get a good picture of myself in my garb in the bathroom of the Arts & Culture Centre.
But dudes kept coming in.
I sat in the very last row of the convocator jerks I was with.
And I began speaking to the woman next to me (miraculously).
In doing so, I found out she was a Hurley.
So I asked: "Why are you sitting next to me if I'm a 'W' and you're an 'H'?
And she replied, "Oh, I'm back here because I only registered to graduate two days ago."
To which I said, "Me too!
...I guess that's why I'm back here."