"Can You See My Balls Now? Good."*

Whisper about your best friend behind her back.
It's Friday.

I sent a picture of my testicles to Robert Shandera yesterday.
Through my cell phone.
It's really a versatile piece of equipment.
And the best thing about these cell phones?
You can call your wife from the Tim Horton's.
And you can say, "There's no fruit explosion left, so what do you want?
...
Blueberry? Uhh...I don't see any blueberry. Yeah, the girl's saying there's no blueberry."
If you go to a large auditorium or concert hall, you don't actually need to specify a time or meeting place anymore.
You just get out that cell phone, and you call your friend from the entrance.
And you can say, "Yeah, I'm here, where are you?" while you look over the sea of doe-eyeds.
It's a great invention.
Every single person on the planet should have two.
Anyway, I texted Shandera a picture of my testicles.
I had to go into a bathroom stall to take the picture.
I was so amused with my own antics I was giggling in class.
My mom keeps telling me that I need to 'grow up.'
Not today, mom.
Not while I still have these balls of mine.

I'm not not getting a haircut because da missus likes it long.
I'm not (not) getting a haircut because I can't afford one.

Twenty-six years ago today Sarah Turpin  first escaped from the Cryogenics lab.
Be sure to throw eggs and cabbage heads at her in the street.

*Can't take credit for this one.
It's a GTA IV quote ("Is he still talking about that fucking game?")

A Bed of the Class

I'll tell you why I like her.
Because we debate the key issues, and she always has the sharp counters.
Id est:
Me: Hobo's pizza is wicked.
She: You know what else is wicked? Jeans with elastic waistbands.
She's shorter than I am.
Just the way I like it.
She's afraid to meet my mother.
I don't blame her.

I really have to start attending more classes.
We all know I'm not getting through this degree program unless I start making eyes at my professors.
And they say that 'abscence makes the heart grow fonder...'
But what do they know?
I have a stamp card for the coffee shop in the Education building.
The coffee wench suggested I not 'lose the card.'
Like she knows me.
I'll lose it soon.
She kinda does know me.

Turpin slept over last night.
Though I wouldn't really call it sleeping, if you know what I mean.
I tripped over one of those reusable bags that she's always carrying around.
Which made a big commotion.
Then we had to remain stationary.
Because she's afraid of my brother.
I am, too.
I threw a bar of soap at him once and hit him in the face with it.
It was a decision that I immediately regretted.

"Maybe She's Born With It..."

I headlined last night.
It didn't go nearly as swimmingly as the last time I was on the marquee.
However, I have a new joke that alludes to using a baby as a projectile that I really enjoy.
It's all they're good for, really.
Moreover, I cooked up a Kinnicky ad lib that went over very well.
Sometimes this is a gig of wee victories.
And monumental failures.

I had to break into my apartment today.
It was frighteningly easy to do.

I think that all of Johnny Cash's post-mortem hysteria would even irritate Johnny Cash.
If he weren't so dead and all.
"Come on fellas, I was using simple chord progressions.
And according to my biographers, I was drunk all of the time."
Let's make a flashy Hollywood blockbuster about Hank Williams.
He has way more style.
If Joaquin Phoenix auditions for the role, tell him he hasn't got the drawl.
Don't even get me started on Reese Witherspoon.
Someone needs to stick that broad in Cover Girl commercials.
Where she belongs.
They finally got around to it with Drew Barrymore.
Keep that momentum going, guys.
I hear Maybelline is hiring.

I have a pair of jeans that accentuate my penis.
I never knew (that my penis could be accentuated).

Oh!
Speaking of my erotic wardrobe!
The Current is, allegedly, interested in putting me in their 'In Style' section.
'Bout time.

Lack of Taste

Tell her "It's just a rash."
It's Friday.

And I am mildly hungover.
If this hangover was a salad dressing it would definitely be a light dressing.
One of those pussy brands that you spritz over your salad.
Which is perfect if you want to pretend that you're tasting something.

Alright, I'm going to choose an outfit.
Maybe I'll bounce back after the golf.

DeskTopic

You know when the host thanks the guest?
Says 'We'll be back with whoever the musical guest is this week"?
Then they cut the mics and cue the music and fade to the Colgate commercial?
All I really want is to know what's being said at that desk that the audience doesn't hear.
And I want it said to me.
Probably "Get off of the studio's property."
Or something like that.

The English Patience

I have a crush on my English teacher.
Or my teaching English teacher.
I would.
I want to get drunk and tell her.
Speaking of which.
Me and some Nova Scotian cats were doing some group discussion (there's a lot of this).
And, after reaching a breaking point I asked:
"When do we all start getting drunk together?"
No one seemed to know the answer.
"I know the faculty is organizing a hike at Cape Speare in a few days."
"Yeah, see, that's no good. You can't get drunk at that."
They all nodded solemnly in agreement.

Shred the Gnar

Pete and I are looking to initiate a radio station at CHMR.
There's a training course.
Then we're in.
Our target audience?
Maids with ears.
We have tossed around an idea or two and already I'm stoked.
That's snowboarder talk for 'excited.'
They have rad words for everything, that snowboarder crowd.
They wear bandanas around their legs.
They're very cool people.

Some waifs live above me.
One of them came down to our place a few days back to ask if she could share the internet.
And I said, "You can't like, share the internet, man. It's everywhere.
That's like asking if you can share the sky. You can't share the sky."
I didn't really say that.
Can you high school girls eat something?
This person definitly weighs less than my nan.
Anyway, I opened the door, and she, smiling, stuck out her hand.
"Well, if we're doing that, I'll do up my belt."
Then I fastened my belt.

Thin Eyebrows

Does the week seriously move this slowly for you people all of the time?
With my recent (joyous) stint of unemployment, I was beginning to forget what it's like to be under da man.
This week has taken forever. I think Tuesday happened twice.
I apprecaite that today is Thursday. But I meant to write this post days ago.
The week's just been moving so fast.

H'anyway.
Where were we?
Comedy was pulling teeth last week.
But I did manage to get an overly verbose lawyer to buy me dinner.
And John Sheehan is now my Facefuck friend.
I'm going to have a website like his one of these days.
And Pete Soucy will say that, "Paul Warford is the most tender lover who's ever neglected me."
Cause you have to dream big in this business.
I've already looked at all of John's pictures of him at the beach.
I feature this week.
I'm going to have a good set.

Peter Russell, Robert Shandera and I saw this boat last week.
It was really big.
All of the deckhands had solid gold teeth.

Turpin and I spoke with Amy recently.
During one of our legitimate business meetings.
Amy slings the lattes and mochas at the Top Sail Jo Boss.
Between Shandera, myself, and wassisface, we see her on a nigh-on daily basis.
She has discussed her sexual escapades with me on at least one occaison.
I introduced her to Turpin on this particular day.
While Amy threw herself at me.
She brought some slope-browed boyfriend with her into the shop.
Detailing that she believed he might be 'too cool' for her.
After Amy left us to our great minds, Turpin and I eyed this man.
"He looks like an idiot," I muttered to myself.
Not hearing me Turpin mutters to herself, "He looks like an idiot," seconds later.
In the exact same tone and pitch.

So, class is happening.
Or so I've heard.
I've been skipping them semi-regularly.
I'm doing so right now, in fact.
It's a faculty. A small one.
I won't have the liberty of skipping classes down the road.
This is wise time management.
With which I am quite proficient.
In one of the those that I made it to, our room had to introduce itself to one another.
Write down three things that describe you:
-average height
-fun loving
-classy
List some of your passtimes:
-stand-up comedy
-being rejected by women.
Two broads with harlot faces listed their passtimes as:
-shopping
-going to the gym
If these are your interests, you have no interests.
You're boring.

Quality Shmoment

Perform felatio on the cab driver.
It's Friday.

You don't need a rotational feather duster with 360 degree capabilities to dust your home.
Just use a fucking rag.
Or the ol' wedding veil.
Might as well put that to some use.

I'm not certain that I'd necessarily call myself a cynical individual.
Miserable, sure.
Aggravated as well.
Surly when I'm drunk.
But not cynical.
However, I did duck my head into the MUN bookstore yesterday for the sole purpose of laughing at the shmos in line.
I searched for the word shmo because I wanted to see if I was spelling it properly.
Just goes to show you that you never know when you might stumble upon molecular theory.
At times when a university campus is fat with new wetbacks, I can't help but think.
One day I'll be giving little Paul Junior his special talk as he leaves for college
(Provided he passes remedial math).
I already know the advice I'm going to give him.
It's the same advice that my father gave me:
You don't really need to spend that much time on the nipples.
Just poke and prod at them for a moment.
And move on.
Because I do want kids. I do.
I have a lot of sprees still in me.
And I'm going to need someone to point at in the courtroom.
I'm going to need a spare set of finger prints.
On that. Here's the music of a guilty man.
If being wicked is a crime.



Alright.
I've gotta go.
Sarah Turpin just showed up.
With the following news:
"I bought a daily planner. So I'm going to be organized.
I don't know where it is, though. I think I left it in Wal-Mart."
She's a catch.
Like influenza.
Are you all still at work?
Put in minimal effort for the rest of the afternoon.
For me.

MonoMental

Alright.
I just had my first-ever education class.
It kinda sucked.
I didn't really absorb anything.
The word 'assessment' was used a lot.
Sarah Turpin hasn't turned up yet.
I checked off her name on the little sheet.
I'm sure she's got her hand caught in something.
Vending machine, maybe.



You know, I don't mind the unicycle guys.
If you've been groping and fondling me for a long time, you'd assume I'd have qualms with the unicycle guys.
That's not the case, though.
Two reasons:
Uno.
If you've got the courage and sheer stupidity to bomb Long's Hill on a vehicle with one wheel, you're alright in my book.
Deuce.
I figure that if enough jerkoffs start riding unicycles everywhere, it's only a matter of time before I see someone bail off of one.
And that would definitly turn my day around.
I'd have a good story to go home with after that crosswalk.

What're you people doing?
Who's in a cubicle right now?
Start masturbating.
Bet you'll get away with it.

Like Lambs to the Locker

The only French expression that I ever really got a handle on?
'Je ne sais pas. '
I couldn't count to dix.
But that expression?
By the end of high school I could pronounce it perfectly.
Let's just skip me, teacher, and ask Vince how to say "I need to go to the bank," instead.

Why do people applaud when someone in a large room breaks a dish?
Are we that into catastrophe?
Yes, yes. Someone dropped a mug.
The tilt's still at 23.5*.
Go back to eating your fucking omelette.

Early September leaves MUN clogged and gagging on new students.
Frosh week (or whatever they call it here) is my favourite.
A bunch of terrified people trying to look confident.
Some of them still have their braces on.
I'm sure you'd get the same vibe at the Canadian Idol tryouts (what a handjob).
If you ever happened to stumble into that hotel lobby.

*Would you believe I've comitted the ol' axis to memory?

"It's a Crane"

I don't know how to start it so I'll just launch into it:
I'm knocked up.
You've been wondering where I am.
Well, it has taken me a couple of days.
Oh, sure, you had your suspicions.
My mood swings.
My early morning vomiting sessions (so out of sync from my usual afternoon vomiting sessions).
My insistence on your leaving the room whenever I wanted to change.
And though you couldn't be certain, and perhaps it was just the influx of Boone's, but you could swear that I was 'showing.'
We're in this together, reader base.
Just know that I love you.
You have to come with me when I tell mom, though.
And she's not going to be happy.
When it comes to my indiscretions and mass blunders, she rarely is.

On that, today marked orientation for the Education Faculty.
A real opportunity for me to determine whether or not my fellow students are attractive enough to talk to.
I was late.
I really enjoy being late in an auditorium setting.
It's satisfying to let a large semi-circle of people know that you slept half an hour more than they did.
I didn't absorb a whole lot from the sit-in.
I did go edge of my seat when mention of the in-house coffee shop came up.
But when the lady with the microphone said
'Of course, it's not open today,'
I was about ready to leave.
The only resounding aspect of the orientation session was the overwhelming feeling that I didn't belong there.
So let's get me in some classrooms.

While cursing on the Newfoundland Student Aid webpage yesterday I realized something:
September first is my least favourite day of the year.
Unless the first happens to be labour day.
In which case, I'm in the gravel pit.
And then September second is my least favourite day of the year.
Consequently, for 2008, the worst is over.

Oh. If only that were true.

'Spose I'll tell you about the missus, now.
She's fought her way to that distinction, by the way.
It's her title in my cell phone:
da missus.
It was close there for a while.
Talent competition she was fine (can you believe one contestant did Origami? Origami's not a talent).
But I really thought that she was going to be eliminated in that event where you have to run while balancing the egg on the spoon?
But she's full of surprises, this one.
There aren't any pictures of us together yet.
But I'm sure that when there are, we'll look adorable.

Tim Ronan is no longer in Newfoundland, and therefore no longer frequenting The Victory with me.
I've never been happier.
People have been asking me if I'm going to start using his jokes.
To which I reply, 'What jokes?'

Alright, I'm going to try and score some free barbecue.