I Ain't Afraid Of No Gross

Dress up like a slutty nurse, cat, cop, devil (imp), angel, fairie, butterfly, lady bug or bumble bee.
It's Hallowe'en.
I don't have a costume.
I did have a few ideas that never came to fruition.
Unlike all of these ghoul, vampire motherfuckers that are out trick or treating tonight after school
I wanted to go as something that's actually scary.
Frightening.
So, I was going to dress up as grand economic decline.
But I was too lazy to make a line graph.
Then I thought I'd go as the general public.
But that's a costume with just too many elements.
I mean, do I dress up as the assholes who wear their sunglasses on the back of their heads?
Or the guys who drive Ford F250s and beat their wives?
Too many variables.
So, I might simplify.
I covered Mitch Hedberg at the Rose & Thistle last night.
And I wanted to straighten my hair for the occaison.
I made Turpin do it.
But we quickly realized it would take too long, and I was finding it too painful.
Among the many things that Turpin is not
(attractive; polite)
you can also add 'hairdresser' to the list.
But she did straighten half of it.
And left the other half as is.
Peter's blog might have pictures.
Anyway, she suggested I do the same thing tonight and go as 'fucking ugly.'
Unless I can find the old elephant costume, I may do that.
Listen to this, and then go put your pins and needles in your apples.

Trick or Cheap

You know what the shallow girls like about Hallowe'en, don't ya?
They can dress like prostitutes without fear of judgement from the other shallow girls.
That they hang out with.
Cause birds of a feather...
You know the rest.

My diet is becoming frightfully expensive and unhealthy.
Everything that I've eaten in the past week has been handed to me by someone wearing a visor.
Coupled by the occaisonal headset.

I'm to interview Stars today, for The Scope.
I don't know what to ask them.
I may ask the female Star to slow dance with me.
While I ask the male Star to 'butt out.'
It'll be fine.

I had an observation day again on Tuesday.
All my teacher did was frown and yell.
I had less fun than I did on Monday.
It wasn't a total bust, though:

"So, do you have ADD?"
"Yes!"
"Do you take Riddlin?"
"What the hell is Riddlin?"

Teacher: Someone name a restaurant.
Student 1: Ponderosa!
Teacher: No, a restaurant where you move in a buffet line to get your food.
Student 1: That's what Ponderosa is.
Student 2: Was.
Student 1: Was.

I'm legitimately phobia'd of bees, you know.
Anything that flies and stings, really.
As a kid, if I saw a bee, I would run in the opposite direction.
I have since stopped doing that.
Not because I'm not still terrified of bees.
But because I figure on a long enough timeline I'd flee a bee right into traffic.

Hungry Like the Wolf

I bought a clubhouse during lunch on my observation day.
I went to B & B Snacks. It was nearby.
I tried to link B & B, but they don't have a website.
Or I'm not searching well enough to find it.
"Try Altavista!"
Anyway, I was accosted by pre-pubescent 'hardcases' before my clubhouse was ready.
"Do you want to be a teacher?"
"I did," I said, "Until I had your class. Now I don't want to anymore."
"Can I sit wit' you?"
"Why not?"
"So, why do you have an afro?"
"Because it makes the ladies like me."
"No it doesn't."
"Sure it does. You like me."
"No I don't!"
"You asked to sit with me."
It was kinda fun.
It was like verbally fencing with people who aren't as smart as you all day long.
Well, I guess that's exactly what it was.
They warmed to me a great deal.
In the hallways the boys would stop and say, "You got wicked hair, man."
The girls would whisper loudly, "I like his hair."
Imagine if I'd grown it out when I was in grade seven.
The ass.
My son.
That age group doesn't appeal to me as much these days, though.
I like breasts (fully formed).
I like hips.
It's a shame, really.

Show at The Rose last night.
Wasn't bad.
I have a new joke about Big Tom that I've already fallen in love with.
Which is similar to my love for Big Tom's wife.
But there are subtle differences between the two.


It's the 80s again, you know.
Emo is the 80s again.
Look at what they're wearing.
The music doesn't sound similar.
But it's similar in that it'll be really embarassing to everyone involved given another eight years or so.
Think about it.
And it'll slowly dawn on you that Emo haircuts are just A Flock of Seagulls at a different angle.

Writing on the Wall

I'll tell you one of the things that I learned during my observation day:
All schools smell the same.
Have you noticed that?
Another thing I noticed:
If the government took the funding that goes into the acquisition of those posters.
Which they slather all over the walls.
You know the ones.

I AM CREATIVE AND AGILE, THEREFORE...

I HAVE A RESPONSABILITY NOT TO BEAT THE PISS OUT OF WEAKER KIDS

Or:

PERSAVERANCE

IT'S BETTER THAN BEING ADDICTED TO BLOW.

(picture of a woman rowing a boat in front of a sunset)

If the government took the funding that went into purchasing those posters.

And they put it into, oh, I don't know, anything else.

I bet the students would be better off.

I Got You, Babe

I wanted to work on an impersonation of Cher having an orgasm.

Just think about it for a minute.

...

But, like many failed singing sensations, I don't believe that I have the vocal range.

Only Have Eyes for You

We need more Blackberries.
The obnoxious kind that keeps you tethered to your job.
Not the berry.
There aren't enough Blackberry factories.
Because I think that if we produce enough, alongside the advent of the text message, we can eventually phase out eye contact.
Which is where we want to be, I think.
Eye contact is just something to distract us from Family Guy and that show with all of the midgets in it.
Oh, it won't be forgotten entirely.
It's something that will be patiently explained to sheep who go on heritage tours while they're vacationing.
Graduated arts students can explain it to groups of 35 to 40, with the help of (digital) placards and recorded sound clips.
Faded pictures of historical figures making eye contact with other historical figures.
The tour guides will wear maroon blazers.
And they'll say, "A hundred years ago people would spend days, or even weeks making eye contact with one another.
It was used in conversation, but sometimes people would make eye contact from across a room without any dialogue at all.
Before fucking one another in the laundry room at a party.
Just try it now. Turn to the person closest to you and make eye contact."
Giggling and nervous everyone will try it out (some of the children will be too afraid to participate).
"It's terrifying!" One woman in the back will exclaim through cautious laughter, her eyes locked with some fat man's from Iowa.
But step one:
Make more Blackberries.
The babies don't have them yet.

Hall Pass

I just returned home from my first 'observation day.'
If I'd brought my own car, and if I hadn't worn a suit, I could've went to Sunshine Park.
For a field trip.
And canoeing.
Just as well. I probably would've drowned.
I'm exhausted. Mostly because my sleeping pill didn't kick in.
But also because I had so many children gawking at me today.
Guess I wasn't the only one observing.
When I've slept and washed the school system off of me, I'll fill you in.
On my observations.

Dropped Call

I lost my cell phone.
Of course I did.
Turns out I dropped it.
On Larkhall Street.
Some nice lady named Amanda found it.
She then called my grandmother because it was the latest number in the phone.
Amanda caught my Aunt Barabara in my grandmother's room.
Thank fuck.
If Amanda had gotten Nan on the phone, they both would have been greatly confused.
And Nan would've had Amanda talking about the weather for half an hour.
Amanda was eventually put into contact with my mother.
This is just another item to add to the mass list of things that my family can ostracize me about.
I've said it before and I'll say it again:
No matter how old you are, when you're the youngest, you're the youngest.
I've never said that before.
But I've said shit like it.

9 out of 10 dentists agree

She used my toothbrush once, you know.
Did I ever tell you?
Da missus and I have been on the go for an entirely staggering two to three months.
Ish.
And I once asked her, at some point after intercourse had started, if I could use her toothbrush.
I wouldn't say that she was appalled, necessarily.
But she was something like appalled.
She explained that we weren't so far along.
I told her she was welcome to use mine whenever.
She told me that she had never used another's toothbrush.
Apparently she doesn't use toothbrushes as haphazardly as I do.
One night, however, soon after I had finished pleasing her sexually
-several, several times-
SHE BRUSHED HER TEETH WITH MINE.
Now, no matter what happens, I'll be the guy.
"Paul Warford?
Yeah, I know him. I dated him for a while. He's a fucking deadbeat.
Did I ever use his toothbrush? Yeah...I did.
I'm ashamed to say it...but he was my first."
This is how ex-girlfriends talk about me, by the way.
Relationships are small victories.
And huge, obnoxious fights in which you throw plates at one another.

Sellout

I'm shirtless.
I have a midterm tomorrow in Effective Teaching.
The professor is very animated.
It's a take-home exam. So we're laughin'.
Now, Turpin has lost the take-home examination sheet.
But I'm sure we'll track down another one.

I had a very fun set last night.
The manager of the St. John's Yuk Yuk's (not yet open) was there to scope for talent.
While I pretended that I smoke cigarettes all of the time, he told me many encouraging things.
I have a show at the Rose and Thistle on Wednesday.
The other guys are all worked up about it.
I only see it as more burnt gas.
And emitted carbon.
We're supposed to make some percentage of money.
I'm sure it'll be less than what's projected.
I hate to say, 'I'm not in it for the money.'
But I guess I'm not.
Not when the money is 20-something bucks, anyway.
We hit $100, and it'll be a different story.
I can't wait to get famous.
I'm going to forget everyone.
Family. Friends. Old teachers. You.
Everyone.

Robert Shandera had a bachelor party on Saturday.
I have only seen one picture from the evening so far and it already carries enough weight to keep me out of office for the rest of my life.
We played paintball.
It was funner than anything else I've done in many, many years.
It would be, I guess.
Because it's guns.
Playing guns.
Which boys do. With plastic Uzis and pistols.
But the arguing aspect of guns-the "I got you!"
"No you never!"
"I did too! I got you in the arm!"-
that's eliminated. Because there's a big blotch of paint to say you were gotten.
And, in some cases, a welt.
We were playing the first round of the day.
I was behind a piece of sheet metal.
And I can see our opposing team crouched and lurking across the way.
And I think to myself, "I'm going to run and take cover behind that wooden thing."
I get up, and run as fast as I can, and dive behind said wooden thing.
A second later I hear the thump thump thump of paint hitting the other side of the palette, and I think to myself:
'Oh yeah. I could play this every weekend.'
By the end of the second round we were walking to the 'safe zone', breathless, saying, "Fuck golf."
I plan to play again before it begins snowing.
Though, in truth, I'd be playing now instead of writing this shit if I could.

Just Want to Bang on De Drum All Day

Is it normal in classroom group work to totally tune out what your partners are saying?
I hope so.
Everything has been handed in on time so far, by the way.
Take that, everyone who said that Turpin and I would fail miserably.
What does my mom know, anyway?
We do tend to lose focus though, from time to time.
Like for the four questions we had to answer in Effective Teaching?

Her: "Oh! Let's go watch a movie! Oh right...we have stuff to do."

But between the two of us we attend many classes and have purchased many books.
We have gathered many syllabi.

A Monster

I'm thinking of opening a restaurant.
A vegan restaurant.
I'm going to call it The Same Demise.
I'll serve all sorts of stems and leaves and food without nutrients.
I'll have coat racks all around so that the vegans can hang up their scarves.
And I'll have plasma screens situated throughout the restaurant.
Playing a continous live feed of animals in slaughterhouses.
Being slaughtered.
So that they can watch all of the animals they're not saving while they eat.
Only in a country where the residents have too much, y'know?
That's the only kind of place where it's cool not to eat anything.
Find a kid in Zimbabwe who's subsisting on shrews.
Ask him if he ever conisders the shrew's rights.

Oh come on.
I never get to talk ethics.

Blue Balls

I'm thinking of writing a bit on bag tagging.
Because, as a practice, it's one of the most ridiculous things that men do.
When I was finally preparing to leave Acadia (ego in tow) my roommates and I invented a game.
Here are the rules:
You take a tennis ball.
You all sit a few feet from one another in low-riding seats.
Legs spread.
You arc the tennis ball a few feet into the air.
Trying to hit the other players' testicles.
You take turns in a circle.
No moving.
No flinching.
We called it 'Lob Ball.'
Of course we did.
We played it for an afternoon.

Grand Tally

Kirk Bussey has asked me to be his best man.
That's one.
I guess the bachelor party will involve poker.
And strippers.
Oh! Strip poker!
More of you should have me standing at your weddings.

eDit: I'm already taking the strip poker idea seriously.

We Hope You Live to be a Hundred

A strange woman is going to be rubbing her breasts in my face within a few days.
Don't worry; I'll pay her for it.

A purveyor of tits, my brother, turns a miserable 32 in a few weeks.
Here's a fun birthday idea:
Instead of putting candles in the cake one year, just jam miscellaneous shit into the icing.
And light it on fire.
"Why's this chair missing a leg?"
"Make a wish!"

When I was around eight, I cut my cake and had to tell everyone who I had a crush on.
I said "Leanne Badcock," and she ran out of the bowling alley, crying.
This would prove to be foreshadowing for how women react to my affection.
I'm not embarrassed about telling you the story.
I'm embarrassed to admit that I was ever into Leanne Badcock.
Even pre-pubescently.

Figure of Speech

They say that 'you learn something new every day.'
That's not true.
Besides the occaisonal tidbit on classroom management, I'm learning nothing new.
But I hate someone new every day.
I think that they should change the expression.

Don't worry about where I've been.
I've been doing homework. I've been sick.
I've been lazy.
Don't worry about where I've been.
Just be glad that I'm back.