Legally Binding?

I have to go and find some sort of tax form, or tax exemption form, or something. 

Whatever it is, it will likely involve me walking to many wrong buildings before finding the right one. 

Anyway. Who cares about that.

I've been doing some thinking lately. 

I went out in the woods behind The Beaver Plaza, and meditated on the afterlife. 

'Til da b'ys came out to smoke a draw, and then they kicked me out of it. 

But before they showed, I decided how I want to go about dealing with my...physical remains. 

First. I want my brain kept in a jar, like they did with Hitler.  

Just in case they later figure out how to do things with brains in jars...

Until then, I just need someone to hang onto it.

Butler can do it, I guess. 

He's good at being particular about shit. 

I can see him now:

"Don't put your drink there! 

Cause you'll knock it over and then Warford's brain'll be all fuckin' sticky!"

That's the kinda body guard I'm going to want. 

I'll donate my other organs. 

But I think that they should be earned, rather than going to the highest bidder. 
For example, I can donate my eyes. 

But I think the person that gets them should have to best the other applicants. 

I don't care how. 
A game of darts, or something. 

As for my charming cadaver.

I'd like to be cremated. 

Then I want Sarah Turpin to take my ashes. 

In a meager container.

Like the Smarties Minis containers da b'ys used to use to keep their rollies in. 

And I want her to take me to a hotel somewhere. 

Rent a room. 

And dump my ashes on the floor. 

That way, the housekeeper will come in the next day to turn down the room. 

He or she will see me laying there, and say, "Filthy motherfuckers."

Then they'll vacuum me. 

And we can wait and see where I'll end up.

I hope someone gets that

Last night da missus and I watched people play music in a church.
Then I left her at the altar and met up with Peter and Shandera.
Ain't that always the way?

Otherwise, I'm done my exams and in my pajamas.
I'm often hungry because my house is devoid of food.
Besides that, I'm a happy man.
For a couple of weeks.
Now is the time to invite me to your parties.

They came up with a spin class.
But I say that you don't need a class.
You know how it is with spin;
It's just like riding a stationary bike...

"So the bear wiped his ass with the rabbit."

Morning.
I'm preparing to cram for an exam in what the Spanish call:
Des All-Nighter.
Not because my exam tomorrow will be that difficult.
Simply because I don't sleep the evening before exams anyway.
Why not put my worsening affliction to use?
Like the people with rickets who beg for change.

You know what I like about the Charmin company?
They managed to take the expression, "Hey, does a bear shit in the woods?" and turn it into an ad campaign.

Junk Post

Even the most anal of people have a junk drawer.
Granted, anal people have organized junk drawers, which sort of goes against the whole concept.
But it's not as though anal people exist on the same plane as us anyway.
Speaking of which, my junk drawer (more of a junk compartment) is due for a cleaning.
I intend to do this over the next few days.
And when I do, I have decided to itemize its entire contents.
Just to send the anal bozos reeling.
Upon initial examination, the compartment contains, minimally, at least one chicken bone.
I have absolutely no idea how it got in there.
I don't even have any guesses.
But it's there.
Along with who knows how much dated pornography?
Stay nearby.

The Most of Christmas Past

So, I finally bought a plant.
This happened two or three weeks ago now.
Made a trip to Home Depot with the missus and picked out a nice little ivy.
I think it's ivy. The tag said ivy, with another word in parenthesis.
We tried to look up the name, but were wholly unsuccessful.
I care not.
Whatever it was before, the plant is now a Warford.
I named it Huey.
It looks like a Huey if you get close enough to it.
I'd take a picture of it for all of you, but that would involve finding my camera.
Finding batteries for the camera.
And then remembering what it was that I wanted to take a picture of.
It's all a little bit too much for me right now.
Cause I'm in the middle of exams.
Talk about exercises I'm vehemently opposed to.
Ditto for 'squats.'
I don't care for the name of that exercise, by the way.
To me it's perverse.

To dwell on seasons that I'm vehemently opposed to, it's winter now.
There's snow on the ground.
It's falling from the sky.
It's winter.
My mother and I have few things in common, but we both think winter is horseshit.
No matter how many we experience.
A Newfoundland winter is something that you simply cannot adjust to.
Who can adjust to being damp for seven months straight?
You know that stinging pain that you get in your ears when you walk in the wind for too long?
There's no getting used to that.
A pox on this place.
Some people actually prefer winter to other seasons.
Sick motherfuckers.
I think that if you legitimately enjoy winter, you should be legally required to shovel my driveway.
Maybe after this coalition (whatever the hell that is) business is over, we can get that into the legislature.

Did you know that there's a snack called Fiddle Faddle?
If you want to give her that special something this year...
"We Fiddle Faddle'd under the tree all night long."

So, I know what you're wondering:
"If I sell my old shuffle, can I afford a touch?"
No, you can't.
Besides, you should be wondering what it is that I want for Christmas.
Shirts and ties.
Well, it's not what I really want.
But it is what my future occupation dictates that I should want.
What I really want (and I know I've been over this) is a paintball gun.
Some paintballs.
And my youth back.
If I get what I want for Christmas, there are some things that I'm going to do differently.
First of all, if I relive my youth-no CLB.
No swim team (what a waste of my time. Have you seen me swim?).
Besides, swim team put me into contact with Sarah Turpin.
And now I can't get clear of her.
Finally, I think I'd grow my hair out in junior high, instead of waiting until university.
I think I could have been getting handjobs earlier, and more frequently.
Another item on everyone's wish list.

"One!...Two!...Three!..."

I'm kneeling on a kneeler.
I feel pious.
And uncomfortable.

Well, I just endured three weeks in a 5-day period.
Sarah Turpin is mad at me.
Tina Turner won't write me back.
It has been trying. That's all I can say.
It has been trying.

I ran into a maple tree once, did I ever tell you about that?
It was in Adam Powell's yard. We were playing tag.
I was 'it.'
I was always 'it.'
I hated being 'it.'
Because I was inferior to everyone.
Which caused me to do things like run head-on into trees.
Precisely what I did on this day when Justin Oates weaved out of the way.
I looked ridiculous because of the bump.
Adam's mom told me to stay awake because I might have a concussion.
And then I suppose she fed me something.
The boys stood around and taunted me until it was time for them to go home.
Then Adam taunted me. Until he fell asleep.
The same group also tricked me into eating dog food once.
I thought they were mints.
Because I was told that they were mints.
Dog food tastes awful.
No wonder they're always after our sausage links.
After I spit out the (second) piece, they laughed and laughed.
Like I said, I was always 'it.'
Especially when we weren't playing anything.

Put in my Place

I bought a Woody Allen book.
My justification being:
People say I look like him. I may as well study him.
I have learned from buying a Woody Allen book that I am too stupid to read Woody Allen.
I'm sure that he wouldn't be surprised.

Old dog. New licks.

If you think crows in the yard is a bad omen.
I speant the entire day with Sarah Turpin.
I slept during some of it, sure.
But I dreamt of her during that time.
It was a raw deal. Today was a raw deal.
School garbage is coming to its inevitable crescendo, during which I eat less.
And sweat more.
When it is all said and done I plan to either learn the accordian, or learn that I'm just not cut out to learn anything new.
Neither result would surprise me these days.

I learned this week that it is incredibly refreshing to curse in front of a baby.
The mother was eating pizza while the baby was near her...her teet.
And I asked her if she often got crumbs on her baby.
I'm wondering if that's bad for them.
Because I'm sure that my babies will be full of crumbs.
Especially when they're jammed between the seat cushions for a couple of days.

When I was at Ascension, I sometimes received special treatment.
I'll admit it.
For example:
When I sat in on my first Chemistry class ever, Mr. Clarke-
a man I had never met before-
said my name in role call, and then said "Alright Mr. Warford, I've got a seat right up front for you."
I received the exact same treatment in Mr. Keefe's first Physics class.
The question is, did they do this because they liked dad?
Or because they disliked him?
You know why I never started smoking while I was in school?
Because my brothers had eyes everywhere.
Being the youngest in a home-grown legacy has very few 'up' sides.