Where are Jake and The Fatman?

What floors me is that people just don't realize that CSI is MaGuyver.
They are one and the same.
And NCIS is Katts & Dog.
The main character in NCIS is named 'Gibbs' for Christ's sakes.
Gibbs!

He's Only in it for the Money

Archie's marrying Veronica.
And after all of the malts he had with Betty...
Betty was in fact one of my very first sexual fixtures.
Yet I've never once dated a blonde.
Well, I did kiss Heather Letto alongside the fire station in grade 12.
But she'd likely deny it.

Three Cherries

I've got nothin'.
And I never will.
Until I buy that special break-open ticket, that is.
The one that's gonna change my life.
First thing I'm gonna do?
Going to buy a Bedazzler.
I've always wanted one.
When I was a kid I saw this commercial, and I was so excited
about getting my own Bedazzler that I had to wake my parents up to tell them about it.
I hear they took them off the market after a bunch of household pets choked on the beads.
You should see what it can do to a jean jacket.
I must have been a huge disappointment to my parents...
Really explains why I can't climb trees, doesn't it?

PETE (Paul for the Ethical Treatment of Electronics)

PETA stands People for the Ethical Treament of Animals.
Somone should tell the people who stand for PETA (or PFTETOA)
that we need to figure out humans first.
Dumbasses.

Paintball was deadly.
Thanks for asking.
I was still picking brambles out of my hair yesterday.
Pete shot Roland Dawe* more times than the video told him he was supposed to shoot Roland Dawe.

My Xbox 360 is in traction right now.
We're not sure if it's going to pull through.
In lieu of my agony, I've resolved to finally make a video game blog.
Like my eventual marriage to Lacey Chabert, it's still in the planning phase.
I'll let you know when it's up so that you can not read it.
Which is fine.
I'm sure that reading this blog is taxing enough.






Anyway, sacrifice a first-born for my 360's sake.
I've been doing so each day since it took sick.
While listening to this song.
Those first-borns sure can wriggle, can't they?

*Junior High Principal.

Balled Spot

Well, it's summertime, probably.
Is it summertime yet?
According to Julian?
Whatever it is, it's time for girls to wear sundresses.
This is every man's favourite time of year.
Let's not forget that the playoffs are also on.
And the crowd down to Molson will soon put out 15-packs
of beer that contain free caps and gym bags.
You can't don these items at your local high school.
But they're perfectly acceptable at the airport.

My brother always wears a ball cap.
"Have you seen me lid anywhere?"
That's what he calls it.
When we were younger, adults would always say that wearing a cap
all day long would make you go bald.
Which hasn't happened with Colin.
He's relatively miserable, though.
Maybe the cap did it.

This year 'round, would you do me a favour?
When you're standing in line and the fat woman is in front of you,
waiting for her chocolate chiller-'yes' to whipped cream-
and you notice that she's wearing sandals?
And the heels of her feet are peeling and cracked and flaking skin?
And your eyes are fixated to them?
And you're wondering who's making that retching noise and then you realize that it's you?
Tell her to put some fuckin' socks on.

I'm playing paintball later today.
I'm already playing it in my head.
And have been since the last time I played.
Fire up the Coleman stove and boil some wieners.
Listen to this while you do so.

David.

I'd like to dress up as an Amish person.
And go browse the Amish furniture store.



"This chair is too comfortable. I require a less comfortable chair."
"Do you have any beds that have dividers in the middle of them?
Like the ones placed between urinals sometimes?"
Occaisonally you can see them leaving with their new purchases.
With their mattresses strapped to the tops of their buggies.
I do feel a certain kinship with the Amish.
We're the only ones who still conduct banking in actual banks.

Speaking of having sex and being ashamed of it.
I'm very much keen on this girl in my education class.
It's exhausting going back to class after the internship.
Because we're starting over all over again.
And certain people will walk into my class and I'll say to myself:
"Oh fuck, I forgot all about this asshole."
She was the only pleasant reminder.
But she's one of these girls who you know is far beyond your appropriate range.
When you look a certain way, you end up with certain people.
That's why we'll always have ugly people.
Because ugly people only have sex with other ugly people.
Then the ugly people have ugly babies.
And they post pictures of those babies on Facefuck
("Hey! I'm tryin' to eat my lunch!")
And this girl is far more attractive than I am.
I'm holding out that she might be too attractive, and therefore guys never talk to her.
Affording me the opportunity to embarrass myself on a whole new plain.

eDit: This isn't supposed to be a shot at any of you former maids of mine.
I say that ugly people will have sex with ugly people.
By which I mean the people in line at the gas station.
I don't think that I look ugly.
I think I look great.

(webcam)

Anyone who doesn't believe that every person is an individual snowflake should look at more amateur pornography.

Royal Time

I'm too tired to give you too much of a good thing (me).

But I will say this.

I camped near Badger over the weekend.

There were dogs.

And 3-man.

The rest is in due time.

Make sure you get out on the Slip & Slide before the weekend's over.

Victoria wouldn't have it any other way.

Play Date

No one ever believes me when I tell them my age.
I get ID'd buying mortgages and scratch tickets all the time.
I'm hoping that one of those will eventually pay off the other.
Anyway.
I suppose it's largely because I dress like the rabble at the mall.
Also known as my former students.
But the thing is, I don't know what a 27-year old is supposed to wear.
Should I be purchasing more slacks?
Those collared shirts from American Eagle that look like table cloths?
One of the biggest appeals in doing comedy-
for me-
is that I'd be able to wear whatever I want.
Until the pack of komodo dragons finally gets me.

I've made new friends.
27 is an odd age to meet new buddies.
The time for spotlight and comparing bike tire skids has passed.
(Has it?)
They have such new buddy names, too:
Neil and Shane.
"Mom, can Neil and Shane stay for supper?!"
See what I mean?
It's not that Neil lives a few decades back.
Just half of his wardrobe and his sideburns do.
And his glasses.
He miraculously found a pair of glasses with the bar going across the top.
Remember the ones I'm talkin' about?
Colin King had a pair.
In fact, I hear Colin King has quite the pair.
But that's another story.
Shane does zombie portraits.
Zombies are fuckin' huge now.
Everything is 'zombie attack' this and 'zombie movie' that.
And I'm not one to go against the grain.
So, goodnight everybody!

Low Brow

I always feel bad when I see that a girl has overplucked her eyebrows.

When all that's left are a few stray blonde hairs here and there.

Because how is she supposed to communicate that she's really angry?

Sometimes they'll get rid of their natural eyebrows and then sketch on new ones.

Then they look like they passed out at a party

And this is what their friends did to them.

I had a fun set at Yuk Yuk's last night.

Tim Ronan was back in town and spectating.

Never get tired of that cancer patient charm of his.

And Ashleigh Sobol was there.

She's been following me around because I owe her a lot of money.

She was with someone who I won't be marrying.

Me: "Hi, have we met?"

She: "We worked together, actually.

I was working with you on the shift you got fired."

Glad someone remembers it.

I recovered surprisingly well.

Turpin tells me that Rebecca Sheppard was there, too.

This name also doesn't ring a bell.
We probably painted a fence together once.

Colin Hollett needs to be more heavily medicated than he already is.

A decade since the last grass stain...

I'll tell you about tonight tomorrow. 

I ran around in the park today. 
You should've seen me. 

Check this out during your nightcaps. 

It's the best recording I could find with minimal effort. 

Do it. 

C'mon. C'mon.

The Student Always Knocks Twice

I fell down in the shower today.

Like an old person.

I dropped my soap, and it somehow landed outside of the tub.

Then I fell trying to pick it up.

It's not funny.

I hurt my knee.

Speaking of my everyday failures, I was late for class yesterday.
Because the new guy at Treats used my bank card for the other guy's purchase.

Then we tried to explain this to the new guy at Treats.

But his English is still coming along, so I was a minute getting out of there.

The classroom door was locked.

So I had to knock to be let in.

The classroom has one of these new-age horseshoe designs you keep hearing about.
Consequently, the entire class was nearby and facing me.

Queezy Prodigee

Morning everybody.

Did you all hug your mothers yesterday?

Cause I hugged your mothers.

Shazam!

Classes officially start today.

I'm skipping one right now, in fact.

I'm going to my eleven, though.

Because I'm in love with the professor.

Husband and children be damned.

They're in figuring skating.

I'm back to doing things, so I'm actually legitimately tired this morning.

Because that's what doing things does to me.

On that, I'm considering persuing a career in stand-up comedy.

Effectively shunning myself from my family.

(Speaking of mothers).

The April issue of The Downhome(r) says I'm an up-and-comer.

Though they never bothered telling me.

I still haven't seen the article.

Does anyone have that issue?

Besides my parents' friends?

This person kinda did it to me.

I have my first paying gig at Yuk's in June.

Lynzie from Ontario called to tell me about it.

She spells her name wrong.

I'd show you the invoice, but it's against the law.

This isn't the reason I'm thinking of doing it.

It's because all of the professionals who come by just assume that I am.

Alright.

I'm digging this song a great deal lately.

Rock Band has some use after all.

When you're stoned.

Same deal with Gak.

And I'm putting up this video that Shandera showed me.

If you watch anything, watch this.

Spewing Literary

Shakespeare was the first person to use the word 'puke' in print. 

I was taught this at the university level. 

And the guy who came up with 'blow chunks' is a nobody. 

Track & Feel

I don't know what to say.
I'm shy, guys.
I'm shy.
Have you ever gone off of the highest diving board at the Aquarina?
I would never do that.
Because something would go wrong.
Somehow, I'd be unconscious by the time I hit the water.
They'd have to get that yellow spinal injury board out.
I'd fuck up general swim for like, thirty, forty people.
I tend to stay away from the rope, too.
For good measure.
I dated a girl who dived, once.
Though I never actually saw her do it.
So, she may have told me that to appear more interesting.
Which is why I told her that I liked to climb mountains.
Whenever she wasn't around.
I've dated a few women in the past who partook in odd sports.
I saw this as a promising thing.
Turpin once wanted to introduce me to a curler.
I never met her.
If I had, we'd have a duplex (well, half of it) and two juniors by now.
And she'd be banging her curling coach on the side, probably.
Because she'd want a man who takes risks.


I've set aside a page in my book for baby names.
So far it has the following:
Genghis (that guy again)
Brutus
Hermes


Any suggestions?
I'm going to meet my little fencer one day.
Then these names will come in handy.

"But Don't Take My Word For It!"

I kind of retired from reading for a while. 

I'd been reading, some book or another, since I could read books. 

Ah, see me now, in the sycamore grove, aged twelve. 

Reading Stephen King. 

No girls are talking to me. 

But they did eventually. 

And my syntax probably had a lot to do with it. 

I don't know what it was. 

It was a combination of Banff's pace, which moved in weeks rather than days. 

And the amount of weed I smoked there. 

Reading time saw a decline. 

While the number of individually-wrapped brownies I ate was on the rise. 

I didn't halt entirely up there, mind you. 

I had to pass the time during the morning shift, you see. 

And I still read signs and menus and the like. 

It's not like I happened upon stuff like: 

NO ENTRY WITHOUT HARD HAT

And I'd just pass it and say, 'Fuck whatever that says.'

I got through goddamned Life of Pi, like everyone else. 

I bought The Odyssey. 

But it was really a retirement. 

And I'm only starting to get back to where I was...now. 

I'm reading Watchmen

("That don't count; it got pictures in it!").

Yesterday I bought some Salinger. 

Salinger seems like a good choice. 

He deserves more credit. While Steinbeck deserves less. 

This man (the Hitler joke is the best) got me reading 

Wiesel. No one told me that it's curriculum these days. 

Which is just as well; no one reads Anne Frank. 

Maybe I'll read Anne Frank now. 

I won't really, though. 

I think I just made this post because I wanted to tell you I'm reading Salinger.

Try Not To Think About It

I can't do anything that I put my mind to.

And whoever came up with that expression never saw me play basketball.

If I listen to my brother yammer on

About whatever's making him mad on this given day

I can almost get through a few bars of this tune.

If I say to myself, 'Alright. Now. Concentrate.'

I'll fuck it up over and over again.

When I'm doing sex-'it', as the kids say-I think about how shitty chocolate milk was in Alberta.

Otherwise I'd never get through it.

St. Peter is heaven's bouncer.

Sunday Post

Remember how deadly things were before you had car payments?

This'll jog your memory.

Sweet Dreams

My buddy Peter sleeps with his eyes open. 

My buddy Robert often used to sleep with his mouth open. 

But that was because his face was always propped on his hand. 

Peter still sleeps that way. 

I asked him about it the other day. 

I said, 'That's so weird, sleeping with your eyes staring straight ahead. 

Do you have any dreams?'

And he said, 'Of course I do. 

I had a nap earlier today and I had a two-hour dream about my living room.'

Ahem.

Wakka wakka wakka. 

People often ask me if I play with my own hair. 

If I'd been a heartthrob when I was younger, I'm sure that that would have been asked in the YM interviews.

Between the questions: 

'Do you wear boxers or briefs or boxer-briefs?' and 

'What's your favourite kind of jam?'

(Boxers [ya pervs])

(Rhubarb). 

Whenever people ask me, I always say, 'No.'

There are two reasons for this:

First, I don't want people to think that I'm a narcissistic prick. 

More so. 

And also, for a long time I legitimately believed this was a truthful answer. 

But I do. 

I do all of the time. 

I play with my hair when I'm waiting for the bus. 
When I watch Alex the basketball star play basketball. 

When I'm pouring hot wax on myself. 

I guess I just never really noticed before. 

I have no idea what rhubarb jam tastes like. 

Well, I do. 

Probably tastes like rhubarb.

Turning Japanese

I have this...theory.

Now, as theories go, this one isn't grounded in a great deal of fact.

But, I believe that Asian women are naturally disposed to being attracted to me.

Of course, Asia's a big continent.

So there are likely some nationalities that will prove to be exceptions.

I have a feeling that I wouldn't go over in Laos, for example.

Now, although I have known one Asian woman, biblically, I'm not basing it on that.

Though she really didn't want me to leave Banff

(Everyone else was okay with it).

Setting up that relationship took very little effort on my part.

Which was just as well.

Because we spoke different languages.

Really, the idea's not that far-fetched.

If you stand me alongside the general Asian male specimen.

In frame (genitalia) we're rather similar.

But my hair is unruly and curly.

My eyes are blue.

I'm tall by Oriental definition.

I'm terrible at math.
I am exotic.

I'm working on field notes to support all of this.

I've been taking my lunches at The Red Pepper.

No wonder he went around killing and fucking everything he saw.

His name was Genghis.