Save the Princess

I cut my finger today.
I would have written about it earlier, but I've been unconscious 'til now.
That's not true.
My own blood does make me nauseous, though.
Sort of like flasks of rum.

The Paparazzi got away with regicide, but if I punched one of my classmates in the face, I'd get in trouble.
Sorry, that's all I've got.

If you ask me, they deserved to be called The Supremes.

Not Worth Much

I'd really like to concoct some sort of genius here for you this afternoon.
But Batman Returns is on, and I'm a man of simple pleasures.
Seriously, though.
We need Little Red Riding out of schools.
It teaches evolution.
"What big eyes you have."
"All the better to see you with."
The wolf may as well be saying, "God doesn't exist and never did."
And that's not fair.
God deserves all of the credit He gets.
He invented s'mores.
And Michael Stipe.

In this sunny weather I have taken to leaving the front ('round back) door wide open.
Because I'm hoping that someone is going to kidnap me.
Two or three dudes marl in with ski masks on.
And as they're wrapping me in the burlap sack, I'll say:
"'Bout time. Where are we going?
Oh right, right. I'm not allowed to know."
"I can put myself in the trunk. You guys ransack the place a bit."
"Hey, which one of you is the brains?
Is it you?"
Because why struggle?
They have enough to worry about.
Like figuring out which magazines to cut up for the ransom letter.
I'd be the easiest kidnapping case in history.
"Hey Jeff! You don't have to stay in the car!"
Jeff's the getaway driver.

I middled unexpectedly last night.
For Terry Clement.
He's an acquired taste.
Like delicious food.

As Damp As Grade Eight Was

Go trouting in the woods and never return home again.
It's Friday.
Speaking of manly activities, I've been trying to plan a bachelor party lately.
My first (at the helm).
My activity ideas are excellent, but will likely prove to be too expensive and/or demeaning to women to do.
Like all of my ideas.

So how about this weather, huh?
I hope you like muggy.
You know when you take your jeans out of the dryer and you put them on only to realize that they're still damp?
Jeremy Hotz talks about it, "Ah, screw it, I'm wearing them anyway."
That's what this weather feels like.
Turpin said it feels like taking a nap in your bathing suit.
Which I like a lot more.
It's like when you have to sneeze, but you don't sneeze.
You're staring at light fixtures.
You're tilting your head back.
You're interrupting conversations.
-"Hang on guys, I've gotta sneeze."-
Just to get the sneeze out.
And it still won't happen.
That's what this weather is like.
The whole island needs to sneeze, but it can't get it out.
The best thing to do is roll a tissue up into a point, and then jam it in there.
That'll make you sneeze even when you don't have to.
Violently.
Try it out.
If you're like me, you have nothing better to do anyway.
Oh?
...
You do have something better to do?
I see. You have family in town, or-
Oh, a party?
Cool...
Cool.
A lot of people going to be there?
There are, huh?
How are you getting over there?
Don't need a ride, do you?
Well...I hope you have a good time.
If that gets dull, or they run out of plastic red cups, I'll just be here.
Chilling out with my blog...
So, anyway...
Talk to you later.

Whassat?
Oh, no, sorry. I thought you said something.

Beat It

According to Yahoo! News (their term, not mine) Michael Jackson is dead.
I'll bet you a goddamn that he's going to do the Elvis thing.
After death, he'll still be seen loitering around malls in Memphis.
Buying hammers in general stores in Lake Tahoe.
While wearing pleated red leather.
Unlike Elvis, however, I'd wager that no one is going to impersonate him.

We have pigeons roosting above our deck.
My neighbors want us to ask our landlord to get rid of them.
I want to name them.

Are they called slippers because they're easy to slip-on?
Or because their initial design provided no traction whatsoever?

I've got Solstice

Tofu only tastes good when you rub it against good foods.

I forgot to ask all of you, but how was the solstice for you?
Mine wasn't as good as I expected it to be.
But that's how solstices have been with me lately.
I'm trying not to read too much into it.

Tomorrow is the last day of school.
I have a bound unit plan and a lot of anxiety I'm going to stop by with.
The kids got their report cards (took me a second to remember the term) today.
So none of them will be there.
Well, there's an awards assembly.
So the kids who won awards will be there.
And Lacey (not her real name). Lacey will be there.
I'll see the others at the mall anyway.

I'm going to wear a monocle soon.
I intend to start practicing within days.
Just going to jam a quarter in my eye.
See if I can keep it there.
While driving.
I can't wait for the real thing.
I plan to take it out and clean it while people talk to me.

Rest in Leafs

I recently had to verify that the broad, severed rhubarb leaf in my yard was not the carcass of a small animal.
Because it really looks like one.
When I first saw it, red and sinewy-looking, there were flies milling around it.
I wondered what I would have to do to get it out of there.
Call the wildlife department?
Do they make housecalls?
I'm sure they would if I had an adolescent alligator coming out of the toilet.
A boa constrictor in the tub.
I approached it cautiously.
Determined that it was a broad, severed rhubarb leaf.
It's still in the yard.
If I had the wherewithal, I'd take a picture of it.

The kids at that school I taught at have their last day of school on Thursday.
I'm going to stop by.
Because infrequent visits to schools that you previously taught at are a great way of making yourself feel popular.
Albeit momentarily.

Our millers (moths) blend in flawlessly with our beef buckets.
Think about it.

Sleep. Deprived.

Could you do me the tiniest of favours?
Could you stay with me tonight?
In my bed.
We don't have to copulate, mind you.
At least not at first.
Sometimes you just miss another person keeping you awake.
The pads of someone else's feet on your legs.
Think about it.
Let me know.
I'll even make you toutons in the morning.

Dudes can disregard this post.
It's the softness I miss.
Not bristly hairs that remind me of my own.

"We Hope You Live to be a Hundred"

Alright.
Finally.
I'm through the tube. The storm drain.
I've stopped at the gas station and hosed off all the mucus.
Frigging schoolwork.
Who needs it?
Someone does, I suppose.
The sort who need to schedule lovemaking sessions.
Picnics.

They've found a new oldest man.
Well, they didn't find him.
It's not like he was frozen or anything.
The guy that was in the lead, well, died.
Who drew the short straw to tell him, I wonder...
"You're the new oldest man!"
"Wha?!"
"I said you're the new oldest man!
Some guy in Japan died!
You're the new oldest man!"
"Wha?!"
And so on.
If I was 113 years old, I doubt I'd give a fuck.
I'd likely be more concerned that my bowels were still working.
"The oldest?
Well, does my pancreas still work?
It does?
Excellent."
Everything's going according to plan.

It's father's day.
I helped dad secure some cabinets.
Cause some other guy did a shitty job.
So dad had to fix them.
I helped.
I feel so out of place in my father's basement.
Unless I'm getting another beer.
I know I don't belong there, but he would never send me away.
I'm shy there.
The cabinets look great now.
If you happen to be on Lloyd Spencer's sailboat, you should check them out.

A Good Idea (On Paper)

School is keeping me lethargic and depressive this week.
Like being neutered.
Just a little more garbage and I'll be frisky again.
Digging up your mom's tulips and all of that.
But, I should tell you that I signed some contract last night.
That says that, although I won't be getting any more sex, I may get more comedy gigs.
Ones that pay me. Ones that fly me places.
Pretty Hollywood, huh?
Doesn't help me pass midterms, though.
In fact, if anything, it kinda acts as an obstacle for passing midterms.
Remember that phase you had where you lit fires in dumpsters?
Enjoy!

Why the Long Face?

I went to a party on Saturday.
A girl with a baby and a long face spoke to me.
I don't remember leaving.
But I'm home now, so I guess I managed.
I'm sick as fuck today.
Have they invented the Echinacea Cinnamon Bun yet?
If so, could someone send me a basket?

A Slim Margarine

My mom has always refused to buy us the following:
Beer.
Cigarettes.
Video games.
Butter.
Real butter. From the churn.
Because why would anyone buy butter at 5 bucks a cube?
Margarine is dollars less than that.
My mother did however, buy me blocks of margarine once.
Hoping that she would trick me into thinking it was butter.
I figured it out, though.
My mother didn't account for my keen taste buds.
And my ability to read.
In cube form the margarine was rock-hard.
So, what I used to do was I'd get my toast going.
I'd chisel some block margarine onto my knife.
Then I'd stick the knife into the toaster while it was toasting.
That way, the margarine would be soft by the time the toast was done.
I stopped doing this, however, when I realized that I was jamming a knife into a toaster.

Bottom Rung

This has been the busiest Jesus week.
I'm eating a bowl of rice because that's all I can afford.
And it's also all I have time to eat since I have to get downtown for an open mic.
St. John's Comedy Festival.
I'm a big deal.
Out of all of the people who don't qualify to get paid during the festival.

I'll tell you more than I'm telling you now when we're all slightly older.
In the meantime, cry your goddamn eyes out while listening to this.
If you concentrate hard enough, you're back in grade seven.
And you're dancing with Erin May (of all people).

A Real Card.

As we speak, Vietnamese are designing and printing my new business cards.
This is the most exciting thing to happen to me in some time.
I have always wanted business cards.
Because I'm incredibly full of myself.
And I enjoy small rectangles.
I'll (ask Peter to) upload the images later on.

So Graham Chittenden is pretty funny.
Don't worry. He doesn't know how to pronounce it either.
He worked with me at Yuk's over the weekend.
And I gave him a couple of bucks to mow my lawn.
If you're looking for an act to book for that next wake, he's your man.
And! He fits easily into a trunk.
Car or steamer.

Ever find yourself in the shower
And you slowly realize that you don't ever want to leave it?
Because if you do you'll have to face adulthood once more.
Also, beyond the curtain you can't masturbate.
As freely.

"How's yer fadder?! Alright!"

I was raised by my parents.

Erning My Stripes

There was once a Warford brother party.
Or menage, if you will.
Underage and underfunded, I pored over my father's liquor cabinet.
Trying to figure out what to use to pitch myself down over the family stairs.
To Brian I called, "What about Gin?"
And he hollared, towell around him, "She's a cruel mistress."
It sort of became a catch phrase after that.
I drank gin last night.
With some comics and a bunch of maids from New Brunswick.
I'll spare you all of the details, but I did end up at Karaokee Kops.
'Nuff said.
I almost slept with Ern.
But she wouldn't stop talking.
I almost had sex with her, too.
Well, I didn't really.
I almost thought that I almost had sex with her.

So, my first 'middling' weekend has come and gone.
I'm multiple hundreds of dollars richer.
(Not too many multiples).
And my ego has enough strength to wax your car.

Hatt's Off

Glue your fingernails on.
It's friday.

I watched Brian Hatt get screeched in last night.
He wasn't very good at it.
Not to be confused with Jason Hatt, whom I just completed a group presentation with.
The two have very few similar personality traits.
Both of their heads are bigger than mine.
So I guess that's something.
I wasn't going to go, but one of the Yuk's wenches talked me into it.
As wenches often will.
I was glad that she did so, though.
It's not often you get to see a German guy say 'cock' a bunch of times.

Not only is my 360 fucked again, but I found my first ever ear hair this morning.
Reasons to off myself are compiling daily.

"The eyes always seem to follow me."

Gotta get a haircut today.

I've been eating melon the past few days.
Makes my semen taste nice.
Presumably.
If Sue Johanson said it, I believe it.
Josh sat behind her on a plane, once.
If I was sitting behind Sue Johanson I'd try to get sexual info for free.
Turning to the guy sitting next to me, "What do you wash your penis head with, sir?"
(Shouting) "Cause, I understand that normal soap may not be wise to use.
I wonder if there's some sort of cream or lotion that would work better.
On my penis."
Then I'd wait.
See if she'd turn around and say something.
I bet she would.
If she didn't, I'd start kicking the back of her chair.

I'm not afraid of flying.
I'm afraid of crashing.
(Someone must have said this before.
Bet they didn't mean it as much as I do, though.)

My first "professional" show is tonight.
Which is just a professional word for "paid."
And that's the thing.
I've been paid before.
But they're going to put my picture up on the wall.
Probably in the bathroom.
Above the urinal.
I've lined up a pregnant woman to take some headshots for me.
I insist on only being photographed by pregnant women.
When I'm famous I'm going to be high maintenance.
"Is this supposed to be water? It tastes like piss!"
Splash it in the assistant's face.
If they do put my picture over the urinal, I know how I'll pose in the photo.
Looking down.

Out of Embed

I've figured out how to embed videos.
And by 'figured out' I mean 'finally bothered trying'.
But what to choose to embed first?
...What to choose?

Monotone Deaf

I'm going to start learning country music songs.
But I'm concentrating solely on those songs that have spoken
intermissions at the bridge.
You know the tunes I mean.
The music gets quiet, and the singer says stuff that's introspective and deep, like:
"...Darlin'...I know you've moved on and now you're with...another man.
And all I can do is look at that old faded picture of you and me, and wonder...
Do you do that thing with your tongue with him..."
That sort of stuff.
I'm going to perfect songs like that.
Then I'm going to play them at parties.
Because I can't sing too well.
But I'm really good at speaking rhythmically.

Last night was the opening of comedy at The Levee.
It was okay.
I said onstage that we'd sink this place like we sank The Victory.
There were a great number of women there.
Women in dresses.
It was terrifying.
I kept making eye contact with one girl.
I had a key opportunity to speak with her at one point.
We were both trying to sneak out through the bathroom window at the same time.
I remained silent, though.
Thank God.
You have to look at it from my perspective.
What can I possibly say to this person?
That will make them think, "I should have sex with this guy after an appropriate grace period."
The idea is ludicrous.
"So, I'm not living with my parents right now."
Or:
"I use mouthwash regularly."