Too-Done List

I wore a tuxedo this weekend.
Amongst other things, I also:
-drank beer from a keg (no stands though; no one could lift me).
-kicked a 5-year old out of a living room because I wanted to pass out.
-saw whales.
-saw lesbians ("They're coming right up to the boat!")
-sorted candies by colour. Like a monkey.
-bought condoms in formal wear.
-stole a pen from a church.
-drank several beers out of coolers.
-rode in the party bus.
-got my picture taken several dozens of times.
-made out on a dance floor.
-made out under my tuxedo jacket.
-danced on a chair.
-winged a speech.
-watched my buddy get married.


And I'd do it again.

Nuptial Selection

The world is divided into two groups:
Those who have worked in retail
and fuckers.

I have so much compiled garbage to dodge and lament over.
The wedding was successful in many regards.
I didn't win the limbo contest, but I did place third in the high jump.
Racey pictures of me have already surfaced.
But it hardly matters because everyone is too busy watching videos of Bussey doing his garter dance to notice.
I'll tell you more about it when I'm not doing whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing now.

Imagine being influential enough to have peons fashion a 100-foot statue of you.
Of course, we're not deities.
Some of us aren't even that smart.

Reeled In

I keep trying to initiate this post.
But like sex with the blonde girl who works at Starbucks, I don't know how to go about it.
I have had a drab few days.
Because it has been so sunny.
And usually when people are enjoying themselves-flying kites, going to the beach-I am lamentable and surly.
More to the point, it likely has something to do with school work.
Which is becoming stifling and tedious.
Like sitting in the middle seat of a twelve-hour flight.
Which is why I try to stick to boats for my voyages, when I can.

I don't see the point in getting a high-definition television.
I can never keep my glasses clean.

How long does it take to learn to walk in heels?
And I thought applying eyeliner was hard...
I had to wear heels for a photo shoot that Turpin and I participated in recently.
We ruined a portion of an evening for some people in Lottie's.
Alright.
Alright.
You got it out of me.
I didn't have to wear the heels so much as I chose to.
Nevertheless.
I wouldn't care how tight it made my ass look
(as if it could get any tighter).
I would be far too terrified of rolling my ankle to ever go to a keg party.
Let alone show my breasts there.
Which, from the American Pie franchise, is what I understand women do at keg parties.
That and they watch Stiffler inevitably end up drinking piss somehow.
You women fascinate me with all of your various fishing lures.

Picture It

Today couldn't possibly feel more like a Sunday.
Unless I had to sit through chruch for an hour.
With communion.

Assuming that my name is tarnished from here to Tofino,

Moosejaw to Baddeck,

I'm applying for teaching jobs overseas.

In the past week I have suddenly set my sights on Korea.

Only God and Krishna and the crowd knows why (speaking of church).

Though, if I go to Korea, I'll be too busy having sex to actually teach anyone.

But I won't mention that in the interview.

They asked for a recent picture of me.

After overcoming the unsettled feeling that this instilled, I began browsing.

I couldn't help but laugh in spite of myself.

Finding a picture of me to send to a potential employer is just a funny way to pass the time.

To wit:

I put that third one in there for Peter Russell's benifit.

I ended up going with none of these.

I hate applying for jobs.

And I hate filling out forms.

Filling out forms is easily one of my most despised things to do.
I really mean that.

I get anxious just writing down my address.

Why can't they just take the names of all teacher hopefulls?

And play bingo for positions.

"Did you hear that Duncan got the job in Lethbridge?"

"Yeah. He won the potato sack race. Lucky asshole."

Bob Marley was right.

A Good Run

The world's oldest man has died.
Though I'm sure that few people will notice.
Since everyone is on edge about Michael Jackson's killer.
Out there. On the loose. Stalking other talented black people.
I just hope that someone is keeping an eye on Whitney Houston.
Maybe she has asked Kevin Costner to take on the job.
Which would be nice of her.
That guy could probably use a meal.

I guess it's a hard title to keep for a long period of time...

I'll be frank:
I hope to have sex at Bussey's wedding, which is rapidly approaching.
Or so they tell me.
The target in question has a 'history' with me.
She and I shared the most romantic trip to Subway that my buddies have ever taken.
However, as always, the odds are stacked against me.
And my window of oppurtunity is about the size of those little ones that are in the back of some minivans.
But I'm sure that Henry would tell us all that there's no fucking point in putting on a tux if you can't find someone to take it off in front of.
This one's for you, buddy.

Unchained Felony

What a productive day I had.
I completed two assignments.
Including the bibliographies.
I flirted with women in the faculty.
I played a Hello Kitty Squier Stratocaster.
I ate balanced meals.
I washed dishes.
I knocked over a bank.
Got three money bag sacks full of gold duckets.
I met someone's mother (which can sometimes be harrowing).
And I wrote you this song:



I ended up giving it to The Righteous Brothers.
Because they helped me change a tire.
Maybe someday I'll play it for you.

Bone Chyna

I can't wait until I'm famous enough to be not that famous anymore.
Because that will be my prime opportunity to release a sex tape.
Which, despite mixed reviews, will manage to shame my mother outright.
I'm going to call it, Bent Over the Stove: Warford's Nearly Broke.
Because I just thought of that title, and I don't believe I'll ever think of a better one.
If people will watch Dustin Diamond's, they'll watch mine.
We once shared a moniker, after all.
Who'd of thought that you could release a film of some guy steering a boat with his dick.
And end up dating Kid Rock?
He's rock & roll's Jesus, for Christ's sake.
All I want is a reality show on E!
I want a shot at the title belt.
The only question is who my 'then girlfriend' in the video will be.
So let me ask you this:
How do you feel about the limelight?

You know, I've been keeping this blog for what must be at least a few months now.
And this post has had some of the most uncomfortable Google searches yet.
If you have a heart murmur I'd steer clear of the above links.

He died for our sins, y'know.
Our rock & roll sins.
Such as that brief period in high school when you thought Fred Durst was cool.

Exceedingly Early

I went to the wrong class today.
Well, that is to say, I went to the right class.
At the wrong time.
Since I thought I was a moment or two late as it was, I wasn't surprised to see a fully seated class.
And the prof matched the mugshot.
But as soon as I sat I had a mounting feeling that I was going to have to write a blog post about this.
Because everyone was looking at me.
And there were whispers.
Giving up, as I do, I tapped the guy in front of me.
I didn't even have to ask.
"You're an hour late for class," he hissed.
That's when I relaxed.
Because I knew that that wasn't right.
As it turns out, I was half an hour early, and in the wrong slot.
It's not a class that I bother with too often.
It has a nasty tendency of cutting into my nap time.

Unfulfilled Rolls

I took the LSATs the other day.

Because I felt like miserably failing something.

As it turns out, I scored in the 91st percentile.

Just goes to show you:

I can't do anything right.

I can't roll my 'Rs'.

I can't roll joints.

I haven't tried rolling logs, but I bet you a damn I'm awful at it.

Now. Who was raised by their TVs?

Yes, I'm bad at a lot of things, alright.
But I'm great at digesting food.
I'm good at letting my pancreas operate independently.

Counting Sheep

Question:

A farmer has 20 sheep.
All but 7 perish in a tsunami.
How many remain?
Tick tock tick tock grains of sand are falling.
Time's up!
Answer?

Enough for a decent barbecue.
You bring the briquettes and I, as always, will bring the mesquite.

I just walked around Chapters for half an hour, waiting for some book to entice me.
But then she went on break, so I just bought whatever was at arm's length.
This was the fortunate selection:

The shittiest job I ever had?
Working at Kentville Publishing which was, not that it matters, located in New Minas.
This is what New Minas looks like according to God:
We had to collate.
If you're like me, you act like you know what collating means because you've heard it so many times.
But you don't really know.
It's stuffing fliers into newspapers.
It doesn't deserve its own term.
One day a group of us were collating.
We had some people there on their first shift.
The place had what you might call turnover issues.
And I'm watching this guy standing across from me.
Because no one is saying anything, and he's clearly getting antsy.
"Is this collating?" He was likely thinking to himself.
Suddenly he goes, "Pff, fuck this!" He punches out his time card, and leaves.
It was beautiful.
Which was nice.
Because there aren't many opportunities for beauty in New Minas.

Why is it that some songs just make more sense when you're stoned?
Are you stoned right now?
All of us can tell.

Something to Chew On

Why would you buy your own dog a squeek toy?
Sure, it's entertaining for the dog.
We assume.
But the dog also finds eating its own feces entertaining.
Along with burying your handguns and brass knuckles.
"Honey! Have you seen my 9 millimeter?
No, I checked the basket with all of the keys in it.
No, the kids don't have it.
What the-Rover, you asshole!"
So why indulge him?
Besides, maybe the dog is spending time with the toy because he wants to silence it.
He's pissed at you for buying it.
"Fuck, this thing makes the same noise as the last one."
You wouldn't purchase a car alarm that doesn't turn off.
It's the most raucous noise you could purposefully fill your home with.
At least until the baby comes.

Contextual

A text message conversation that I held yesterday.
Presumably with a stranger.
With these new business cards of mine, the possibilities are rather limitless.

Them: I want you
Me: A lot of people do.
Them: I saw you at yuk yuks You are so hot
Me: You must not have been sitting very close.
Them: Sure i was your crazy
Me: Oh, I bet you say that to all the comics.
Them: No no just the cute ones ;)
Me: I'm sweaty.
Them: So...Are you currently seeing anyone?
Me: I see people all of the time, but i'm not having sex with any of them.
Them: Lol really?
Me: Really. No sex. No heavy petting either.

Then they didn't write back.
In the long run it doesn't matter.
Their grammar and punctuation are awful.
Still, it's a nice change from the texts that the b'ys send me about their scrotums and bowel movements.

Jacked

If I didn't want people looking at my ass, I wouldn't wear assless chaps.
Know what I mean?
What a day.
I'm running on fumes right now.
Jam it in neutral at the top of big hills.
Speaking of Buicks I drive, someone broke into our car on Duckworth.
Well, they jimmied it, I suppose.
Everything is intact and the doors were locked.
But they got in there.
Joke was on them, of course.
I own nothing of value.
Score one for the good guys.

"I put on women's clothing and hang around in bars."

I'm pretty full of burger.
So don't expect a lot out of me.
In fact, that's a good rule of thumb regardless of what I have ingested.
Turpin and I have a presentation tomorrow.
I'm not sure of all of the details yet, but I know that it involves me in women's clothing.
And a photo shoot in Lottie's.

I had coffee with Whealn a few days back.
Did I mention that?
I like Whelan because she reads books.
Also, she shows up at the campus book store after it has closed.
Which is something that I would do.
And I'm crazy about me.

A Golden Oppurtunity

Sometimes I see mothers buying hand sanitizer in line at the grocery store.
And I can't help but wonder:
Do any of these women happen to enjoy being pissed on?

Cause piss is full of germs.

"So bring me two Pina Coladas..."

Think of history's greatest oppressors.

Now think of how much less intimidating they must have looked in the morning.

Castro walking around with his robe lazily swishing back and forth.

While he pours coffee into his mug that says:

LIFE STARTS AT 50!

Or Stalin reading the morning paper (that he reviewed before its printing) with a cowlick.

Eating a grapefruit.

Ayatollah Khomeini accidentally burning his toast.

Before he heads out for the morning hangings of the infidels.

I bought pina colada flavoured lubricant yesterday.

In case I run out of money and I have to drink it.