Hot Potato

Bludgeon the old woman so you can get the last Cabbage Patch Doll.
It's Black Friday.

I'm in a hotel.
They have individual packets of toothpaste here.
Which is a relief.
Because the airport people told me that my toothpaste was too dangerous to take.
I have spent a lot of time sitting in places I don't generally sit in.
Tuesday, for example, I sat in The Highliner Inn, on the TCH in Grand Falls.
For about seven hours.
I had pie for lunch and took a nap in the chair in their 'lobby'.
Then I sat on a bus for a long time and ate soup at the Gander airport.

If it wasn't for nausia and alcohol, ginger ale never would have made it as a beveridge.

I had the first of what I assume will be many photo shoots on Wednesday.
My favourites are those where I'm holding the parasol at the ranch.
Southern Belle has always been my best look.
Sobol did the photos.
Though I assume she'll deny it.

The Westin is fancier than I am.
Last night's show was well enough.
The majority of the audience was comprised of people I used to see frequently.
I tried to act like I've been accomplishing things.
Mike MacDonald made me carry his bags and chew his food.

Alright, guess I'm going to ride in the elevator again.
Oh, and don't worry about the iPod; the cab company has it in their lost and found.

Did I Do That?

I should have saved myself for marriage.
For one thing, it would make the dowry a little more legitimate.
But moreover, I believe I would be more upbeat presently.
From what Turpin tells me about high school, I was a generally happy-go-lucky guy.
Because I didn't know what I was missing.
Remember Urkel?
Exact same concept.

I believe that my greatest flaw-
and that's a tight race, by the way-
is that I find good in everyone.
If this wasn't the case I'd be far better at talking about people.
Behind their backs.
I'd have quite a bit to say about you.

When you boil it down, a great actor or actress is really just someone with tremendous control of their own face.

Darwinian

In a crowd, I bet I'd be the one who'd have to shout "Run for your lives!"
I'd be the first to see the escaped panthers.
Or the wave of molasses.
I bet I'd be the only one who couldn't run fast enough.
Thousands of survivors.
One fatality.
"I'm sure glad that guy yelled out.
I would've gotten molasses on my new pants."
"Yeah...hey, what happened to that guy?"
"Oh, I dunno. I blew right past him."

This is the rationale that will remind me to never go snowboarding.
Sure, it's cool when most people do it.
But I'd end up colliding with something.
I could hear them at my funeral now:
"He said it wasn't a good idea."
"Yeah, but he looked so cute in the goggles."
Closed casket.

For Better or Worse

Placing "LOL!" immediately after something you wrote doesn't make it funny.
It makes it grammatically offensive.

So my substitution desolution persists, as I'm on day three with no calls.
I started out so well, too.
Y'know they probably came across this blog.
Bet that's what did it.
"This is terrible.
He thinks this is funny?
Stop calling this guy.
Is he in the rollodex?
Take him out of the rolodex.
Burn that card."
The number of things that this blog has cost me is likely staggering.
"This is Paul Warford's blog?
He thinks this is funny?!
Pretending Lisa Loeb is his girlfriend?
That's funny?
And I was going to have sex with that guy!
Do I have him in the rolodex?
My sex rolodex?
I need to burn that card..."
Sticks and stones.
She's better off.

So I leave for Halifax relatively soon.
Provided the bus doesn't crash.
Or the plane, for that matter.
Maybe a plane will crash into the bus.
I should be excited about it, I guess.
I'm not sure why I'm not.
Maybe because there's a boil order on in this town that I've been ignoring.
And that has damaged the anticipation portion of my brain, somehow.
Maybe I'm just not excited because Mike MacDonald probably isn't that excited.
He should be, though.
Because I'm bringing a Travel Connect-4.

Foiled Again

And while cleaning my keyboard's keys individually with a moist toilette I said:
"Do you think I'm beginning to get cabin fever?"
And my imaginary friend Jeffery said, "We should get a paddle boat!"

Everywhere I go I take a ball of tinfoil with me.
Whenever I experience a day where it seems like things are going well for me
I'll take it out and chew on it.
Helps to keep things in perspective.
Also reminds me that I should brush my teeth after every meal.
I call it my Reality Foil.

Well, it's Christmastime.
I can tell because Hallowe'en's over.
(Did I make that joke last year?)

I dropped by the high school today.
Because I wanted to get some tickets for the 50/50 draw.
While there, I found myself in the drama class.
They wanted me to do improv.
All I can concretely remember from high school improv was the following:
We had a competition of some sort during which I wore a shirt that may have contained pink.
With a Barbie sticker on it.
And that I imitated Jim 'The Hammer' Shapiro at some point.
Today it went okay.
The kids liked me more than Wayne Brady, at least.

Why, It's Elementary

Hi everyone.

Or, as I like to call you, Steve.

Sorry I'm late.

Against all of my whining and protesting, I've been busy.

My first substitute day was Thursday.

I was in for the French teacher.

Friday I was in for a grade four teacher.

Now, if you're wondering what subtle differences there are between teaching grade fours and people in puberty, allow me:

-though incoherent, junior high kids never tell stories that go nowhere.

Several times I nodded and "Oh really!'d" through anecdotes that made no sense.

-if elementary kids want something, they just...walk up to you.

And ask for it.

Before you know it you'll have a circle of them just...around you.

Looking at you.

And they constantly rush up to you to interrupt one another.

Kid One: "I don't have my math book."
Me: "This is Language Arts."

Kid One: "Yeah, but"-

Kid Two: -"My nose is bleedin'!"

-junior high kids won't call you down to their desks having farted immediately beforehand.

Whatever affords me the currency to replace my 360.

Bring it on.

Anyway, I figured I'd touch base with everyone.

But I'm feeling rather Sunday this morning.

So I'm going to phone it in with some random garbage from that book I try to impress women with.

The only part of Equestrian riding that's truly impressive is convincing a 1000-pound animal to run around a little track for you.

We are all varying accumulations of drier lint.

Convocation is just a church service with smarter people.

My new method for choosing a wife:

The day I start dating a girl I buy a new, large box of Q-tips.

If she's still around by the time I use the last one, I propose to her.

If you're deaf and you're wearing mittens, how do you communicate?

Now that my friends have stopped watching wrestling,

I believe that we should start gassing audiences.

And the wrestlers, for that matter.

You can tell a business doesn't take itself seriously when they answer their phone with:

"Hello?"

Tomorrow I teach grade 5s.

How to have a nervous breakdown, probably.

You should see Steve's family photo for Christmas.

So adorable you could throw rocks at them.

...the baker, the candlestick maker...

You'll settle down and marry me after I get rich with my new idea:
Laptops for babies.
Because babies need laptops.
Studies say that they should be able to use laptops before they leave the crib.
Otherwise, they won't be able to figure out how to buy shoes online.
Or check this blog.
The laptops will come with the tiniest little mice.
Which will be purchased seperately.
That's where most of the money will come from.
Which will of course afford me the oppurtunity to settle down with you.
Everyone will know that you married me for money.
I'll be fine with it (you will be too).

So, I'm in Harbour Breton now.
I met the principal of the school today.
She told me that I should eat more.
There's a coffee shop that was converted from a fish plant.
I'll probably be there every day.
The floors creak.
They sell muffins with stuff in them.
The woman working the counter told Miranda that she apologized for coughing while she spoke with me.
Even though I didn't tell this woman that I was living with Miranda.
In fact, we barely spoke.
She coughed while we did so.
Which I was very offended by.
I feel like as much an oddity here as I suppose I am.
So it's not so bad.

Today was the 40th anniversary of Sesame Street's first airing.
The show that taught children everywhere.
That the letter 'P' is a legitimate sponsor.
And that it's cool for men to bathe together.
As long as they sing about it from time to time.

Breaking Even

I'm nautious.
I went to a pamper party last night.
In some house in the woods.
There was a generator and a hockey game.
I was the newest human by what must have been at least six years.
I played poker and lost.
I played 'Chase the Ace' while stoned and won.
Then I ate onion rings with my father at two in the morning.
And lost again.

Speaking of losing, I'm moving to Harbour Breton.
At least for a little while.
Emotionally speaking, you're all coming with me.
But I can tell you what's not coming with me:
My toothbrush, phone charger, socks and underwear.
Some of those things won't be easy to replace.
Definitly buy my underwear at K-Mart.
Definitly at K-Mart.

Check this out.
(You're welcome).
Actually, you should be thanking Burton.
Turns out he's good for something.

You Missed Me, Alright

Remember:
Those paper things that you bake cupcakes in may look like little coffee filters.
But they're not.
Even if you distribute them around the filter basket really carefully.

My ex keeps asking me to put her in the blog.
I've been avoiding it, but I'm finally crumbling, I guess.
I still have a closet-full of her conservative black dresses.



I want my flat iron back.

A Full Body Corsage

Doing comedy is like going to the prom.
With the hottest chick from your graduating class.
And you're acting as naturally as possible.
As naturally as anyone can act in a cummerbund.
But you know that they know that she's way out of your league.
And no matter how charming or how suave you are on prom night.
You never get to bang your date.

Actually, maybe that last part is specific to me.

Those Three Simple Words

You know why Twister™ became so popular?
Because people like wagging their body parts at one another.

The internet has so many dim-witted people that sometimes I feel like taking a bath after using it.
With this dog.



I Love You, Dog @ Yahoo! Video

Sure, he says it to your face, but on a Friday night you're sitting by the phone.

It doesn't even sound like the dog is saying "I love you."
It sounds like the dog is saying, "Rowr rowr rowr!"
It sounds like the owner is saying, "I love you."
It also sounds like the owner is saying, "I don't have enough friends to organize a dinner party."

Missing Something

I've spent the past few days getting ready for my Halifax trip.
By cutting the crotch out of all of my pairs of underwear.
It's a shame, really.
I got through nearly the entire load before I realized that they had holes already.
Live and learn.

There are a lot of people I'm looking forward to seeing in Halifax.
Jon-O.
...
I guess that's about it, really.

Mark Forward stopped by the club.
He did comedy, and there were people there.
But I think they may have been his family.
I only conversed with him for a total of maybe twenty minutes.
And despite that I felt hauntingly compelled to give him a birthday card.
Having met him half an hour beforehand, I say:
"When's your birthday?"
He tells me (it's June 17th).
Saying nothing I write it on my hand.
He pauses, and then he whispers, "Are you going to do a trick or something?"
Sometimes these people come by and they're so funny that you want to vomit into their luggage.
You'd be jealous of them but you can't be jealous of them because they're so funny.
And you want to steal all of their material, but you can't because they're still in town.
I can't be this good in 27 seconds:

Drop the Beat OR Return to Neverland

I know that we should really leave Michael to rest-
Wasn't he supposed to roll back the stone of his tomb after three days, by the way?
What happened to that?-
But I was thinking about all of those pesky molestation charges of his.
And I realized that, unsavory sleepovers or no, the flak was all his fault.
Because when some woman accused him of being an illegitimate father, he wrote a hit single.
No one ever brought it up again.
Soooo...
After the kids tattled on him,
Or the parents made the kids lie,
Or whatever...
He should have called up Quincy and said,
"They're at it again. I need a beat."
Then, he could have died in obscurity like a normal king of pop.



All jokes aside. Seriously.
I could listen to this song over and over again.
It's my favourite of his.
Just goes to show what you can achieve if your father beats you enough.

Sound engineers are incredibly adept at bedding women, by the way.
I had a friend in Banff who was a sound guy.
He had a piranha, a stereo system that snaked his entire apartment, and two girlfriends.
Who were both cultured and beautiful.
And were cognizant of each other.
He was integral to my self-esteem.
If I carried on a conversation with a female customer for more than three minutes, he would chastise me for not asking her out as soon as she left.
He insisted that I should give them staff discounts.
And then ask them to get undressed with me.
In not so many words.
"Just say to her, 'We're not supposed to do this, but I can give that to you at cost.'"
He believed that 100% more women were interested in me than I did.
Really, I should've listened to him.
Two girlfriends.

edit:
I had to add this video cause this kid is sick.
And adorable.
Like if you took all of the fattest Basset Hounds* and baby penguins.
And sleuced them through a meat grinder.


*check the link! check the link!