Oh Danny Boy

I'm not really one for politics.
If you ask me, we should scrap the whole system, right?
Then what we do is we have every homeowner claim their property to be their land.
Country.
Region.
Whatever.
And no one is allowed to enter another's region without express permission from the landholder.
Then we give everyone a gun.
There you go.
Politics.
But, I would like to mention that yesterday, on Yahoo! search, Danny Williams was the number one topic to obsess over.
Beating out Kanye West.
PC. Liberal. The political party that believes we should be ruled by trees.
Whoever you are.
You have to be impressed by that.

Classic Beauty

*Do NOT open the female actress links at work unless you don't care about paychecks, or you work in a coal mine.

Who is your Sofia Loren?
I know mine.
She is the one and only celebrity crush for me.
Apart from all of the other celebrity crushes I have.
She's the one!
If she has a sister, I don't care.
Larry David has listed Sofia Loren a number of times in his television show.
As a masturbation source for him.
He never dwells on it for very long, but you can tell that she's the be-all.
End-all.
So who is the one for you?
Do you go for the girl-next-door, understated blondness of Gwenyth Pawltrow?
"Gwen and I would have four babies together, each one named after an ingredient in her favourite fruit smoothie."
Or the urban, street cred allure of Halle Barrie?
Or the seasoned dignity of Dame Judi Dench?
Judi Dench would be like selecting the most reliable set of winter tires on the market.
Personally, I go with the "Are you in line?" charm of the woman standing behind you in Mr. Sub.
Lauren Graham is my Sofia Loren.
If I met her in person I would have to tell her that I thought she was the most beautiful woman in Hollywood.
Not because I believe that she would necessarily want to hear this from me.
A gappy, praying mantis sort of man who has somehow found his way into her bathtub.
I wouldn't tell her to ellicit any sort of response from her, necessarily.
I would tell her because I would have to tell her.
That's why she's the one.
Can we generate a discussion here, fans?
You leeches never give me any feedback.
Here's an exception:
Who's your Sofia Loren?
Bonus points if it turns out to be me.

A Probable Fate

Turpin and I had supper at Pizza Delight Monday night.
We confused the waitress.
After I had her write down my order I said, "And can you ask them to spit in it?"
When we first arrived she asked, "For two?"
I said yes, but at separate tables.
Turpin also said something witty here but I can't remember what it was.
Because I can only follow my own dialogue.
Anyway.
Nothin'.
The waitress wasn't going for any of it.

Turpin and I are entirely aware that we are romantically involved in other universes.
We have the sort of relationship where we can talk about that and it's not weird.
I suggested that in one of them we probably got together immediately after her moving to Bay Roberts.
(In this universe) She showed me Calvin and Hobbes cartoons from a book.
Far from our first meeting, this would have been our first 'hang out' together.
She suggested that (in this universe) we could have a Calvin and Hobbes-themed wedding.
"They could be the place-setting on the cake," she added.
I said that we could have two people dressed as mascot-sized Calvin and Hobbeses, walking around at the reception.
Then she suggested that we could be dressed like that.
"That'd be great," I realized, "Because we wouldn't have to talk to anybody because of the giant heads."
Yes, we're a happy couple out there somewhere.
"How many of these universes do you suppose we commit suicide in?" She asked me.
"All of them," I replied.

edit: This comic has no metaphorical significance.
It's the first one I came across that I laughed at.

With Utilities

My father broke his wrist yesterday.
At first it was cute because he had his little sling and everything.
But then I realized that he won't be able to play the accordion for two months.
And then I felt bad.
Dad has been playing the accordion for a great length of time.
But he has only started jamming-really jamming-in the past few years.
He even played onstage for a bunch of old people a couple of times.
His repertoire used to be violently limited.
We'd hear 'Frostie the Snowman' bustling out of the living room while we played basketball.
In June.

It's important to purchase your own food when you live with your parents.
Your senior citizen parents.
And I hate to be the guy who makes jokes that basically go, "My parents are so old."
But they're so old!
It's a gradual transformation, with violent, soaring spikes that occur occasionally.
For example, their fridge contains a variety of jams.
All of them homemade.
They have canned beverages in there.
But all of them are oddly coloured and marked.
Advertising preposterous flavours, like 'Green Apple Sparkling Soda.'
You can't mix gin with something as ambiguous as that.
These examples are gradual.
The dramatic instances are far more terrifying.
For example, I was checking my stock options on the computer the other day
("Sell!).
And dad approached me and began saying something to me.
But I couldn't hear what he was asking me because his pants were hitched up so high.
To the point where I was absolutely flabbergasted.
There's no other word to describe it.
And I felt like asking him:
"Dad. Why in the fuck are your pants like that?"
I've known him since I was born.
He has never worn his pants this way before.
It was frightening.

You share with your roommates.
Laundry detergent.
Paper towels.
Boyfriends and girlfriends.
You share with your roommates.
I left my shaving sack at Avril's place (second week in a row).
So, I had to borrow one of dad's razor blades.
"You don't have hepatitis, do you?" I asked him this before using his razor.
He claims that he doesn't.

Mom Like an Egyptian

I'm still living with my parents.
That's still happening.
I can only assume that I'll be living with my parents until they're not living any more.
Then I will continue to live with them in spirit.
While I continue to use their toaster and coffee perk.
I asked my mother what she intended to do with her dolls.
When it comes time for us to put her in her own collector's box.
For those of you who never used to get drunk with me in high school, my mom has these...dolls.
Seemingly hundreds of them.
They mostly occupy their little cabinet.
Which they commanded my father to build.
But some of them have managed to find their way to end tables.
Swing sets.
The downstairs bathroom.
Do you have any idea how unsettling it is to glimpse a doll in the mirror while you brush your teeth?
The Warford men mock them endlessly.
And when my mother cooks the roast (dies), I'm sure we'd all as soon toss the dolls on a pyre.
But Mom is way too sentimental for that to be a possibility.
And I'm the only male in the family who is sentimental enough to realize this.
So I guess the dolls will go to me.
But, it's still fun to tease her about it:
"What are we going to do with the dolls?
Cause we can't sell them. You'll want us to keep 'em."
"We'll be putting them on eBay immediately," announces Colin.
Who is considerably less sentimental.
Then it dawns on me: "We'll bury you with them!"

Starved for Attention

I lost a cell phone charger and a book over the weekend.
I gained some fees in the process, though.
Borrowed book replacement fees, for example.
So things all balance out in the end.
Like when you avoid food poisoning while on a resort weekend trip.
But you smash into a cliff face while parasailing.
Like that.

I did some free shows this weekend with the wonderfully supple Peter White.
Peter White is like the Halifax version of me.
Except he's attractive (maybe) and he's a working comic.
He and I and Avril tried to go to a reptile exhibit.
But it had a lineup like an Alicia Keys concert.
With the addition of a plethora of wiener children.
We said, "Thanks, but no thanks."
If I feel like going nowhere while surrounded by youths, I'll teach.

I made a new friend last week.
A new vegan buddy of mine.
I mentioned something about eating food.
As a carnivore.
And he asked me: "Is that how you like your food?
You enjoy stabbing it and watching it bleed out?"
I responded by grabbing a nearby kitchen knife and chasing him around the room with it.
The meat I eat is purchased in cellophane-wrapped packaging.
I don't give a shit about whatever hormones or steroids or Maybelene makeup was put on or into the meat before I eat it.
Because the same things are being injected into the red and green peppers that I buy.
Any animals I consume aren't going to do anything for me or the rest of us.
It wasn't a swine that cured Polio.
And people say meat-eaters are the aggressive ones.
While riding in a car with Turpin they passed a cyclist.
He yelled from the window, "Thanks for riding a bike!"
My new friend didn't realize that homie was probably riding a bike in the first place because he was charged with a DUI within the past year.
When I pass someone riding a bike I yell at them, "Go back to China!"
Feels more appropriate.
Joke's on this emaciated bigot, though.
Because I stole the little link of bicycle chain that he inexplicably wore on a string around his neck.
He probably removed it from some bike that he used to date.
I tell people that the link is from a larger bike chain I used to use.
When I was in a gang (my idea).
A gang called 'The Bats'.
Because they attack everyone with bats (Turpin's idea).
I was the black sheep of the group because I used a bicycle chain.
I wear it around my neck to remember my criminal glory days.
We used to primarily dent the hoods of cars.
And kill old people, eating their raw flesh.

Lucky Break

This may work now.
Remember when I went off to Montreal or wherever to perform in Just For Laughs?
Me neither.
Which is my own fault.
Mom was sweet enough to buy me a disposable camera for the trip.
And that camera is still in its rocketman space-age silver wrapper now.
In my backpack.
Next to the lube.
Anyway. I went there.
Below is a video of the set that allowed this.
Which I may or may not be allowed to embed.
If it asks you for a password, the whole thing is moot.
I know the password, but I'm confident that I'm not allowed to give it to you.
It's really hilarious, so don't watch it if you're trying to feel sorry for yourself.

When the soldiers were in the trenches, eating peanut butter to survive, do you suppose they ever paused to think:
"I hope they dedicate a day to me when this is all over.
One in which people can go to the movie cinema when they would otherwise be working."

Paul Warford Showcase, February 24, 2010 from Zoe Randall on Vimeo.

edit: Okay, so the video does require a password.
I'm working on downloading it.
Again.
Stay mildly interested.

Sarah Strain and Paul

Some days you wake up and you think to yourself:
I don't need Sarah Turpin as a best friend any more.
I can play the guitar now.
I see Gossey on a regular basis.
I can make new friends.
"Who needs her?!" You decide.
But, then you pause to imagine her in a pie-eating contest.
And you say to yourself, "Oh, that's right.
That's why I do this."
And then you're back to square one.

Just Watching TV

Do you really wish to see how fundamentally odd cable digital high-def PVR TV has become?
If the answer is "yes"-
-And I'm not sure whether or not it should be
Leave your TV on mute.
For an entire day.
Glance up from your Sudokus to observe it occasionally.
It's the best way to glimpse how retarded commercials have become.
Who are commercials designed for, really?
Adults?
Which adults?
Anyone who wants to buy their toilet paper from a cartoon bear-
Or a suspiciously telepathic Golden Retriever puppy-
Should be labeled as 'adult' with a degree of caution.
Maybe kids would read more if our gum commercials didn't involve middle-aged men bursting into office buildings on ostriches.
Though I doubt it.

I'm likely writing this way because I'm currently reading Klosterman's Sex, Drugs, Cocoa Puffs.
And though he has already proven through his first chapter that his ability to social analyze is way beyond mine...
...You can't help but think, "I can do this, too" when you read it.

hyphen count: 4

What's Not to Like?

I've got a joke for ya.
Would you like to hear a joke?
Alright.
Okay.
Ahem.
Sometimes when I'm warming up my throat before a really good joke, instead of saying "ahem," i like to say, "meha!"
Anyway.
Why did the lobster fuck his buddy's girlfriend?
Because he was a shellfish asshole.
Ta da!

Having sex with the best friend's girlfriend is really everyone's true romantic aspiration.
She often likes all of the same things you like.
Because she likes all of the same things that your buddy likes.
Which are all of the same things that you like.
Which is why you like your buddy and is why your buddy likes his girlfriend.
It only stands to reason that in time you start to like what your buddy likes.
In a woman.
And the nutty thing is that once you two start going for ice cream.
Without bothering to tell your buddy about it.
You realize that you like more of the same stuff than your buddy.
"Rainbow! That's my favourite flavour too!"
"Really?!"
"Yeah! I never get it with Buddy because he says-"
"-That it's too effeminate to be an ice cream flavour!?"
"Yeah!"
When you're finishing one another's sentences, handjobs are soon to follow.
And all of a sudden, you like the one thing that your buddy likes that you're not supposed to like:
Having sex with your buddy's girlfriend.
In time he finds out that you like the one thing that he likes that you're not supposed to like.
And he doesn't like it.
And now, what's more, he doesn't like you.
He doesn't like her.
And you wish that you'd never bothered noticing the things that she liked that you like.
Now all three of you dislike the scenario.
Yup.
Sex with the best friend's girlfriend.
Nothing quite like it.

"Sorry I'm Late."

This is one of those occasions.
I have been away from the blog for so long that when I come back I don't know what to say by way of apology.
Like I stood you up on a second date.
Or I told you that I was 'just going for cigarettes'.
So that I could abandon yourself and your mother.
And your little sister.
But she'll be too young to ever remember me.
And one night at the dinner table, while you're all eating the velcro out of your shoes, little Betsie will speak up and say:
"What was daddy like? When are we going to see daddy?"
And your mother will scream, "He was a bum! That's what he'll always be!
Don't you ever mention him!"
Then she grabs Betsie by the shoulders, looks into her eyes.
"Don't you never marry a man who smokes, Betsie.
He'll only leave you."
And Betsie will get real quiet and doe-eyed.
Your mother will storm out of the room and begin drinking mouthwash.
While sobbing in the bathroom.
And you'll say to Betsie, "It's okay Betsie.
Just eat your shoe, okay?"
But that night something will have changed inside of you.
What was once dormant has now stirred.
And you have decided: You're going to find me and kill me.
For allowing you to live like this. All of you.
Three years you spend on the road.
Going from gas station to gas station.
Asking, "Do you sell cigarettes?"
After the greasy attendants nod, you always show them a photo and say:
"Have you sold cigarettes to this man?"
And they inevitably shake their head.
Because the photo is a clipping from the newspaper.
And the man in the photograph is Brian Tobin.
Because your mother once told you as a child that your dad was away because he was an important politician.
And she showed you this picture.
But I am not Brian Tobin.
And I never will be.
After the third winter you surrender your trek.
Through menacing forests and placid swamps you trudge home.
You find your mother bedridden with dysentery.
While letters suffocate the coffee tin your family uses as a mailbox.
All hand-written warnings from Betsie's teachers:
Betsie never completes her homework, they say.
And you crumple to your knees and you curse my name.
"I'll never be like you, Brian!
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
Your lamentations and the pounding of your fists on the sheet metal flooring of your shack will echo about the desolate room.
Then I walk in through the door.
Now what am I supposed to say in a situation like that?
Whatever it is, that's what I'm saying to all of you now.