Wise Guys

Long ago, before VISA existed, people would have to pay for their presents through other means.
Poor families would often have to struggle in order to afford enough Furbees for their numerous chilren.
Oftentimes, they would strke an accord with the local merchants.
They would be given all of the Ninja Turtles and Go-Bots they would need.
In exchange for one of these children.
The merchants could keep these youngssters as property.
And set them to toil in the furnace rooms of their elaborate mansions.
Traditionally, the family would open all of their gifts Christmas morning.
Then, the following day, they would take the agreed upon child-
Oftentimes the most unattractive, or irratiting would be chosen-
And then the family would force this urchin into a box.
Taking turns drilling air holes into the top of the box.
And then lifting the box, as a family, to the previously determined delivery point specified by the merchant.
Boxing Day.
In time, the merchants would have a surplus of reject, Boxing Day children.
So he would sell them to barren, childless families.
At ludicrously low prices.
Boxing Day sales.

That was lackluster, at best.
Hi.
Sorry I haven't been around.
But all but the most depressed and lonely of you have probably not been around either.
For another Christmas Day has passed.
And each year at this time, I can't help but think:
Gold, frankincense and myrrh are terribly irrational gifts to give a baby.
Gold makes sense, I guess.
You could trade that for figs.
But the other two are tree sap.
If someone brought tree sap to a baby shower these days, everyone would later talk about that person behind their back.

You Could Name the Cats

Lisa Loeb is not, and has never been, the girl of my dreams.
But it's not for a lack of effort.

I Know What You're Thinkin'

I bought the majority of the gifts that I need to buy yesterday.
There was a wooden train for Tommy.
And a little doll for Susie.
And a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps for Tommy and Susie's divorcee mom.
I can't wait to see their faces when they open them.

Y'know what bothers me about humans and telepathy?
They won't even entertain the possibility of being able to communicate
Without using sounds or movements.
(Like shouting, or semaphore).
I'm not referring to this-'I'm thinking of a number between one and another one.
What is it?"
-Hocup pocus garbage.
Mathematics are so impersonal.
I was in the shower ("Oh, here it comes") and I was thinking of a non-event.
I was picturing Turpin and I in a room with Colin.
Which has happened before.
But there's no bottle of peppermint schnapps this time.
Anyway, Turpin is telling Colin stories about her various lovers.
Disfigured and unbalanced as they are.
And I want her to tell him the story about that guy who bought her a teak table.
After knowing her for some short period of time.
While she was in B.C., and therefore eventually travelling.
A teak table.
And I say to her (I'm still in the shower, imagining all of this):
"Tell Colin the story about that guy."
Which is how I would say it to her.
And she'd piss and fiddle about, acting like she doesn't know which guy I'm talking about.
THOUGH SHE TOTALLY DOES BECAUSE WE'RE SOUL MATES.
So, I just look her in the eye, say nothing, and repeat, "Teak table teak table teak table."
Over and over again in my head.
That's where this deranged fantasy ended.
Because I then started thinking about writing this post.
This is how my brain works.
Personally, I think that if this were really happening, she would figure it out.
And why is that so far-fetched?
Every generation, humanity believes that they know everything.

4th Century
"Well, someone wrote the Kama Sutra, and we have invented the trebuchet.
Nothing can stop us now."

[Time Passes]

8th Century
"Well, we've invented the harp.
And horseshoes.
Angels have something to play.
And horses have something to wear on their feet.
Nothing can stop us now."

[Time Passes]

11th Century
"Well, we've invented the magnifying glass and the hypodermic needle.
Now people can pass on AIDS to one another.
As soon as someone starts banging monkeys-
Like that would ever happen!"
[Resounding laughter]
"Yes lads, nothing can stop us now."

[Time Passes]

18th Century
"Well, we've invented the steamboat, and Napolean's boys found The Rosetta Stone.
We'd try and take it from him, but he has so many damned trebuchets.
Regardless, nothing can stop us now."

[Times Passes]

20th Century
"We've invented Blogger.com and the Furbee.
Yes, we've finally done it.
Nothing can stop us now."

This joke ran away with itself.
These people of the past all seem so old.
But, it's important to realize that we're already as old as they are.
Of course, these are all inventions, and I'm talking about a (meta?)biological thing.
But if we have figured out how to fight static cling.
I don't see why we can't be telepathic as well.

Three-Legged Race

Myself versus Terry Fox.
I'd make this joke about another famous one-legged person if I could think of one.
This could be construed as mean.
If it wasn't for the fact that we all know Terry would win.

Are You Still Here?

I recently bought pornography from an airport news stand.
That's right.
In print.
I also still do my banking in a bank.

My parents only get to experience 'empty nest syndrome' when I go to buy gas.
With their money.

Really, we should get our tombstones on our first birthdays.
That should be our first birthday gift.
They have the party hat on Ruddiger.
His grandparents are there.
Ruddiger has his birthday outfit on.
He's in his high chair.
He's needy. He's confused.
And then they open his gift for him because he can't grip anything.
To display, in marble:

RUDDIGER SURNAME
A MONUMENTAL DISAPPOINTMENT
BORN DECEMBER 14, 2010
DIED ____________

That way, Ruddiger will always be aware of the fact that his time on this earth is fleeting.
He'll also realize, with age, that his parents were jerks for picking that epitaph for him.
Adults complain that kids believe that they're 'invincible'.
"Driving their goddamn cars on two wheels.
Kids think they're invincible these days."
I believe that adults think they're invincible, too.
Until they're diagnosed with something or the plane fails to leave the tarmac.
This would solve this problem for everyone.
Young and old.

Do you think that animals realize that they're doomed?
Probably.
But you have to wonder.
When a deer is eating grass in a clearing, does he think:
"Eating grass is so boring.
I can't believe I have to do this until the end of time."
Or does he eat grass in a clearing and think:
"I'm incredibly vulnerable right now."

The Look of Love

They've been talking about Mona Lisa lately.
And by 'lately', I guess I mean the last five hundred years or so.
But in the past few weeks.
The ol' bimbo is in the spotlight again.
I'll tell you what she's smiling about.
Though I don't know why it matters.
It used to be about the painting.
Eventually it became about Mona herself.
Lisa.
Whoever.
Instead of the methods used to paint her.
Or the painter himself.
Those of us outside of art circles (which is most of us) are obsessed with the model.
This never would have happened with a bowl of fruit.
Anyway!
I know what makes her smile so intriguing.
And I know you'll read this and say, "Paul's just trying to be funny (again)."
But look at it and tell me this isn't at least-
At the very least!
Plausible.
Isn't she sort of smiling like she just fucked the painter?

edit:
On a second glance, it kinda looks like she had sex with the painter.
But immediately regretted it afterwards.
Like she's thinking, "Oh man. How am I gonna get out of this?
He's probably going to be sending me pigeons all of the time now.
Asking me to go for coffee with him."

The Good Fight

I'll tell you what's wrong with 'Movember'.
Really, it's the name.
If you want to act like you're changing something, that's fine.
But don't give it a retarded name that a junior high class would think up-
And I would know.
Kids are illiterate as it is.
You have enough grown men and women calling the month 'Movember'.
And children will believe that that's what it's actually called.
Then they'll assume from looking at calendars that the sound an 'M' makes is actually spelled with an 'N'.
Then I'll have to teach them the difference.
When they're in grade eight and failing language arts.
So you're making work for me.

Besides.
Now men will be encouraged to grow mustaches every year at this time.
Because you want to 'fight cancer'.
'Fighting cancer' is having luekemia.
It's not altering how you groom yourself.
People only do this shit because:
A) Everyone knows someone who has died from it, and
B) Everyone, though they won't admit it, is afraid of getting it.
And they delude themselves into thinking that if they 'fight cancer' then they must be a nice enough person to not get cancer.
The exact same principle is behind most forms of worship.
Ignoring that, you can't fix a problem by throwing money at it.
Polio wasn't cured with ribbons pinned to lapels.
And wheelbarrows of ducats and sovereigns.
It was Jonas.
Jonas alone figured it out.
Probably while he was living with his parents and surviving on Spaghetti-O's.
Cancer will be resolved in the same manner.
Or not at all.
So, take your car ribbon stickers.
And your rubber band bracelettes.
And put them in a pile.
Set them ablaze, and while doing so face facts:
They don't make a fuckin' difference.
You wanna 'fight cancer', get a couple of buddies and a pickup truck.
Wrap some tow cables around the legs of a cell phone tower.
And haul that fucker down.

Geez, I'm moody today.
Aren't I moody?

I Am With You, Always

I put up Christmas lights today.
They look great.
It was awful.

This is my seven hundred and seventy-fourth post.
And I look back on our time together-
The hopes and dreams. The head injuries.
And I think, "Beautiful women are like bears.
They're as afraid of you as you are of rejection."
Then I think about how much I'd love to have all of you in the bath with me.
And now I can!
After sieging a couple of parking meters, I have accumulated enough hard currency.
I have purchased a laptop.
This means I'll likely write more posts for you people while I'm on the bus.
That is, whenever I'm not masturbating (on the bus).

Drink and Droll

I'm off of beer, lately.
Well, let me qualify that:
I'm on beer.
Daily.
I just have no desire to drink it in handsome capacities any more.
Beer gives me headaches.
Beer would be making me fatter if that was a possibility.
I'm off of it.
Which I explained to Avril as we wandered around the liquor store on Friday.
We were on our way to a party.
They served an incredibly hot beverage there.
It was probably a traditionally Christmas concoction.
It smelled like it may have had nutmeg in it.
I was terrified that I would spill it over the scalp of someone sitting on the couch below me.
Anyway.
I ultimately rested before the vodka section.
"I could do vodka."
It must be exhausting to listen to me make a decision.
I ask the woman, "What could I mix with vodka?"
She and Avril both gave me a number of suggestions.
"Right, it's vodka." I say to them.
"Anything works with vodka.
Why would I ask you about it?
We both went to high school."
So I bought vodka, mentioning that it would end up being a bad idea, probably.
"I have vodka at home that I'm not going to drink," Avril offered.
"Nah. If I'm going to make a mistake, I might as well pay for it."

Last Dance with Taylor Rain*

Stephen Coombs impregnated his wife.
He videotaped it and put it up on the internet.
Now, I think that if enough of us fellas got together and did that.
We could make a lot of internet money.
Which-in case you were unaware-is as real as real money.
All it takes is a really great idea like this.
For a bunch of us to be set.
They weren't doing this in Grease.
We could have pregnant Rizzo on there, for the people who were into that.
Now Coombs' wife, Angela, has spit out the baby.
And they are legally bound to it.
Which I think is wonderful.
Because Coombs and Angela are two balanced individuals.
They love each other.
They don't create their own alcohol in their bathtub.
Their first kid can probably read-
At the very least, I know that she's potty trained.
It's a good thing that this is happening.
Most people shouldn't be having babies, though.
There are too many people on the planet.
Have you been to China, lately?
It's packed over there.
You know how MuchMusic Video Dance Parties are really awesome?
But if you have too many people in the gym, then no one can dance.
It's tough to move around.
Other people are trying to get in through the gym door.
Shouting, "Play that Timbaland song!"
Others are yelling back at them, "No! There's no room, Jason.
Go on, Jason!"
But Jason comes into the gym anyway.
Accompanied by those two guys that always follow him around but never say anything.
One of them sort of looks like that guy who can't see the Magic Eye in Mallrats.
And the other one always has dead skin behind his ears.
No one likes these people.
Coombs and Angela would never raise people like this.
Anyway, then no one is dancing at the MuchMusic Video Dance.
Then someone starts a rumor that the principal is in the science lab.
While the dance is going on.
And they`re making out with a dog.
Desperate to witness this, everyone tries to exit the Gym at the one time.
And most are trampled to death.
That's where the planet is headed.
We let in many more Jasons, and we'll all be crumpled on the floor.
Only people who really love one another should be having babies.
Two people should not be having babies just because they like the same TV shows.
That's not a reason to produce life.

I occasionally use chopsticks when I feel like wasting my time.

*I thought up this cute title as a pun on that stupid Tom Petty song.
And while I typed it out I thought, "Man, I hope this is really a person."
Because I was pretty sure that Taylor Rain is a pop singer.
But that's Taylor Swift.
Taylor Rain is a porn star.
Nevertheless, I'm keeping the title.

Coombs and Ang, this one's for you.
The pressure's on.

Race Relations

I need a haircut now.
I need a haircut often.
People are always suggesting that I grow my hair out.
This is an easy suggestion to make when it's someone else's scalp.
I can suggest that you pierce both of your nipples.
And run a chain between them.
It's not like I have any investment in your nipples.
Unless you are someone from a choice list of my unrequited loves.
Dana what's-her-face in Saskatchewan, I'm talking to you.
It gets incredibly dry when it's long.
I ruin bathtubs with it.
I have to use large globules of conditioner on a daily basis.
My long-haired days are over.
I have been to college.
My button-down years are beginning.

I intend to get my haircut at a new place in St. John's.
Apparently it is geared towards...urban customers.
This is what I have been told.
"Urban" and "black" became interchangeable so quickly, I'm surprised 'urban' isn't a type of crayon already.
Anyway.
I need options.
So this is my current course of action.
Or, it will be when I go there.
If I ever go there.
If this place even exists.

Did I ever tell you about the first time I spoke to a black person?
Shawn Tate.
He lived with me in residence.
He was next door to another Shaun who had no personality, but managed to lose a bunch of weight.
Which is the next best thing.
If you're wondering how he did it, he consumed drinks made with colored powders.
And ate nothing but cans of tuna. For months on end.
Nothing to it.
That new dress size is out there, and it's waiting for you.
Anyway. Fuck that guy.
I was talking about Shawn Tate.
Shawn Tate was from a rather 'urban' area or Toronto.
He dressed the way that black people were depicted on TV.
Which was all I had to go on up to this point.
And he drank Colt .45 from brown paper bags.
Even when he was inside.
He used to leave the bottles on the heater in his room prior to opening them.
Which is awful.
He once took his penis out while in the boy's washroom on our floor.
I missed that, luckily.
Anyway, I got hammered once and began speaking to him in September one night.
And I said, "There are no brothers in Newfoundland."
Which is embarrassing now.
But this seemed like an important thing to tell him at the time.
He was cool about it.
Other brothers may have reacted very differently.

Some other guy on our floor took his penis out in the bathroom once, too.
While I was in there.
I was shaving the three hairs from my (virgin's) face.
While he groomed his chest hair next to me.
Without any sort of announcement, he took his penis out and laid it on the bathroom counter.
I would have told him that this was an unsanitary practice.
But I was too terrified.
Though I'm still not sure about urban myths, TV had things right with the Italians.
It's best not to stare at another man's penis in a bathroom.
Even when he's sort of inviting it.
So, I did a glance.
I can't say that Italians have large penises.
But I can say that this Italian's penis was certainly larger than mine.