I had to speak to my vice-principal sort-of boss today.
In his office.
Everything was fine.
It just turns out that I've won most sexually-ambiguous substitute again this year.
But for a moment I was concerned that he had found this blog.
And, more to the point, had been reading it.
I was terrified that he may have figured out that I sometimes curse in front of babies.
I'm always upset when he calls to tell me that he needs me.
He did it just now. Seconds ago (he really did.)
I understand that I'm supposed to be happy that he's calling me.
Because that's an excuse to wear a tie.
But I generally curse when I see his number on my phone.
Junior high just isn't that fun.
Sure, the girls are finally writing me notes while I'm there.
Which I always wanted them to do.
But it's just not the same.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
A Big Dick
The weekend is over now.
Despite my protests.
I worked with Adam Delorey and the filthy Matt Esteves this weekend.
I screwed a co-worker's spouse out of dinner and a show for two.
A one hundred dollar value.
Really, he screwed himself.
I'm not giving out a prize to anyone whose ballot lists 'Dirk Diggler' as their name.
I moved some furniture while wishing I was elsewhere.
Which is the only way I move furniture, really.
Then I was elsewhere.
I bought jeans with the help of Turpin.
Two pairs.
Took us more than half an hour.
Avril says that I flirt with retail people.
And it's true.
It's sort of a reflex.
It was the case with this woman.
Turpin and I were both flirting with her, really.
I wonder who she liked more...
Then nothing else happened.
Mom and dad are siphoning wine.
A process that makes me wish I was drinking it.
Despite my protests.
I worked with Adam Delorey and the filthy Matt Esteves this weekend.
I screwed a co-worker's spouse out of dinner and a show for two.
A one hundred dollar value.
Really, he screwed himself.
I'm not giving out a prize to anyone whose ballot lists 'Dirk Diggler' as their name.
I moved some furniture while wishing I was elsewhere.
Which is the only way I move furniture, really.
Then I was elsewhere.
I bought jeans with the help of Turpin.
Two pairs.
Took us more than half an hour.
Avril says that I flirt with retail people.
And it's true.
It's sort of a reflex.
It was the case with this woman.
Turpin and I were both flirting with her, really.
I wonder who she liked more...
Then nothing else happened.
Mom and dad are siphoning wine.
A process that makes me wish I was drinking it.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
O, Come Off It
Tonight is Oprah's big finale.
Her grand send-off.
She's leaving TV so that she can better control it.
Have you ever watched her network before?
It's really shitty.
And you may not think that that affects you now.
But it certainly will when it's the only network.
For her final show there is speculation as to who the guest will be.
Some said that it was going to be Tom Cruise.
But she already had him on there.
Jumping around on the furniture.
Others believe that it might be Tyra Banks.
Since she's hanging from Oprah's tit anyway.
(Dr. Phil is on the other one).
However, rumours are now cropping that the guest is going to be...Oprah herself!
Hardly a surprise.
She puts out a magazine, names it after herself and then puts herself on every cover.
Gossip has gone on to say that Oprah will address the audience as herself.
And, after giving each person in the crowd their own oil tanker, she's going to shut and lock the doors of the United Center with her mind.
Then she's going to set fire to the entire building.
Tomorrow on ET Mary Hart will say:
"Things were heating up last night on Oprah's send-off show..."
The ground-up bones of her audience members will be used in her new cosmetics line.
...
Sometimes people are taken aback by my aversion to Oprah.
And I really don't get it.
I could call Bill Gates the anti-christ and no one would bat an eye.
You don't become a billionaire magnate by being really nice.
It just doesn't work that way.
How she appears on TV is not genuine.
Just because you give away a bunch of Pontiac G6s doesn't mean you're compassionate.
Look at the women in this photo:
Do any of them look like they need cars?
Do you think any of them took a bus to the taping of the show?
She uses money and power to buy support and numbers.
Military dictators do the same thing.
"But why would she need the support of middle-aged white women?"
It would certainly be a key demographic on the campaign trail, wouldn't it?
Especially when all of the wives make their husbands vote for her, too.
Fuck Oprah.
I hope her guest tonight is Lucifer, just so I can say, "I told ya so."
Her grand send-off.
She's leaving TV so that she can better control it.
Have you ever watched her network before?
It's really shitty.
And you may not think that that affects you now.
But it certainly will when it's the only network.
For her final show there is speculation as to who the guest will be.
Some said that it was going to be Tom Cruise.
But she already had him on there.
Jumping around on the furniture.
Others believe that it might be Tyra Banks.
Since she's hanging from Oprah's tit anyway.
(Dr. Phil is on the other one).
However, rumours are now cropping that the guest is going to be...Oprah herself!
Hardly a surprise.
She puts out a magazine, names it after herself and then puts herself on every cover.
Gossip has gone on to say that Oprah will address the audience as herself.
And, after giving each person in the crowd their own oil tanker, she's going to shut and lock the doors of the United Center with her mind.
Then she's going to set fire to the entire building.
Tomorrow on ET Mary Hart will say:
"Things were heating up last night on Oprah's send-off show..."
The ground-up bones of her audience members will be used in her new cosmetics line.
...
Sometimes people are taken aback by my aversion to Oprah.
And I really don't get it.
I could call Bill Gates the anti-christ and no one would bat an eye.
You don't become a billionaire magnate by being really nice.
It just doesn't work that way.
How she appears on TV is not genuine.
Just because you give away a bunch of Pontiac G6s doesn't mean you're compassionate.
Look at the women in this photo:
Do any of them look like they need cars?
Do you think any of them took a bus to the taping of the show?
She uses money and power to buy support and numbers.
Military dictators do the same thing.
"But why would she need the support of middle-aged white women?"
It would certainly be a key demographic on the campaign trail, wouldn't it?
Especially when all of the wives make their husbands vote for her, too.
Fuck Oprah.
I hope her guest tonight is Lucifer, just so I can say, "I told ya so."
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Royal Treatment
"I left my heart in Lewisporte," they always say.
Everyone's religious here.
There's road construction going on.
It took us twenty minutes to get to the hardware store.
Just like Toronto!
I have been here since Friday and I have learned nothing.
Bussey invited everyone down for a May 2-4 weekend.
In his newish house.
New to us.
It's very open concept, and all of the furniture is the same colour green.
I've been wondering if the furniture came with the house.
Or if they painted it all themselves.
Or bought like one of those sets?
Cause you can buy sets of things that are the same colour.
But I've been afraid to ask.
I'm concerned it's a stupid question.
I threw up Friday night after four beers.
Woke up in the middle of the night.
I think it happened because my heartburn was so bad.
I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse about the whole affair.
Speaking of feeling worse about affairs.
Arnold Schwartzeneger (not checking the spelling) banged his housewife.
Then the news was saying 'illegitimate child' this and that.
And I realized that though the regency is dead, bastard children can still cost you the kingdom.
Or, at the very least, they can cost you made-up women who co-star in your tourism commercials.
I forgot to bring my clothing for this trip, by the way.
I packed them all (the night before!)
But I ended up leaving them in my bedroom.
I remembered my slippers, though.
Those are new.
I figure that if my work ethic and capabilities match an old person's, why fight it?
That's about it.
I carried a box of plaster!
Because I forgot my clothing, and because they're trying to get into heaven-
Before it's too late-
Turpin and Pete bought me some temporary clothing from Bargain Giant.
When photos emerge I'll upload them.
Maybe.
It included a tank top that said "One hit wonder."
Before the weekend was over, I listened to what I consider to be the best there is.
Not best as in, "This is the best one because it's so shitty and dated."
(Right Said Fred.)
I mean the one hit wonder that is legitimately the best song.
Get some headphones on so you can really hear the piano.
What did you guys do for your long weekend?
Worked?
Worked out?
Was the queen on the go, by the way?
I wasn't talking to her.
Everyone's religious here.
There's road construction going on.
It took us twenty minutes to get to the hardware store.
Just like Toronto!
I have been here since Friday and I have learned nothing.
Bussey invited everyone down for a May 2-4 weekend.
In his newish house.
New to us.
It's very open concept, and all of the furniture is the same colour green.
I've been wondering if the furniture came with the house.
Or if they painted it all themselves.
Or bought like one of those sets?
Cause you can buy sets of things that are the same colour.
But I've been afraid to ask.
I'm concerned it's a stupid question.
I threw up Friday night after four beers.
Woke up in the middle of the night.
I think it happened because my heartburn was so bad.
I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse about the whole affair.
Speaking of feeling worse about affairs.
Arnold Schwartzeneger (not checking the spelling) banged his housewife.
Then the news was saying 'illegitimate child' this and that.
And I realized that though the regency is dead, bastard children can still cost you the kingdom.
Or, at the very least, they can cost you made-up women who co-star in your tourism commercials.
I forgot to bring my clothing for this trip, by the way.
I packed them all (the night before!)
But I ended up leaving them in my bedroom.
I remembered my slippers, though.
Those are new.
I figure that if my work ethic and capabilities match an old person's, why fight it?
That's about it.
I carried a box of plaster!
Because I forgot my clothing, and because they're trying to get into heaven-
Before it's too late-
Turpin and Pete bought me some temporary clothing from Bargain Giant.
When photos emerge I'll upload them.
Maybe.
It included a tank top that said "One hit wonder."
Before the weekend was over, I listened to what I consider to be the best there is.
Not best as in, "This is the best one because it's so shitty and dated."
(Right Said Fred.)
I mean the one hit wonder that is legitimately the best song.
Get some headphones on so you can really hear the piano.
What did you guys do for your long weekend?
Worked?
Worked out?
Was the queen on the go, by the way?
I wasn't talking to her.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Imagine My Surprise
You're right, the harmonica is the most whimsical instrument.
It used to be rocks and sharpened sticks.
Now it's the iPhone 4G.
Because the 3G wasn't gee enough.
Point is, despite our tools, we've never stopped being monkeys.
All that has changed is our arrogance.
But then, you're far too sophisticated for me to be right.
Right?
Why be a vegetarian before all of the animals are extinct?
If you think you miss bacon now, wait until you learn that bacon's never coming back.
Except, of course...
(With sincere apologies to Tim Ronin.
That makes sense if you know him.)
Respecting women isn't holding the door open for them.
It's not staring at their ass while you do so.
Alright.
That's enough cynicism for today.
I went to a surprise party last night.
For someone I didn't know.
And after everyone yelled 'Surprise!' he shook my hand.
Saying, "Paul, I didn't expect to see you here."
Which is when I wanted to say, "I didn't expect you to say my name just now."
Play us out, buddy.
It used to be rocks and sharpened sticks.
Now it's the iPhone 4G.
Because the 3G wasn't gee enough.
Point is, despite our tools, we've never stopped being monkeys.
All that has changed is our arrogance.
But then, you're far too sophisticated for me to be right.
Right?
Why be a vegetarian before all of the animals are extinct?
If you think you miss bacon now, wait until you learn that bacon's never coming back.
Except, of course...
(With sincere apologies to Tim Ronin.
That makes sense if you know him.)
Respecting women isn't holding the door open for them.
It's not staring at their ass while you do so.
Alright.
That's enough cynicism for today.
I went to a surprise party last night.
For someone I didn't know.
And after everyone yelled 'Surprise!' he shook my hand.
Saying, "Paul, I didn't expect to see you here."
Which is when I wanted to say, "I didn't expect you to say my name just now."
Play us out, buddy.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Out Your Ass
Why is it that those we rear-end are always assholes?
With brittle necks and bumpers that already needed repairing beforehand?
With brittle necks and bumpers that already needed repairing beforehand?
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Thou Doth Protest Too Much
I had that dream again, everybody.
The one where the PETA grand wizards are protesting outside of Rome's Colosseum.
Because the Romans using live tigers in their show.
And then the burley man comes out to speak to them.
You always see him in the movies.
He's the one who is always wearing a helmet and is always carrying an ax.
And he keeps the slaves in line before they fight.
By today's standards he'd be a stage manager, or an executive producer.
Anyway, that guy comes out to address the PETA crowd.
And he does this by rounding them up and putting them in the following round.
The tiger wins.
The one where the PETA grand wizards are protesting outside of Rome's Colosseum.
Because the Romans using live tigers in their show.
And then the burley man comes out to speak to them.
You always see him in the movies.
He's the one who is always wearing a helmet and is always carrying an ax.
And he keeps the slaves in line before they fight.
By today's standards he'd be a stage manager, or an executive producer.
Anyway, that guy comes out to address the PETA crowd.
And he does this by rounding them up and putting them in the following round.
The tiger wins.
Friday, May 6, 2011
A Bicycle Built for You
Bill MacIntosh has always insisted that "People don't listen. People don't read."
Y'know, I never did tell you about the Bixis in Montreal.
First thing's first:
I look incredible today.
My hair is at all of the right angles, I guess.
It's the lighting.
Noon-time's lighting always presents me well.
No wait.
That's first thing's last.
First thing's first:
A Bixi, for those of you who don't know (God knows I didn't) is a bike.
Readily available at various Bixi stations.
Which occur in Montreal as frequently as pockets of homeless people do.
So they're relatively common.
They provide incredibly frugal, clean, public transit for anyone with two legs.
And a valid credit card.
That's the important part.
So, we're in Montreal, and the Homegrown Competition is over at this point.
Which means that the participants are now finally speaking to one another.
Fellow loser Jane Stanton, despised runner-up Nathan MacIntosh, and myself decide to go for a bike ride.
On the Bixis.
Jane Stanton is a legitimate redhead with a penchant for capris.
She's a celiac, which is a medical condition that only allows you to eat one type of bagel.
They don't toast!
I've seen them put into toasters.
They come back out and they're untoasted.
What does that say about a grain? Fire doesn't affect it.
I wouldn't eat it.
Anyway.
So every time we eat a meal in a restaurant (which is three times a day), Jane has to explain to the uninterested wait staff:
"I'll have a BLT. But I can't have it on normal bread.
I have some bagels here. Could you use one of these?"
Blank stare.
"Cause I'm celiac.
...
I can't eat gluten."
Blank stare, followed by, "Uh, alright."
That's Jane.
I've now told you everything interesting about her.
Nathan Macintosh is a magnificent human being.
Who appreciates brightly-coloured footwear as much as I do.
Nathan looks like the offspring of a beautiful woman and the male equivalent of a troll doll.
In his act he mentions that he looks like Fry from Futurama.
What he neglects to mention is that he also kinda sounds like him...
He's always grinning.
If he died tragically, I'm positive that his funeral would be overrun with hot girls.
That's Nathan.
Bike ride.
We step over some homeless people on the way to the nearest Bixi station.
Renting a bicycle costs five bucks.
I know that my VISA limit is near.
But I also know that even I have that much to spare.
Go to get a bike.
Won't let me do it, and won't explain why.
I try a couple of times and nothing happens.
Jane tries her credit card.
Won't let her do it.
I tell them my credit might be close to being maxed.
Jane explains that she's wanted for fraud in her native B.C..
Hers may not work because of that.
Nathan uses his credit card.
Purchases a ticket for two (an available option) codes.
Unlocks the bikes.
Tries to buy another ticket for one code (the other option).
To unlock another bike.
My bike.
Won't let him do it.
Tries several times.
Nothin'.
We pow-wow what to do next.
Nathan is casually circling around on his bike.
Jane has another credit card back at her apartment.
Which is where all three of us are living at this point.
Why don't I take one of the rented bixis back there?
Get the card.
Come back.
I realize that I don't have time to go over my personal history.
Explain to them why my riding a bike in Montreal on a Saturday afternoon-
During tourist season-
Might not be the best idea.
Squeamish, I simply agree.
You know what they say about riding a bike:
It's just like riding a bike...
Rickety, I'm riding with the traffic.
Cars are whizzing by me at Québécois speeds.
Some one-and-a-half feet away.
Honking their horns.
I try to act cool in front of the receptionist while I wheel this thing into the lobby.
Because I've been trying to act cool in front of her for over a week now.
Gotta keep up the ruse.
"Mind watching my bike?"
Run up. Credit card. Ride back.
Try her card.
Won't let us do it.
Decide to go to another Bixi station.
We ride/walk to the next one.
Try all of the bullshit again.
No go.
Call the 800 number.
Nathan's talking to someone.
It's at this point that Jane and I decide to read the instructions.
First important thing we notice:
$250 deposit is required along with the five dollar fee.
We now know why my card didn't work; I'm a bum.
(I kinda knew all along.)
I already mentioned Stanton's fraud charges.
Nathan's in the background, "Why do you need my credit card number?
...
Because I'd rather not give it to you."
Next important piece of information:
Limit of two bikes per credit card.
Nathan's reading off digits and expiry dates.
My favourite part of the 800 call?
Before Nathan reads his credit card info, he says:
"Alright Montreal, I hope you're listening: four, five, one, zero..."
We get him off of the phone and stand around.
We've been an hour at this so far.
Probably. I can't remember, really.
Ultimately I say, "Well you've gotta go.
What else are we going to do, take turns?
Have me run beside you guys?
It's fine. You go without me."
They ask, "Are you sure?"
"It's fine," laughing I say, "I'll just go jerk off in Jane's room.
Have a wonderful bike ride."
Which they did.
And I never got to tell them I loved them.
There.
That's the story.
Let's never talk about it again.
Y'know, I never did tell you about the Bixis in Montreal.
First thing's first:
I look incredible today.
My hair is at all of the right angles, I guess.
It's the lighting.
Noon-time's lighting always presents me well.
No wait.
That's first thing's last.
First thing's first:
A Bixi, for those of you who don't know (God knows I didn't) is a bike.
Readily available at various Bixi stations.
Which occur in Montreal as frequently as pockets of homeless people do.
So they're relatively common.
They provide incredibly frugal, clean, public transit for anyone with two legs.
And a valid credit card.
That's the important part.
So, we're in Montreal, and the Homegrown Competition is over at this point.
Which means that the participants are now finally speaking to one another.
Fellow loser Jane Stanton, despised runner-up Nathan MacIntosh, and myself decide to go for a bike ride.
On the Bixis.
Jane Stanton is a legitimate redhead with a penchant for capris.
She's a celiac, which is a medical condition that only allows you to eat one type of bagel.
They don't toast!
I've seen them put into toasters.
They come back out and they're untoasted.
What does that say about a grain? Fire doesn't affect it.
I wouldn't eat it.
Anyway.
So every time we eat a meal in a restaurant (which is three times a day), Jane has to explain to the uninterested wait staff:
"I'll have a BLT. But I can't have it on normal bread.
I have some bagels here. Could you use one of these?"
Blank stare.
"Cause I'm celiac.
...
I can't eat gluten."
Blank stare, followed by, "Uh, alright."
That's Jane.
I've now told you everything interesting about her.
Nathan Macintosh is a magnificent human being.
Who appreciates brightly-coloured footwear as much as I do.
Nathan looks like the offspring of a beautiful woman and the male equivalent of a troll doll.
In his act he mentions that he looks like Fry from Futurama.
What he neglects to mention is that he also kinda sounds like him...
He's always grinning.
If he died tragically, I'm positive that his funeral would be overrun with hot girls.
That's Nathan.
Bike ride.
We step over some homeless people on the way to the nearest Bixi station.
Renting a bicycle costs five bucks.
I know that my VISA limit is near.
But I also know that even I have that much to spare.
Go to get a bike.
Won't let me do it, and won't explain why.
I try a couple of times and nothing happens.
Jane tries her credit card.
Won't let her do it.
I tell them my credit might be close to being maxed.
Jane explains that she's wanted for fraud in her native B.C..
Hers may not work because of that.
Nathan uses his credit card.
Purchases a ticket for two (an available option) codes.
Unlocks the bikes.
Tries to buy another ticket for one code (the other option).
To unlock another bike.
My bike.
Won't let him do it.
Tries several times.
Nothin'.
We pow-wow what to do next.
Nathan is casually circling around on his bike.
Jane has another credit card back at her apartment.
Which is where all three of us are living at this point.
Why don't I take one of the rented bixis back there?
Get the card.
Come back.
I realize that I don't have time to go over my personal history.
Explain to them why my riding a bike in Montreal on a Saturday afternoon-
During tourist season-
Might not be the best idea.
Squeamish, I simply agree.
You know what they say about riding a bike:
It's just like riding a bike...
Rickety, I'm riding with the traffic.
Cars are whizzing by me at Québécois speeds.
Some one-and-a-half feet away.
Honking their horns.
I try to act cool in front of the receptionist while I wheel this thing into the lobby.
Because I've been trying to act cool in front of her for over a week now.
Gotta keep up the ruse.
"Mind watching my bike?"
Run up. Credit card. Ride back.
Try her card.
Won't let us do it.
Decide to go to another Bixi station.
We ride/walk to the next one.
Try all of the bullshit again.
No go.
Call the 800 number.
Nathan's talking to someone.
It's at this point that Jane and I decide to read the instructions.
First important thing we notice:
$250 deposit is required along with the five dollar fee.
We now know why my card didn't work; I'm a bum.
(I kinda knew all along.)
I already mentioned Stanton's fraud charges.
Nathan's in the background, "Why do you need my credit card number?
...
Because I'd rather not give it to you."
Next important piece of information:
Limit of two bikes per credit card.
Nathan's reading off digits and expiry dates.
My favourite part of the 800 call?
Before Nathan reads his credit card info, he says:
"Alright Montreal, I hope you're listening: four, five, one, zero..."
We get him off of the phone and stand around.
We've been an hour at this so far.
Probably. I can't remember, really.
Ultimately I say, "Well you've gotta go.
What else are we going to do, take turns?
Have me run beside you guys?
It's fine. You go without me."
They ask, "Are you sure?"
"It's fine," laughing I say, "I'll just go jerk off in Jane's room.
Have a wonderful bike ride."
Which they did.
And I never got to tell them I loved them.
There.
That's the story.
Let's never talk about it again.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Two Birds. One Stone
Oh!
They managed to track down Bin Laden.
For those who have forgotten, the U.S. has been looking for him for some time.
After one of his low-grade music videos interrupted the finale of The Bachelor.
Just goes to show you: no matter what cave you hide in, ABC will find you.
Americans love hunting down and shooting things.
Foxes (the British started this one, I know. But Americans made it cool.)
Skeets.
Perceived threats is a big one.
So, history's highest number of civilian casualties in one sitting
versus
An emaciated man and his harem of "virgins," is a win.
And as our strapped southern buddies have taught us, winning isn't everything.
But it's really Jesus important.
They managed to track down Bin Laden.
For those who have forgotten, the U.S. has been looking for him for some time.
After one of his low-grade music videos interrupted the finale of The Bachelor.
Just goes to show you: no matter what cave you hide in, ABC will find you.
Americans love hunting down and shooting things.
Foxes (the British started this one, I know. But Americans made it cool.)
Skeets.
Perceived threats is a big one.
So, history's highest number of civilian casualties in one sitting
versus
An emaciated man and his harem of "virgins," is a win.
And as our strapped southern buddies have taught us, winning isn't everything.
But it's really Jesus important.
The Lesser of Two Weasels
I just finished voting for the first time in a long time.
I don't feel any different than I did before I voted.
But I own a couple of really short pencils now.
So it won't be a total bust, regardless.
Stephen Harper was the kid in class who would remind the teacher about homework.
"You forgot to give us our spelling test, teacher."
That's Harper the kid.
Impeccable sweater. Cold, dead eyes.
Yes, a Prime Minister only a mother could love.
I've been meaning to ask you this for ages, but I haven't been speaking:
Would you rather be famous and die in a plane crash
OR
Be a nobody and get hit by a bus?
Think about it.
I don't feel any different than I did before I voted.
But I own a couple of really short pencils now.
So it won't be a total bust, regardless.
Stephen Harper was the kid in class who would remind the teacher about homework.
"You forgot to give us our spelling test, teacher."
That's Harper the kid.
Impeccable sweater. Cold, dead eyes.
Yes, a Prime Minister only a mother could love.
I've been meaning to ask you this for ages, but I haven't been speaking:
Would you rather be famous and die in a plane crash
OR
Be a nobody and get hit by a bus?
Think about it.
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