Alma Mater Matters

I'm not hungover, exactly, but I do wish I was still in bed.
I dropped by my buddy Scott's last night.
Scott is quickly turning into that long-standing friend who you want to keep around in case you ever need to borrow money.
We had beers with an old Acadia buddy and then we had hamburger dogs with a slightly older buddy (ol' Joshey).
As busy as Dave Chappelle, Scott has a huge case that he's working on, and his free time totals nil.
I pondered this last night as he rambled on about how busy he was while I tried not to stare at his veneers
(I still haven't gotten used to them).
If I have free time, which I often do, I spend it alone in my room, or down at the sushi house.
Scott spends it with old college buddies.
There's something important to that.
As we traversed a hamster's maze of overhead walkways en route to meet Brendan-
"What's he been up to? Is he living in America [Brendan's from Maine]?"
"I dunno, man. I haven't talked to him in years."
"So, what's he doing now? Does he have a wife or a baby?"
"I dunno, man. I really have no idea what he's been up to."
"Well, that's good, that puts you and I on the same page, then.
Does he know I'm coming?"
"Nope."
"Well, that'll be a nice surprise for him."
-Scott had a couple of people greet him as we passed.
Meanwhile, the bums don't ask me for change
You have to make time for people.
You also have to lock your windows at night, kids.
The northern face of Halifax has seen a rash of break-ins lately.
Thieves are primarily making off with the family jewels and the Xbox controllers.
While we sat outside that night, a copper shone his light into our yard and asked if we'd heard any bushels rustle.
The neighbor's alarm had gone off.
It's only when something like this happens right on your doorstep that you realize:
Cops have exceptionally bright flashlights.
Anyway, don't look at me.
I'll stick to robbing grocery stores, thank you.

Brendan didn't have a wife, but he did bring along a woman.
He was in town for a wedding.
While making conversation with her, I asked how long they had been together.
She replied with, "Three months."
This is the exact time frame in which you start going to weddings together.
And the first wedding you go to together is the point where you look at the other person and either say, "Yeah, alright."
Or, you say to yourself, "Jesus, does he always eat this many shrimp at a buffet?
In public?
I've gotta get out of this."
It's a very deciding time to be at a wedding.
Luckily, I was too distracted to mention this because I was trying not to look at her breasts through her semi-see-through dress.

SWORDFISH UNCENSORED

Get drunk and wing the bridesmaid speech.
It's Friday.

Myself and the hired statisticians were looking at some recent Tragic Hero figures.
Upon doing so, we uncovered a startling discovery:
Among the most prominent keyword searches on Google that led readers to my blog, five of the top ten were for media of Halle Berry nude.
"Halle berry nude pics" "Halle Berry Nuda" and so on.
I had no idea that she has been acting as such an influence on this blog's continued, baffling success.
So, I decided to write Halle a letter to thank her personally, the body of which follows:

Miss Berry,
It would seem as though we're strange bedfellows. Through the course of describing your supple body and all of its intricacies, I have garnered for myself, unintentionally, a new stable of readers for my humble blog (www.paulwarford.com. A great read if you're bored on set. Does your trailer have wi-fi?). Evidently, miscreants who are perusing the annals of The Internet to view nude clips and images of yourself are finding themselves at my doorstep, so to speak, and, as a result, traffic for my little Internet nook are at an all-time high.
Now, far be it for me to poach your own fan base - ample though it may be - and I can assure you that a diminishing of your popularity was, and is, far from my mind. As such, I have informed my readers of you body's influence on my success, and have assured them that I will be thanking you for your continued, albeit ignorant, support. Consequently, I have enclosed with this posting a Tragic Hero button (the first and only of its kind), as well as a gift certificate for Best Buy. Furthermore, I have included a small sampling of my skin cells and eyelashes, should you need them.
I bid you kind regards and true wishes of success in your continuing career, and I will be sure to grant you more accolades regarding a body most decadent in the years to come, until your age ultimately catches up with you.
With profound sincerity,
Paul Warford

P.S. Your breasts really are terrific. Your sex scene in Monster's Ball with Billy Bob Thornton gave me a massive hard-on, despite Billy Bob Thornton.

Hot Cross'd Bus (Drivers)

Talk about your martyrs...
Some bus drivers in Paraguay are protesting their recent layoffs by having themselves crucified.
This is a pretty far cry from our metro protests, which involve a few of the b'ys lighting a fire in a barrel, and then standing around it.

Maybe making a sign or two:

"HONK YOUR HORN IF YOU DRIVE A CAR AND DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT BUSES ANYWAY!"

I believe in integrity and standing up for your work ethic. 

However, there has to be a point where you say, "Fuck this, I'm going to apply for a job at the post office."

If I've Told You Once, I've Told You A Thousand Times

Alright, enough's enough.
Let's simplify this:
When I say, "Hey guys, this is post #1000," you all raise your hands over your heads slightly, and mutter, "Yay."
Ready? Okay.
Hey muchachos, it's post #1000.
...
Alright, great. Let's get back to talking about chicks in bikinis.
Poolside!
Y'know, it's not even the thousandth post, technically speaking.
The post where I said, "Stay tuned, next post is a multiple of 1000," that was the 1000th post.
And, to get technical on our technical speaking, which we should, that wasn't it either.
See, while trying to decide on what to write about for my 1000th post, I considered a "through-the-years" sort of reflection.
However, my lack of thoroughidity put the calipers to the discs on that one pretty quickly.
You go back through your blog that is supposed to be your life and you realize that your life's a mess.
Or, it's in need of tidying, anyway.
This is where this whole "1000th post" wreath begins to lose its petals.
Because, if I read something from October of 2009 that consists of:
"Hey guys! No time today, so check out this link while I go get a haircut," and I check the link to find it broken, I'm not sure that that counts as a post.
It doesn't, is why.
Besides the haircut, nothing is being communicated there.
So, God knows what number this post actually is.
Frankly, I think it's best if we all just move past it and get on with our blogs.
Am I right, comrades!?
Y'know, 1000(ish) posts have gone by, and I'm not sure I've used the word 'Nazi' once.
So much content, and still things get left out.
Alright, let's see the stupid cake:

Ta-da.
Whatever number we're on, I've had a good time.
I thank all of you who check this blog regularly, no matter how misguided you may be.
"Another post and he still hasn't written shit all about hunting quail!"
All I've ever needed is someone to pay attention to me, so thanks for that.
...
...
Rob Lowe actually startled me with how beautiful he is a couple of weeks ago.
I swear to God(s) this is true.
It was dark and I was tidying my play area, and Rob Lowe was on the cover of a magazine that I had already seen.
And I glimpsed it and physically started.
Thinking something along the lines of, "Jesus! Oh, it's just beautiful Rob Lowe."

Alright, well, let's cut the shit and make way for post 10,000.
Meanwhile, here are some things to expect in the future:
-more stock market quotes
-more injuries
-more steamy love scenes
-more discussion on just how hot Anna Paquin is, really
-more material I`ve unintentionally lifted from The Simpsons
Along the way, I`ll continue to see you as I have always seen you:
Potential Ad Revenue.