Casting A Spell

I'd love to tell you about all of the shmoozing I have been doing, and how shitty I am at it.
But I no longer feel as though I need to speak to you.
Seriously, though.
I'm in a 'business center' that isn't air conditioned, and I'm miserable because of it.
Soon enough I'll go back to being a gangly person without a day job.
I'll have plenty of time on my hands to yammer at you then.
While we wait for that, please check out my podcast on the Todd Van Allen, or TVA show.
This happened last Thursday, I think.
It was on the second floor of a building.
I'm certain of that much.
You can find the podcast (his 200th!) here.

"How Much Time Am I Doing?"

How's it going?
It's great to be here!
I just flew in last night
All the snacks cost too much
Wrote jokes about the flight

My room's AC was on the fritz
My eggs fried on their own
They 'fixed it'--now it won't shut off
I haven't thought of home

I go out to help get warm
Come in to help cool down
I've paced the lobby twenty times
There's no one else around

I wake late morning, nap at four
Dinner's at one a.m.
The other comics have bigger rooms
At least I'm making friends

Did a podcast, played some rooms
Put beer on someone's tab
Flew out twice at the cock's crow
Paid too much for a cab

My iPod is my new best friend
My TV's my new dad
Super Sexe has my new gals
Perhaps I'll do their ads.

I don't know what I'm doing here
Or how I got this pass
All the others know so much
They must think I'm an ass

I just spit it when I'm on the mic
And pray there's some applause
Hope the dudes will clap their hands
As girlfriends throw their bras

All the pros are so damned smooth
Seven hundred's no big deal
Maybe one day I'll be them
How fucked would that feel?

I'll try to shmooze with Jimmy Carr
The boys from SNL
If I don't throw up in their drink
I'll say that 'it went well'

The scariest are 'the industry'
Who know the whys and whos
Make me the next gillionaire
In 'The Hangover 2'

I try to take it all in stride
And wear my stupid shirts
If they happen to not dig my ways
They'll get their just desserts

Go over new lines. Eat something light
Then get in the shower
I have another show to do
My car comes in an hour

It's All Over but the Riots

The World Cup is over.

I know.

I watched the whole thing bleed out and die personally.

In a restaurant in Montreal.

I watched the entire match with other comics who didn't have the sense to not watch it.

115 hours of tepid action, punctuated with one goal.

It was fabulously adequate.

Now there are people honking car horns and brandishing flags without the usual nationalistic caution.

It's sickening.

I wouldn't find the display so aggravating if it wasn't for the motorcade of units behind the whole thing.

Banging on their car doors.

Shouting things with their shirts off.

What a crock of shit.
You don't need a soccer game to take pride in your country and get piss-wasted hammered.

That's what the olympics are for.

A Wing and a Scare

Written on Westjet flight 400-and-something
July 7; 7:05 a.m..

I'm in a plane right now.
It's flying without my help.
It's hard to concentrate because I'm on the wing.
I'm always on the wing.
This gives me something to whine about because:
A) it's the loudest seat to sit in.
B) if the engine suddenly falls off, it's my responsibility to stand up and yell:
"The engine just fell off of the plane!"
Which makes me look like the bad guy.
I watched Toy Story 3. It was good.
But it was in 3D, so when it was over I had to go back to perceiving things the way I usually perceive them.
Bland.
I hate the guy sitting next to me.
And he didn't even do anything.
Except sit next to me.
I guess that's enough.
Sitting on a plane is like sitting on other vessels; you desperately don't want anyone sitting next to you.
Unless it's one of those Hawaiian Tropic girls.
Babes.
They prefer to be called babes.
There are so many people sleeping right now.
I should do my "the engine just fell off the plane!" line now.
For practice.

Two for the Show

I'm in Toronto.
But with the Humidex I'm in Toronto and contrary.
It's still early in the morning here.
But not as early as it was when Avril and I first got up to go to the airport.
She sang Leaving on a Jet Plane while I went through security.
I was mortified.
Anyway, I'm at Brian's and I want to nap.
So why am I even talking to you, really?

I do and will have more to tell you, though.
I wrote you all a post while I was on the plane.
Shorthand!
I performed shorthand for you vultures!
But I'll transcribe that later.

Oh!
There was a Just For Laughs guy at the airport waiting for me.
With a sign.
He introduced himself and then said, "Do you have your luggage?"
I responded, "No. Should I?"
He pointed behind me and said, "Should be through there."
The door I'd just walked through had red stickers all over it.
Telling us not to go in there.
"Are we going to be able to get in there?" This is me again.
"Oh yeah, that's fine."
Then he pried the door apart with his hands.
A Yuk Yuk's guy would've told me that I'd have to buy all new luggage.
Anyway, I had to tell him that I didn't know he'd be there.
And that I didn't need a ride.
He had to call Wayne and tell Wayne.
I believe he woke Wayne in the process.
So I'm already making friends.
Alright. That's it.
What do you want me to bring you back?
Little CN Towers?
A flesh wound?

I Beg Your Pardon

I pardon puns.
But not non-puns.
Usually people say, 'Pardon the pun,' after saying something that is not at all a pun.
These are the same individuals who say:
"I'm really bad at telling jokes.
So! These two nuns walk into a bar.
No wait...it's raccoons.
These two raccoons walk into a bar..."

A Little Meat on Their Bones

Sure, they're sexy vegetarians.
But nobody's asking the real question here:
Just what is the man's relationship with that goat, exactly?
The answer isn't in his bio.
The woman is opposed to killing animals.
And wearing shirts that have buttons.

Three's Company

Shouldn't it be "The flowers and the bees"?
What do birds have to do with it?
Maybe I just haven't had enough sex to figure it out yet.
My good buddies Peter and Turpin are coming home.
Did I ever tell you about the time with Tupin and the butter?
We used to talk on the phone and look at one another through her kitchen window and my den window.
She would always insist on taking her shirt off for me.
Anyway, show time had just finished.
And I suggested to her that she dip her finger in butter.
And then dip it in suger.
And then eat it.
She seemed skeptical, but I insisted that it was really good.
Eventually she tried it.
Now she does it all of the time.

They're coming home.
Did I mention that?
They've been in some place with camels for a long time now.
Some place hot.
I'll have to be at the airport for when they arrive.
But, for the life of me, I can't decide on what to wear.
I mean, even if I found chaps in time...
...I wouldn't be permitted to wear something assless in an airport.
I was also thinking of some sort of tutu number.
But they saw that just before they left.
Suggestions?

edit: Oh yeah!
I forgot to add this.
Under the 'artists' tab I'm on the same page as Pamela Anderson.
My bio was heavily edited by...somebody.

Writing on the Wall

'Biblical proportions' is just another way of saying 'highly unlikely.'

I vomited early on Sunday morning.
That was the only day this weekend, though.
I drank four beers.
One bottle and three pints.
"So, really you drank six beers.
Cause a pint is like a beer and a half.
Seven beers."
Robert explained this to me yesterday while dogs frolicked around us.
Robert's good at math.
The important thing to realize here is that after vomiting, Avril brought me saltines.

While walking through the mall's skywalk, I noticed that someone had written the following on a support beam:
JESSIE IS THE BEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO ME!!
I wrote underneath it:
It won't last.

Speaking of damned relationships, mom and dad recently observed their fortieth anniversary.
I wasn't there.
And I forgot to call.
But it still happened, just the same.

A Band-Aid Solution

I was invited to volunteer for a school's sports' day.
Which I agreed to.
Because classrooms aren't involved with sports' days.
Fields are.
And the staff barbecue was happening later that same afternoon.
So why not?
They asked me to be there for 8:30.
I hung up the phone and then immediately realized that I didn't want to be there for 8:30.
I'd have to get up and shower before then.
And I'd be there for most of the day.
That's a lot of volunteering for anyone.
My generosity only goes as far as it will benefit me and no one else.
So I immediately called back and told them about the blood work I had to get done in the morning.
Which I'd plum forgotten about.
I found myself in my mother's van at 11 the next day.
Tearing up squares of tissue.
Adhering them to my forearm.
Somewhat nervous that I didn't bring enough band-aids with me.
To keep up my miserable lie.
Then I went and had ice cream with the grade fours.

I eventually went to the ball field to watch the grade sevens shotput.
The only interesting ones to watch were those who were maturing faster than their friends.
"Nice try, David."
"Nice try, Laquesha."
"Holy shit, Jeremy!
Good arm, buddy.
Takes the focus off of your acne."
I saw one of the students I would frequently talk to in the hallways.
Because he never seemed to be in class.
Which I liked.
Anyway, he had his jacket zipped up tight to his collar.
And he was wearing a knitted/stocking cap.
So, I said to him, "Gerald, why are you wearing your jacket and toque on a nice day like this?"
To which he replied, "What the fuck's a toque?"

Will Dust 'Til Dawn

My mother-
wait! I think I hear her!-
...
Alright, we're clear.
We're okay.
My mother insists on the importance of dusting.
Avril was under the microscope on Sunday.
Of course, being under the microscope with my family mostly involves talking to dad about the weather.
Besides, she got some boiled corn out of the deal.
Anywords.
Mom suggested I dust before she get here.
In case she were to go into the living room and start lifting up things.
Dusting is the most nonsensical chore there is.
And they have sprays that you buy for it!
I tell my mother that the only houses that need dusting are abandoned ones.
We're still living here.
We move the air around.
Makes as much sense as spritzing hairspray on the lawn.

Here is a recipe for making homemade furniture polish.
It's a little bitter, but it's a wise alternative to buying by the case.