Save Mace

I'd like to be with a girl long enough to know her phone sign-off.
Everyone has a phone sign-off.
My ex-girlfriend's, for example, was:
"Who gave you this number?! Quit calling me!"
It's the little things, you know?

I wouldn't necessarily say that I expect to be maced one day.
But I believe that I have the capacity to be maced.
It's in me to be maced.
Ever get hot sauce in your eyes?
Stings, doesn't it?
Not like rejection.

Only Newfies will get this.
Do you know what heaven is?
Goobies.
A bunch of people meeting up with one another.
Enjoying bowls of turkey soup.

Remember the age when eating baked goods with an alcohol theme was exciting?
You'd eat seconds when no one was looking.
Then you'd brag to your friends the next day.
"Mom had a Harvey Wallbanger cake for pop's birthday.
I ate three pieces.
Then I had a bunch of chocolate liquor candies.
Like, a box of 'em.
I must've been drunk cause I threw up over my bed."

We're slaves to screens, you know.
The government is winning.
And if you read this and say to yourself, "That's ridiculous."
Ask yourself this:
Have you ever defecated in the presence of your laptop?

It's Different When They're Yours

If what's on TV is reality, then we're more doomed than Nostradamus thought.

Pregnant pornography is catching on.
Who's surprised, really?
Talk about your self-sustaining industries.
Do you think the porno guys help the women from the couch to the set?
Ease her in and out of a sitting position (among others)?
Would Le Mans work as well during anal sex as it would during child birth?
That's an awkward conversation thirteen years down the road.
"Mom...some of the guys at school said you were in a porno.
Is that true?"
"Actually, sweetheart, we were in a porno.
We were in rehab together, too."

Glutton for Punishment

Sorry I've been away so long.
I was busy winning contests.
Booyah!
Now I just have to wait until February 10th.
To see if I can eat the most hot dogs in the quickest time.
Of the comics in St. John's.
Matt Esteves is my real competition.
That guy can put 'em away.
Just look at pictures of him in elementary school.

I've been getting closer and closer to listening to Led Zeppelin.

I worked with Tracey MacDonald over the weekend.
She's funny.
Despite occasionally wearing fake glasses.
I finally brought a headshot into the club.
It took me a while to figure out what to write on the picture.
When I eventually decided, I was extremely satisfied.
I wrote these while waiting to go on in the green room:

Wings made by my dad
Hey, something smells like candles
A chalk outline; feathers

Wine served from a box
Clothes strewn about the hardwood
A new mouth to feed


I keep having dreams that take place in Australia.
I have yet to be poisoned in one of them.
Guess I'll save that for the real thing.

Showboat

However many underage penises he may or may not have touched.
What a dancer.
I posted some garbage similar to this not that long ago.
But still.
I'm just facinated by confident performance.
And that's what this is.
Watch the way he tosses the hat, and the way he takes the mic from the stand.
And there is a moonwalk in there somewhere.
I've been practicing my moonwalk.
I have fallen down over two flights of stairs already.

The Man in Me

I'm growing concerned that I'm losing my taste for milk.
Did you know that you're only supposed to feed cats milk when they're little cats?
I always thought they drank milk exclusively.
Guess they lose their taste for it as well.
I was once in love with a girl who was lactose intolerant.
She used to eat lucky charms out of the box.
Digging past all of the grain stuff they put in there for filler.
So, I bought a bunch of boxes of lucky charms, sorted out the marshmallows, and put them in one box for her.
Gave it to her for her birthday.
See what I used to be like with women?
I don't know if nice guys finish last or not.
But I do know that I never did see her with her top off.
The sweet guy inside of me is succumbing a little more each day.
When he eventually expires, I can only assume that I'll have sex all the time.
With women I can't stand.
Should be awesome.

I couldn't blow up balloons until recently.
Before then I believe that I legitimately didn't have the lung capacity to do so.
Could you imagine if I was a smoker?
Unable to blow bubbles like everyone else in the park.
Or at the wedding.
That's the new thing now at weddings.
When you leave the church (tent, carnival, shanty in Vegas).
You blow bubbles.
Because people used to throw rice.
But complaints arose that starving third-world children would swarm the proceedings.
So now they blow bubbles.
At my wedding, I'm going to invite my guests to throw their gifts.
I admitted that I couldn't blow balloons to my Australian friend, Alex
I believe I've mentioned her before.
She's like all of my Canadian friends.
But when she speaks it sounds funny.

With all of this bubble talk, I present Men Without Hats.
Currently Men Without Jobs.
Like me.

None of the Time

My watch doesn't work.
I'm assuming it's the battery.
Though I'm concerned that it may be related to the crack in its face.
Which wasn't there before Christmas.
I'd try to replace the battery myself, but I'd likely swallow one of the little screws.
Besides, batteries aren't flown into town until the 22nd.
Well, that's AAAs and AAs.
I'm not sure if watch batteries come on the same flight.
The same sea plane.
You should see people down by the docks on the 22nd.
Milling about, clutching their TV remotes and their remote-controlled helicopters.
They swarm the plane when it arrives.
I still wear the watch.
Because juveniles find it impressive.
And after three years, I'm accustomed to the weight.
Like I need to off-set my equilibrium.
I walk into enough door frames as it is.

Everyone will be so surprised when the world ends.
Except me.
John Cusack.
And the Mayans.
Those Mayans saw it a mile away.
A very funny person named Damon Tschritter said that the Mayans predicted the calender would end in 2012.
But, really, they should have estimated about 450 AD.
That's bastardized. It's much better when he does it.

Anyway, while we're treading water next to the polar bears.
And you're trying to swim to Tim's.
Wondering why there are no land masses anymore.
I'll float by you, shrug my shoulders, and say:
"What'd you expect? It was called Consumerism!"

Go Fetch Yourself

Let her cry.
It's Friday.

When they're on foot they're 'developmentally delayed.'
But it's still a handicapped bus...

Christmas has been over for some time now.
You...have taken the tags off of your jeans by now, I assume.
If you're still walking around with one of those length x width stickers on your pantleg, it's not funny anymore.
It's just another reason not to invite you places.

It'd be nice to have a dog.
You can really tell yourself that your depression is misguided when you have someone who's so excited to see you.
That's probably all I would do with my dog; leave it and return again.
Over and over on a Friday.
Really maximize that companionship.
Of course, knowing my luck, my dog would get sick of me.
'Man's best friend' would eventually become 'man's occasional acquaintance'.
Eventually I would get excited and run around a lot when he'd get back from walks.
Which he would eventually prefer to take by himself.
I'd offer him treats and he'd just look at me blankly.
Then, to seem confident, I'd act like I wanted the treat myself.
Wash it down with some of his water.
If I get a dog I want a big dog.
If, however, I elect to not get a pet with larger poops than my own, I'll get a small dog.
And I already know the breed.
My brother used to always accuse me of 'copying' him.
Like it mattered; I was eight.
Who was going to steal Brian's trendy ideas in grade two?
Blaire Barrett?
Exactly.
Who's Blaire Barrett?

Brian owns Mi-Kis.
Two of them.
They look like an old-school Asian dog.
But they have a real North American laziness to them.
They used to call little crackies like these 'lap dogs.'
Because they'd chill on your laps.
Mi-Kis are kind of like 'nap dogs.'
I'll let you figure out the rest.
They behave as though they're hungover every day.
They sleep for hours on end, their eyes are all squinty.
They frequently look disoriented and confused.
That's a good match.

Well, that's it for me.
I'm going to watch some more of channel 6.
See if the ad about the hockey pool comes up again.
Alright Hootie, you know what to do.
Or, at least, you did between 1992 and 1995.

The Best Policy

If I was in an interview with an assisstant manager.
Or the leader of the hunters/gatherers.
Or the head stunt driver guy.
Alpha stunt driver?
That's what they should call him.
Anyway, if I was in an interview and they asked me:
"What's your strongest trait?"
I'd have to say, "Apathy."

I Want A Rock (Rock!)

My knee is wet.
I have always had a profound regard for the nerd sports.
Because they're the only ones that I can compete in.
And by 'compete' I mean 'participate.'
You know the nerd sports.
They're as easy to pinpoint as nerds are.
Ping Pong.
Pool.
Darts.
Bowling.
And curling.
Which is my new favourite thing to endanger myself with.
Move over luge.
Could you imagine me lugeing?
I'd set a record for the quickest fatality the sport has ever seen.
I have beginner's luck with sports that athletes play.
Before everyone eventually becomes better than me and I ultimately get sooky.
Nerd sports, on the other hand, show a gradual improvement with me.
Until I buy a new video game and go back to being a reclusive weirdo.

Not only did I not fall down.
I only tried to sweep with the broom upside-down once.

mightier than the sword

Whenever the bag says "Tear here" I can never tear there.
I usually have to jab the bag open with my pen.

Cost of Fame

You know who I feel bad for?
The seals.
Because they don't really have a voice in all of this.
Well, they do.
But it's Paul McCartney's.
Did you ever think that perhaps they want to die?
They look down at themselves one day and they realize:
"Y'know, I'm too cute to live.
I think I'd rather be someone's coat."

Seriously, though.
I feel bad for Ron Jeremy.
Because he has to pose for pictures like a proper celebrity.
But he can't afford cocaine like a proper celebrity.