(Open on: Steve, sitting at his desk.)

Steve: Hi! You know, if there's one thing that's fascinated people throughout history, it's me. People are always asking about me, and how I put together this Live Journal. "How long did it take you to write that?" they say. Or: "Does somebody pay you for that?" Or, even: "Is writing that column some sort of court-mandated thing?"

In light of this fascination with all things me, I thought we'd take a break from the fun and frivolity this week. Instead, I'll give you a tour of my office -- a behind-the-scenes glimpse, if you will, at the life of a Live Journalist.

(Steve pats his computer.)

Steve: It all starts here, with my Toshiba Satellite. Four hundred MHz and 196 Megs of RAM. Why do I need such a powerful computer to write in a Live Journal? The answer is simple: distractions. My PC allows me to keep Stupid_Steve from being too funny by constantly tempting me to play "The Sims." Also, it allows me to keep my web browser constantly open, so I can suddenly stop writing for no reason and waste time looking up some useless piece of trivia like who played Oscar Goldman. (Steve taps on his keyboard for a moment.) It's Richard Anderson.

(Steve gets up and walks over to a door labeled "TOP SECRET.")

Steve: But that's the past. Let's turn to the future. Behind this door is my automatic writing project. As I've said before, if an infinite number of monkeys can write Shakespeare, it should take about 7 to write this LJ. And, in this room, I've taken the first steps towards realizing that dream.

(Steve opens the door, revealing a mangy-looking monkey sitting in front of a computer. The monkey is playing "The Sims," although when it sees Steve it quickly quits and guiltily tries to look as if it's working. Steve frowns and shuts the door.)

Steve: I'm thinking of starting over with chickens. Now, let's head to the basement and see my nuclear accelerator...

(Steve walks towards the stairs but, at the last minute, trips on a box of Porno mags and dry roast peanuts. He goes flying, head over heels, down many flights of steps... finally landing in a painful and bloody heap on the basement floor.)

Steve: Arghhh... legs broken... body shattered... broken femur popping through skin... must call Hercules...

(Steve fiddles with his belt buckle, but succeeds only in undoing his belt, revealing the beginnings of an impressive beer belly.)

Steve: Damn! Wore wrong belt! Must get help... can't last long...

(Steve notices his cat watching from a nearby sofa. He crawls to it, causing an artery to open and begin spurting blood across the room.)

Steve: Hey... cat... go for help... go for help, boy... go upstairs and call an ambulance...

(The cat stares blankly for a moment... then, a glimmer of understanding appears in its eyes. Decisively, it leaps down from the couch... and begins happily lapping from the pool of blood that is rapidly collecting around Steve's mangled body.)

Steve: Argh! Should have got a fish... come on, you stupid cat! Go for help!

(Steve's girlfriend Amber, who is standing right there, turns to him.)

Amber: I'm right here; why don't you ask me?

Steve: No! I want to see if the cat will do it!

(Steve passes out. Fade to black.)

ANNOUNCER: Will Steve survive? Was he right about Oscar Goldman? And how's that monkey coming along? Tune in for the answers to these exciting questions and more... in the next exciting Update of Stupid_Steve!

From a Dog's Diary



8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

From a Cat's Daily Diary...



Day 983 of my captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. Bastards.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now.......

Let's talk about Napster. Is it a high-tech Pandora's box, a catalyst for the radical restructuring of the corrupt music industry? Or is it just a cheap way to rip off artists? Or, is it a way to try to rip off artists but it takes forever for the song to download and then your computer crashes halfway through and you have to reboot and then you can't find the song anymore and then you realize, wait a minute, don't I already own that album?


These are the questions the pundits are asking. Will the American legal system shut down Napster or vindicate it? Perhaps it doesn't matter. Because the real issue isn't music. It's T-shirts. I mean, like, a CD is twenty bucks. But a concert T-shirt costs, like, thirty bucks. Thirty bucks! For a T-shirt!


I mean, it's not Kevlar. It's not going to save your life. You just want to look cool and show everybody you went to the concert. You're never going to wear it again except when you run out of clean clothes. Why can't those eggheads figure a way for us to download T-shirts off the Internet? That would send a message to The Man.


Besides, the music business isn't the only industry due for a little dose of digital justice. Why can't some new Internet-based service come along and reform the fast food industry? I mean, answer me this: is it fair that McDonald's executives waltz off with all the money while the guy who plays Grimace can barely make ends meet? Huh?


And what if Grimace wants a concert T-shirt? Sorry, Grimace, they don't come in your size. What can he do? Not much, in that suit. He doesn't have the mobility of, say, a Hamburgler or one of those talking McNuggets.


(Not that Grimace would necessarily lose to Hamburgler in a fair fight. Grimace may be slow, but he's big. Mind you, Hamburgler looks mean. He's an ex-con, apparently -- although how tough can that prison be if they let you wear a tie and big floppy hat? And what's with the mask? Does Hamburgler think he's anonymous in that thing? It makes you wonder. On the other hand, we don't even know what Grimace is. Animal, vegetable, or mineral? My guess is he's a big kidney. Can a big kidney fight? Hard to say.)


Here's a final thought. If Napster gets shut down I think the CBC should jump in with a replacement service. Here's how it would work. You'd type a search phrase (say, "N*Sync") into CBC Napster. Your request would be sent to Toronto, where Rex Murphy sits alone in a little room. Rex Murphy would read your request off a tiny screen and record a pithy commentary on it. ("Is Stockwell Day N*Sync with mainstream Canadians?") This commentary would be encoded into mp3 format and sent back to your computer, in 4 to 28 weeks, once all the paperwork went through.


With so many factors to consider -- copyright law, intellectual property, Grimace -- sorting out this Napster mess could be a tough job. I sure wouldn't want to be that judge right now! Mostly because I'd be nervous that someone would find out I'm not even a lawyer.

Oddities. The supernatural. The world of the bizarre and the grotesque. All my life, I have been fascinated by amazing facts. And so, I sent a team of researchers around the globe, searching for outlandish oddities and incredible trivia. They returned with facts so amazing... so incredible... so fantastic they could hardly be believed!


Which stands to reason, because it turns out most of these "facts" were just bullshit those guys thought up on the plane ride home. What a waste of money!


Still, I've got space to fill. So let's look at some other facts, ones that maybe aren't so amazing. Let's enter the world of the credible but true... the world of Not-Quite-Amazing Facts!


Fact: There are well over one dozen bones in the human body. If you were to lay them out end to end, they'd stretch for several feet!


Fact: Jupiter may be the largest planet in the solar system... but it boasts less phones booths than the tiny European principality of Monaco!


Fact: The Aztecs had no word for "pudding."


Fact: It easier to smile than frown. Smiling uses only 17 facial muscles while frowning takes 42. However, it only takes 24 muscles to smile at someone sarcastically while giving them the finger.


Fact: Ancient rock pictures, recently discovered in a prehistoric cave in France, reveal that as early as 2 million years ago, cavemen were really bad at drawing!


Fact: "Napoleon" is a palindrome for "Noelopan"... a made-up word which has no meaning!


Fact: Those amazing animals! It's common knowledge that kangaroos carry their young in pouches and ants can lift many times their own weight, but few realize that an ant can't lift a kangaroo.


Fact: The Millennium Dome in London, England is the largest enclosed space in the world. If you were to completely fill it with people, then your band must be pretty good.


Fact: Thomas Edison invented the lightbulb in 1879. Ironically, it was the solution to exactly the same problem he'd been working on!


Fact: A chameleon can change colours to match its environment yet, come on, you can still see there's a chameleon there.


Fact: The tallest man in recorded history, who lived in a remote village in Kenya, stood well over six feet!


Fact: Many have heard of the Great Wall of China, the world's largest manmade object and the only human construction visible from orbit. But fewer have heard of the Okay Wall of China, which is also pretty good.


Fact: There are over two hundred words in the English language.


Fact: The Sun constitutes over 99% of the total mass of the solar system and has shone for over 4.5 billion years. If it were shrunk to the size of a golf ball and placed on the pitcher's mound of Yankee Stadium, it would most likely burn many of the players.


Fact: Eskimos have over 17 words for snow. Yet, they still get sick of talking about it

The Alamo is considered the central battle and primary rallying cry in the fight to make Texas an independent republic and, subsequently, a state of the U.S. Like I care. All Texas has ever given the rest of the U.S. is a whole bunch of attitude and one-term presidents with a penchant for foreign wars. It's a state where toxins are good business, Ken Lay is a civic hero and it's legal to stone your own children to death as long you claim that God told you to do it. Fuck the Alamo, and fuck Texas.


School is fun. I like it. I sit and listen and write. It's fun. Sometimes I eat food. At the end of the day I sleep. That's my favorite part. School is fun.

The days of snuggling up in the darkness
We don't even own a bed
Even so
Now you're certainly
Smiling by me

I won't let you touch
This insane love
I don't even mind if we stab each other
I accept everything


Beautiful morning with you
I wish I could sing someday
Beautiful morning with you
Sun bathing with you

Loneliness changes its tactics
And comes to meet with us over an over again
Even when it comes
We both nod
A few times at this place

I won't turn back
I'm okay even if I get hurt
By the love we nourished
I won't go back

Beautiful morning with you
I wish I would change someday
Beautiful morning with you
The fact we came into being

Beautiful morning with you
I wish I could sing someday
Beautiful morning with you
Sun bathing with you

Beautiful morning with you
I wish I could feel it always
Beautiful morning with you

That I could meet with you

(Rolando, a highly sexy Hispanic pool boy, is vacuuming a pool. His well-toned abs glisten with sweat as his tanned body works in the hot sun. Madam Sylvania approaches, carrying a glass of lemonade.)

Madam Sylvania: My, Rolando. You’ve worked up quite a sweat haven’t you?

Rolando: (sniffing his armpits) Rolando apologizes for smell, Madam Sylvonia.

Madam Sylvania: Oh, don’t be a silly goose. I like sweaty men.

Rolando: (nodding vigorously) Oh yes, you tell me?

Madam Sylvania: (playing with her bikini string) Mmmhmm. I only wish there were some way for me to work up a sweat. I don’t suppose you could think of away we could work up a sweat together?

(Rolando thinks hard for a moment.)

Rolando: Vacuuming pools very hard work, Madam Sylvonkia.

Madam Sylvania: (throwing off her bikini) Oh, forget about the silly pool, Rolando! Come vacuum me!

Rolando: Yes sir, Mazdam Sylbonkia!

(Rolando turns the high-powered vacuum on Madam Sylvania. The vacuum is so powerful that it sucks her face clean off.)

Madam Sylvania: (screaming) My face! My beautiful face!

Rolando: ¡Ay Dios mío!

***

(At a local public pool, a father is trying to teach his son how to swim.)

Dad: Don’t worry, Timmy, there’s nothing in the water to be afraid of. Remember, I’m right here behind you. Trust me!

(He gives Timmy the thumbs up. Timmy nervously approaches the pool.)

Timmy: I… I can’t do it, daddy!

Dad: Here - watch me!

(The dad jumps in the pool and starts splashing around. Seconds later, a giant great white shark emerges from under the water, mouth agape, teeth glistening.)

Shark: RAAAAAAAAAW!

Dad: OH MY GOD… I… CAN’T SWIM! (drowns)

***

(A group of small children are playing Marco Polo.)

Ben: Marco!

Chris: Polo!

Ben: Marco!

Sam: Polo!

Marco Polo: Sono polo di Marco!

(All the children start to cry.)

Marco Polo: (confused) Che cosa?

***

Reith: Hey, Katarina, let’s go do some cannonballs in my dad’s pool!

Katarina: I don’t know, Reith.

Reith: What’s wrong?

Katarina: The last time we did cannonballs in your dad’s pool, your dad got really mad.

Reith: Awww, don’t worry about it. My dad’s cool with it now.

Katarina: You sure?

Reith: Yeah! Now, let’s have some fun! CANNONBALL!

Katarina: (smiling) CANNONBALL!

(Reith and Katarina fire a battery of giant cannons at the pool, completely destroying it.)

***

(Rob and Sheila are on vacation in Nunavut.)

Rob: Hey baby, let’s go skinny dipping.

Sheila: No.

Rob: It’ll be romantic!

Sheila: No, it won’t.

Rob: Come on!

Sheila: (sternly) Absolutely not.

Rob: Fine! I’ll go skinny dipping on my own!

(Rob strips off all his clothes and tries to jump into some water. Unfortunately for him, it’s completely frozen and he just ends up scraping his elbow slightly.)

Rob: My elbow! Not my elbow! My magnificent elbow!

Sheila: (sighs)

***

Pool Salesman: Pools here! Get your pools here!

Customer: I’d like a pool! How much?

Pool Salesman: For you, sir? One hundred dollars.

Customer: Wow, that’s terrific!

(He pulls out his wallet and hands over $100.)

Customer: Now, where’s my pool?

Pool Salesman: (smiling) Coming right up, sir.

(The Pool Salesman pulls out a hose and sprays a little bit of water onto the ground, creating a small, muddy puddle.)

Customer: Alright! (He jumps in the puddle and starts splashing around.) POOLS FUCKING RULE!

Today’s Marijuana Over Seven Times Cooler, Study Says

TORONTO - In a disturbing trend, drug use among teens has continued to increase. Use of drugs such as marijuana and ecstasy has increased 12% since 2005, and continues to rise today. Many parents remain complacent however, having gone through a similar phase of experimentation in their youth, saying that it was simply “the cool thing to do.”

However, a recent study by U of T researchers shows that drugs today may have cool-inducing effects over seven times as potent as those in the 70s.

Leading biologist Dr. Susan Hanson performed an impromptu experiment to illustrate the difference. Using a specially designed apparatus, she fed smoke from a joint made from 70s marijuana obtained from an evidence lighter into the lungs of a Rhesus monkey. The coolness-inducing effects were barely noticeable, and the ape seemed like an alright dude at best. After lighting up a sample made from today’s marijuana, however, the monkey was observed to have designer sunglasses, a hot ride with sweet rims, and was solicited for several dates by cheerleaders.

A major example of this can be seen in British Columbia , which, in the 70s, was largely considered an embarrassment and omitted from most mainstream maps of Canada . Today, it is drawn three times the actual size and is often accompanied by a cartoon surfboard.

That’s no mystery to analyst Harold Johnson, who explains, “Obviously, as the coolness of the crop marijuana increases, the entire province will be cooler as well. Of course, this only holds true if 100% of British Columbia ’s farmland is dedicated to cannabis production, which, according to a dream I had about agricultural statistics, it is.”

Despite the socioeconomic benefits for B.C., there are still significant concerns over the effects of the more potent drug on today’s youth. Anti-drug spokesperson Deborah Wilkinson put the issue in perspective by saying, “Smoking pot regularly in 2007 would be the 70s equivalent of using marijuana the way most people use an automatic transmission: a whole bunch.”

Hell Freezes Over, Numerous Improbable Events Ensue

HADES - With funding running low and numerous operational problems occurring, the temperature of Hell finally fell below freezing this Monday.

“It was really inevitable,” said Satan, dark prince and lord of the fiery underworld. “There’s not a lot of tourism dollars to be made in the eternal agony game these days, but if we can’t even afford unquenchable fire, there’s no income at all. No pain, no gain. We invented that here.”

However, with the new low temperatures reached by the inescapable pit of despair, underdogs across North America are rejoicing as the conditions placed on the fulfillment of their hopes and dreams have finally come true. At least fifteen crappy football teams are predicted to win the Super Bowl this year, gambling addicts are making untold fortunes at blackjack tables, and countless nerds are now going on dates with the adolescent social elite.

Climatologist Dr. Dorothy Wallace is not surprised by the developments. “We’ve all been relying on Hell’s fossil fuel energy for too long. I mean, they’ve been running furnaces that haven’t been checked for efficiency in over four billion years. Not to mention,” she added, “global warming is having an impact on everyone. Earth gets hot, Hell gets cold. That’s the way things happen in science.”

New residents arriving in Hell appreciate the change, many asking their loved ones to be buried with jackets so they could be comfortable upon arrival. “It’s great!” said Jeremy Weathers, an unrepentant sinner from Colorado . “Running around in the snow all day, it’s just like being a kid, but with hideous unearthly abominations roaming the landscape and torturing any souls they come across.” Long-time residents of Hell could not be reached for comment, as their lips had long ago been flayed from their faces.

Despite the changes in Hell’s climate, there is still nobody who likes that new coffee flavoured Coke, leading scientists to believe that this is a physical law rather than personal taste.

Fat Guy Drowns, Is Dead

CEDAR RAPIDS – Last week, local residents were shocked to discover that Chet Dempsey, an area fat man had drowned in a pool of average size.

“Should’ve eased up on the Baconators, fatty!” laughed one teenage passerby when asked to comment.

Harold Truman, the owner of the pool, expressed general indifference.

Since the incident, there has been considerable speculation as to how a man of Chet’s extremely fat size could have drowned in such an average-sized pool, but as leading drowning/fat person expert, Dr. Tina Ross explains: “Contrary to what many people believe, you don’t actually need to fit into the body of water to drown in it. There have been plenty of recorded cases of people drowning in toilets, shallow creeks, glasses of water, and even puddles of milk.”

Funeral services will be this Friday. The Dempsey family is still looking for twelve more able-bodied pallbearers.

Man its been a while.. Sorry guys! man not much to say tho.. not much goes on in Kingston.. I've been in and out of a job at a call center, now i might be back at Mcdonalds again.. so whatever, gotta make money.

so yeah, i'll post a story or something after this.

L8r guys

(Vladimir Putin, George Bush, Gordon Brown, Nicolas Sarkozy and several other important national leaders are sitting around a large table, looking serious.)

Vladimir Putin: We both know the economic value of this estate. With it, you will be virtually guaranteed long-term investment security. I think we can consider this transaction a matter of goodwill on behalf of all Russia. So, do we have a deal?

George Bush: Yes, let this act wipe the political slate clean so our countries can start anew. Now, let the neutral party read the terms.

Nicolas Sarcozy: President Putin is to trade Boardwalk for President Bush’s Marvin Gardens and the secret locations of his county’s military instalments in Russia. Do you both agree to these terms?

Vladimir Putin and George Bush: We do.

Nicolas Sarcozy: Then the transaction has been concluded.

George Bush: (chuckling) Heh, heh, heh, it’s your funeral Vladski. Boardwalk always wins.

***

(Vladimir Putin has just had his name called on The Price is Right and runs to the stage.)

Vladimir Putin: What? You’re not Bob Barker!

Drew Carey: What? No, but this is still...

Vladimir Putin: (interrupting) This is unacceptable. I came to this show for my childhood idol Bob Barker. I traveled in secret to America for him! How dare you insult my country like this. I will re-aim our missiles at America! I will...

Drew Carey: (muffled into his shoulder) Crap, it’s happening again. Release the droid.

(A trapdoor in the stage opens. An animatronic Bob Barker rises up ominously.)

Bob Barker Droid: (synthetically) DON’T FORGET TO HAVE YOUR PET SPAYED OR NEUTERED. DON’T FORGET TO HAVE YOUR PET SPAYED OR NEUTERED, DON’T FORGET TO HAVE YOUR PET SPAYED OR NEUTERED....

(Vladimir Putin is visibly calmed and hugs the droid.)

***

(Vladimir Putin is meditating in a pristine stream deep in the forests of Northern Canada. A fish swimming upstream ripples the surface, disturbing the silence.)

Vladimir Putin: Excellent.

(He grabs and swallows the fish in a single fluid movement. Noting to himself that he did not move his feet or open his eyes, Vladimir Putin allows himself to smile before returning to a state of meditation.)

***

(Vladimir Putin has snuck into a bee farm to steal some honey.)

Vladimir Putin: That’s right bees, all your wealth is mine.

(He fumbles with the hatch for several minutes, but fails to open the complicated locking mechanism.)

Vladimir Putin: Fine, you may have won this round bees, but now that you have angered me you have angered Russia. You will not live to see another season.

(As he turns to leave his jacket catches on the hive and it crashes to the ground. A swarm of bees engulfs him.)

Vladimir Putin: ARRGGG!

(Vladimir Putin dives in a feeble attempt to escape but is killed by the swarm of bees. Russia holds an election and elects a pro-western, democratic candidate with an anti-bee platform.)


Well, Steve fans... as many of you may know, i am now living permanatly in Nova Scotia... But on the flipside, i'll be on the internet ALOT more.. so i will be able to update this lj more!!! anyhoo, I'll be off.. gonna go do nothing..

Some people will tell you life in prison is rough. Other people will tell you life in prison is pretty freakin’ awesome. More people still will tell you that I’m not hungry for a triple-decker beef and balogna club sandwich right now. Well, I can tell you this: everybody’s wrong, except for the people that tell you life in prison is pretty freakin’ awesome.

I met my best friend in prison. His name is Big Boris. He’s 6’5” and 350 lbs., and he keeps me in line. For example: we’ll be out in the courtyard for exercise time, and the warden will blow his whistle and yell, “Line up, you ruffians!” and we’ll all line up, but I’ll be sort of stepping out of line a bit. At this point, Big Boris will yell, “Hey, Bub, get back in line!” and I do, and everything’s okay again.

When I do other unruly things, Big Boris also makes sure he lets me know what time it is in his own special Big Boris way, which I find extremely unpleasant. Just this afternoon he caught me sneaking Hershey bars from underneath his mattress, and do you know what he did to me? He said, “Hey, Bub, do you know what time it is? It’s 6:15 – you’ll spoil your dinner. Cut that out.” It’s really, really annoying.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, Big Boris is my cellmate. Most of the time we get along, but things can get tough. Sometimes Big Boris forgets to do his dishes. Sometimes Big Boris takes the last square of toilet paper without replacing the roll. Sometimes Big Boris insists on doing naked yoga at sunrise. Because of this, sometimes Big Boris and I get into arguments. Big Boris turns really red and starts grinding his teeth, and I clench my fists and dissolve into a haze of fury, and sometimes I even yell, “Big Boris, I could KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!” Then we both collapse into a fit of giggles, because that’s a ridiculous thing to say to your cellmate!

I wouldn’t ever really want to go up against Big Boris – he settles arguments like a real man. Sometimes during recreation time we play football games where everyone collapses into a big man-heap of men and nobody remembers whose turn it is. At this point, Big Boris puts his beefy fists on his beefy hips, and with a beefy grimace on his beefy face, points his big beefy index finger at the mob of inmates standing in his way. Then, he speaks: “Eenie, meenie, miney...”

I think the biggest misconception about prison is getting “shanked.” Yes, this is a prison term, and yes, it’s highly unlikeable, but it doesn’t happen as often as you may think. I think the term stems from “The Shawshank Redemption,” because in prison, to be “shanked” is to be roped into doing the warden’s taxes, and it really sucks. To be honest, I’d rather be stabbed a couple of times than get “shanked.” At least in the hospital wing you get free vanilla pudding.

Apparently outside people these days think it’s funny to make jokes about dropping bars of soap in showers. I can assure you this is no laughing matter. When someone drops a bar of soap in the shower, terrible things happen. Slowly, very slowly, the guilty individual must squat gingerly, retrieve the soap from the filthy shower floor and immediately throw it in the trash. He then has to open a new box of soap and wash his dirty hands with it. Then he has to wash that bar of soap with a second new bar of soap, because he used it to wash his dirty hands. Then everybody hates him, because he’s ruined three bars of soap. Here in prison, we take hygiene very seriously.

They say in every prison there’s a guy who can get you things. In our prison, that guy is Ernie. Ernie can get you any damn thing you want, and he’s quite clever about it. He just asks his parole officer to escort him to the nearest store which retails the item you’re looking for, buys it, brings it back to the prison where it is checked for illegal drugs and hidden weapons, and then hands it over to you after it’s cleared. Sometimes, just sometimes, Ernie gets us cookie dough ice cream. These are the best times of all.

(Early morning: Gina and Anne are both making breakfast.)

Gina: So, how are you dealing with it?

Anne: Dealing with what?

Gina: Well, you know. About Greg?

Anne: Go on…

Gina: Well, I’d just imagine that after finding out about his slew of affairs and his narcotics addiction and that human trafficking ring, you’d probably want to think some things through.

Anne: I don’t… what are you talking about?

Gina: Wait – what day is it?

Anne: February 12th.

Gina: Oh right. Okay, forget I said anything.

* * *

(Gina and Ryan are walking towards each other down the street.)

Gina: Hey there, firecracker! What’s shakin’?

Ryan: Um, hello?

(Ryan tries to slip past her.)

Gina: Whoa, whoa. Excuse me? Haven’t I earned a “how are you”?

Ryan: …Have we even met?

Gina: Should I refresh your memory? (growls provocatively)

Ryan: I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.

Gina: Inconceivable! Not in a million years could I mistake those limpid pools of tenderness you call eyes.

(Ryan hurries away.)

Gina: Ryan! Ryaannnn! Why doesn’t he recognize me? Wait, oh my God! This isn’t 2003 - it’s 2007! Ryan’s already had the first amnesia-inducing car accident, and that means…

Ryan: (stopping in the middle of the street) Hey, what’s my name again?

(A piano falls on top of him.)

* * *

Gina: Hey Emily! How are you doing today? Have you been working out?? You look like you’ve lost 50 lbs!

Emily: Um, thank you? I didn’t know I had 50 lbs to lose.

Gina: Oh. You will.(awkward silence) Look, I got you something.

Emily: Thanks. What’s this for?

Gina: Oh, no reason.

(Emily opens a large, elaborately wrapped gift. Inside is a trip to Europe, a puppy and a Lamborghini)

Emily: Wow Gina! You’ve really gone over the top, haven’t you? What’s all this for?

Gina: Well I really want to make amends. I feel terrible about what happened and hope we can still be friends.

Emily: Amends? For what?

Gina: Oh gosh, you know that’s such a relief. I’m glad you agree. We’re better off just forgetting it ever happened.

Emily: (uneasily) Okay…

(Three days later Emily has a car accident in Switzerland and becomes allergic to dogs.)

we cross bridges as usual, and before we know it, the seasons have changed.

(Tina and Samir sit in a quiet coffee shop. Samir is intently reading a newspaper.)
Tina: (looking out the window) Oh wow! It’s raining! Do you see that, Samir? It’s raining!
Samir: (still reading) Yeah.
Tina: Isn’t that neat!?
Samir: (still reading) I guess. (He turns the page.)
(There is an awkward silence. Tina shifts uncomfortably.)
Tina: So... is this, like, your first time seeing rain?
(Samir casually looks out the window before turning back to his newspaper.)
Samir: No.
Tina: Really? So you’ve, like, seen it on TV before?
(Samir puts down the newspaper.)
Samir: (irritably) Look, I don’t know what kind of place you think Iran is, but it does occasionally rain over there.
Tina: Really?!
Samir: Yes.
(Another awkward silence. Samir resumes reading his newspaper.)
Tina: So... have you ever seen a gay person before?
Samir: That’s it. I’m leaving.
***
(Keith, Veronica, and Kim are playing Scrabble.)
Keith: R-A-I-N. Rain! That’s four points!
Veronica: My turn! P-R-E-C-I-P-I-T-A-T-I-O-N. Precipitation! That’s nineteen points!
Kim: Alright. Let’s see… Oh, I got it! C-A-T. Cat! That’s five points, plus triple word score!
Keith: Wait, wait. ‘Cat’ isn’t a real word! You just made that up!
Kim: No I didn’t!
Veronica: Yeah, well what’s a cat, then? Huh?!
Kim: Are you an idiot?
Keith: (leafing through the Official Scrabble Special ‘Rain Edition’ Dictionary) No, no, no! I don’t see ‘cat’ anywhere in here!
Kim: (sighing) I hate you guys so much.
***
(Sally, Billy and Robbie are being babysat by their Grandpa Murray. They play restlessly, while Grandpa Murray rests in a nearby recliner.)
Sally: (singing) It’s raining/ It’s pouring/ The old man is snoring.
Billy: Hey, let’s have some fun with Grandpa! (poking Grandpa Murray with a stick) Hey, Grandpa, wake up and tell us a story!
Robbie: (excitedly) He’s not waking up!
Sally: Let’s play with his face!
(Sally climbs on top of Grandpa Murray and begins to squish his wrinkly face into different shapes.)
Sally: Wow! His face is like Play-Doh!
Robbie: That’s nothing! Watch this!
(Robbie runs to the bathroom and returns with a bag of cotton balls.)
Robbie: Let’s see how many we can fit into his mouth!
(Ten minutes later…)
Robbie: Ninety-seven! I can’t believe we fit ninety-seven cotton balls into his mouth without him waking up!
Billy: Man, Grandpa sure is a heavy sleeper!
Robbie: (tears welling up) I don’t think he’s sleeping…
***
(Timmy is outside in his backyard, playing in the rain with some ducks.)
Ducks: Quack! Quack! Quack!
Timmy: Yaaaaay! Ducks!
(Timmy’s Mom opens the door to the backyard.)
Mom: Timmy! Timmy! Come inside right now! You’ll catch a cold if you keep playing outside in the rain like that!
Timmy: I can’t understand you, mom! I can only understand duck now! Quack, quack, quack!
Mom: (irritated) Look, Timmy, you’re not a duck! You’re my son, and I’m your mother!
Timmy: No! This duck is my mother. (He points to the Mother Duck.)
Mom: No, she’s not! She’s just a stupid duck! Now, you get in here right now!
Timmy: Never! I’m staying here with my real family!
Mom: (sighing and crossing his arms) Fine. We’ll just see how well these ducks take care of you!
(Timmy cheers and spends the rest of his life happily living with his adopted duck family.)
***
Hair Stylist: Alright, Mr. Banks! There you are: the world’s most expensive haircut!
Mr. Banks: (looking in a mirror) My word! How marvellous! How magnificently marvellous!
Hair Stylist: I’m glad you like it. Now, there’s just one last thing before you go, Mr. Banks. (sternly) Under no circumstances whatsoever can you let your hair get wet for the next 24 hours. Do you understand?
Mr. Banks: Sure. (looks out the window) Oh shoot! It’s raining and I didn’t bring an umbrella with me!
Hair Stylist: Not to worry, Mr. Banks, we have just the thing for you. One moment.
(The Hair Stylist disappears into the back of the shop for a moment before re-emerging, carrying a large plastic bag. She places the bag over Mr. Banks’ head.)
Hair Stylist: There you are, Mr. Banks, that should keep your hair dry.
Mr Banks: Well, it’s kind of windy out. Is there anything you could do to make sure it doesn’t blow off? Do have, like, tape or something?
Hair Stylist: Yessir!
(The Hair Stylist pulls out a roll of duct tape and seals the plastic bag tightly around Mr. Banks’ head.)
Mr. Banks: (suffocating) Mmmfffff! MmmmMMMMFFFF! (he drops to the floor and starts thrashing around madly)
(The Hair Stylist crosses her arms and smiles.)
Hair Stylist: Another satisfied customer!
***
Umbrella Vendor: Umbrellas for sale! Umbrellas for sale!
Customer: Hey, I need an umbrella!
Umbrella Vendor: Fifty dollars.
Customer: Fifty dollars?! That’s outrageously expensive!
Umbrella Vendor: Yes, but these are magic umbrellas.
Customer: Magic umbrellas?! I’ll take thirty!
(The Customer pays the Umbrella Vendor $1,500.)
Customer: Hey, wait a second! There’s nothing very magical about these umbrellas at all!
Umbrella Vendor: (smiling) No. Not those umbrellas! Mwahahahahahaha!
(The Umbrella Vendor unfurls another umbrella and flies away.)

Howie: Hey, did you hear Sally has pinkeye?

Jim: What?! No! NO!

Howie: Geez, calm down. She’ll be fine in a few days. It’s not like it’s really contagious. Unless you, like, touched her eye or something.

Jim (absently): Right… yeah. I, uh, I have to go now.

Earlier that day:

Jim: Sally! Hi!

Sally: Hi Jim!

Jim: Have you been eating spaghetti?

Sally: How’d you guess?

Jim: You’ve got some sauce in your eye!

Jim scoops the sauce out of Sally’s eye and licks it off his finger.

Sally: Oh, Jim, you’re disgusting.

Jim: No – just hungry.

They share a laugh. Jim laughs really hard, because he’s sort of an asshole. He laughs so hard that his eyes water up and one of his contact lenses falls out.

Jim (rubbing his eye): Oh, fuck me. I lost another contact. I need to stop being so funny.

Sally: Here, just take one of mine. We’re the same prescription.

She takes a contact out of her eye and hands it to him. He carefully places it on his eyeball.

Jim: Sweet! Thanks!

Sally: No problem. Hey, hold on, I think it’s inside out. I’ll fix it.

She removes the contact, flips it inside out using her thumb and forefinger, and places it back in Jim’s eye.

Sally: There you go. Good as new. (She starts scratching her eye.) God, my eye has been so itchy today. I hope it’s not pinkeye.

Jim: If it is, I’m in trouble!

Sally laughs. Jim is dead serious.

Jim: I’m not kidding, Sally. If I get pinkeye, I will commit suicide.

Me: Yes, I would like twelve dozen donuts, please.
Tim Horton’s cashier: Okay.
Me: (yelling) IT’S BECAUSE I AM A POLICEMAN.
Tim Horton’s Cashier: Right.
Me: THAT’S WHY I NEED THE DONUTS. GET IT!?
Tim Horton’s Cashier: Sure. Whatever. (hands me twelve boxes of donuts) That’ll be $66.
Me: (taking out my gun) Oh no. You misunderstand. You see, cops don’t pay for donuts. Capisce?
***
Teacher: Okay, class, please give Officer Mike a very warm welcome.
Class: (in unison) Hi Officer Mike!
Me: Hi, kids! So… who wants to know what it’s like to get sprayed in the face with real pepper spray and then paralyzed with a well-placed strike of my billy club?
***
Woman: Oh God! Oh God! Will someone please save my baby!?
Me: (licking my thumb before flipping through another page of GQ) No.
***
Suspect: (handcuffed in an interrogation room) Fuck you, piggies. I ain’t squealin’!
Officer Joe: Listen to me, man. I’m on your side, but my partner, man, he’s messed. He’s crazy. You don’t want to mess with him.
Me: Yes. I am insane. I am a bad cop. Joe is a good cop. You want to confess to Joe because he is the good cop while I am the bad cop.
Officer Joe: Mike, I don’t think you should be so explicit when –
Me: I SAID I AM FUCKING INSANE. (takes out gun and shoots all the lights)
Officer Joe: (in total darkness) Great. Just great.
***
Me: So I was reading this article in GQ about cuff links and –
Chief: Mike, could you please stop interrupting this debriefing?
Me: Sorry, Chief.
Chief: Anyways. As I was saying: Cliff Kendler is still on the loose. He’s murdered nineteen civilians now and four police –
Me: Hey. HEY! I’m hungry. Can we order pizza? Or maybe some Indian food?
Chief: No! Goddamnit, Mike. It’s 1:30. You just ate.
Me: I know, Chief, but I’m hungry. My tummy is growling.
Chief: Well too bad.
Me: (pouting) Fine. (begins flipping through another issue of GQ)
***
Mike: And so I said –
Officer Joe: (noticing something in the distance) Hey, hold on a sec, Mike. Is that my son over there? Is… is he shoplifting?
Me: (taking aim) Don’t worry. I got him.
Officer Joe: No! NO!

Page 1:
“I’m sorry, Rodrigo, but I just can’t love a man who can’t spell his own name. I thought love could transcend the barriers of illiteracy, but I now realize that it c-a-n-n-o-t. Cannot.”
“But what about the spelling bee trophy I won for you?” Rodrigo yelled, wildly swinging his large trophy around in the air.
She sighed heavily. “Look, you didn’t win that trophy; you stole it from a paraplegic third-grader.”
“But it’s a symbol of my love for you!” he replied. “See? I scratched out ‘Best Speller,’ and wrote ‘BELINBA’ in my own blood! Do you see how much I love you, Belinda?! Belinda? BELINDA!”
But it was too late. She was already dead. Bludgeoned to death with a spelling bee trophy.
Page 45:
“You can’t break up with me. I’m the Queen of England!” pouted the Queen of England.
“Shhhhhh, dear,” Rodrigo said soothingly. “I may have loved you physically, but my true love is for democracy. Now… ratify this bill confirming me as the World’s Greatest Sex Lover.”
Page 64:
“You, my dear, are so sweet that you give me diabetes,” Rodrigo quipped as he dined with his lover in a very fancy and very public restaurant place.
Throwing caution to the wind, she immediately threw herself onto the table and began to tear all her clothes off.
“OH, FUCK ME, RODRIGO! FUCK ME LIKE I’M INSULIN!” she screamed.
Rodrigo casually loosened his tie. “Okay.”
Page 65:
“You, my dear, are so infectious that you give me leprosy,” Rodrigo quipped as he dined with his lover in a very fancy and very public restaurant place.
Throwing caution to the wind, she immediately threw herself onto the table and began to tear all her clothes off.
“OH, FUCK ME, RODRIGO! FUCK ME UNTIL MY LIMBS FALL OFF BECAUSE OF THE LEPROSY!” she screamed.
Rodrigo casually loosened his bowtie. “Sure.”
Page 107:
“A good lover is like a lot like a boat,” Rodrigo said. “They’re sturdy, reliable, and can transport you across vast distances of water, whether it be by paddle, sail, or even a large internal combustion engine. I guess what I’m trying to say to you, Angela, is will you sail away with me? Will you be... my boat?”
“What the hell are you talking about?!” she replied. “Are you some kind of idiot? For the last time, my name’s not Angela, and I don’t know anything about boats because I’m a car salesman. Now, unless you’re interested in buying a car, get the hell off my lot-HMPH! HMPH!”
“Shhhhhhhhhhh,” Rodrigo said to her, as he reeled in her in with a large fishing net. “A good lover is also a lot like a salmon,” he said, licking his lips. “A delicious, delicious salmon.”
Page 291:
As Nancy promiscuously bounded down towards the titillatingly nude lesbian beach, her mighty, mighty bosom swelled and heaved in the wind.
Then suddenly, the highly flirtatious wind picked up even more and blew her skimpy, seductive skirt up over her face. Blinded by hot passion, as well as her dress, she stumbled around lustily, until finally she tripped and fell face-first into a puddle of highly erotic mud.
As she thrashed around hornily in the over-sexed mud, moaning and screaming for someone to make love to her right then and there, Rodrigo leapt to his feet and ran towards her.
“Hey!” he said, panting with excitement. “Get out of my puddle of mud!”

Life is terrible
Man, life’s a real bummer. Today I went out and bought an ice cream cone, and then I tried to lick the ice cream cone, and then the scoop of ice cream that was on the cone fell off of the cone, and then my dog got hit by a car. Aw man.
Now I have a helicopter
Okay, let me get you up to speed: I kind of have this like, helicopter now? It’s pretty good for flying around but there’s not really anywhere to land it and I’m kind of running out of gas.
Hmm, you know what? Let me start at the beginning instead. Around 48 hours ago, I didn’t have a helicopter, and this guy came up to me and – hey, what do you suppose that blinking red light is—?
My regrets
I regret going to prom with my cousin. … Kind of.
I have ADD
The—
The magnet letters on my fridge keep rearranging themselves into weird predictions
YOU WILL FORGET TO WEAR SOCKS ON A COLD DAY
THE PRESIDENT WILL TAKE A SHORT NAP ON NOVEMBER 12TH 2008
THE MAGNET LETTERS ON YOUR FRIDGE WILL REARRANGE THEMSELVES
YOU HVE RUN OUT OF THE LETTER “EH”
I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks I’m
A lot of people think I’m all dumb and shit just because I don’t do so good when I do school, but it turns out that theyre wrong. I’m almost at least as smart as some as you and nearly as intelligent too. Blah blah blah, the end. This is boring! I’m going to go get wasted.
Some guy from the past is pretending to be me
Greetings, moon citizens! I was piloting my space zeppelin through the luminiferous æther this morning when I received a radiotelegraphical signal from my home port in Königsberg , Prussia . It turns out that Kaiser Wilhem VIII wanted us to look for signs of life on the balmy surface of Mars.
Now, I’m not one to turn down an adventure, least of all one as fantastical as that, so I activated the dynamo on my automaton companion Michael, and ordered him to set the main rudder to north-by-northeast-by-up. We shoveled some coal asteroids into the main furnace and away we went!
But I’m afraid that’s a story for another time. Right now I have to go watch my favourite opera.