Crosby Inc

Movie Remakes After Being Dark-Knighted

2011-08-06T18:36:00.008-04:00

Gumption: A soldier with PTSD takes an old women hostage after she refuses to hear his stories. Several more women attempt to use the park and are also taken hostage. It is then that the police realize why the man suddenly went off. Gump’s son was taken from his care that morning because the boy’s chocolate-only diet gave him juvenile diabetes.

Uppers: Reeling from the sudden death of his wife, Carl Frederickson numbs the pain with a heavy dose of Meth. He goes on hallucinogenic adventure in his own mind, riddled with images of the life he could have had. In the end he chooses to remain in the dream forever and adopts an Asian baby.

The Princess Died: A fairy tale story where a swashbuckler battles several foes to find his kidnapped maiden. But she’s dead when he gets there.

Hiatus

2011-01-03T23:16:00.003-05:00

Hey team,

I'm taking a break for a little while.

I will be in Chicago mid January for the Chicago Sketch Comedy Festival - both of my troupes were invited to perform - and i expect you will hear from me afterward. Thanks for reading.

~Brian

Boxing Day

2010-12-29T14:00:00.000-05:00

Click image to embiggin

Haikus About Sleeping In Someone Else’s Living Room

2010-12-27T18:58:00.003-05:00

It is time for bed

I usually sleep nude

But the sofa is white

Socks in the oven

Toothbrush by the kitchen sink

I own this town now

Homeowners forget

They have morning kitchen sex

I cough loud: house guest

A Christmas Miracle

2010-12-25T12:17:00.002-05:00

Click image to embiggen

Stacks II

2010-12-20T13:57:00.000-05:00

There was only one strategy that Mandy could think of to get Joan to clean her room: conjure the spirits of her favourite writers and unleash an army of hyper-intellectual ghosts to break Joan’s will. She ran her fingers along the spines of her books until she found the right section (130 – Parapsychology & Occultism) and her original press copy of the Necronomicon.

There was no need to search the index because she had already post-it noted the spells she thought would be useful. She added ‘raising an army of the undead’ to her bucket list years ago and quickly found the appropriate tab. In order to bring about corporeal forms of her favourite dead authors, she had to place their books at the centre of the pentagram and speak the incantation in the tongue of the ancient Ghanese Vodoun people. Luckily, she had a book on that (493 - Non-Semitic Afro-Asiatic languages). And so it was that Mandy clicked and popped her way through the words and lickity-split, standing before her was Lewis Carol, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Emily Bronte.

Stacks

2010-12-15T19:23:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time there were these two sisters. They both had bookshelves stacked with books but the shelves were very different. Mandy’s shelves were made of thick, rich, brown wood while Joan’s case was thin, scratched, and teetered precariously.

The books on Mandy’s shelves were carefully alphabetized for easy selection and categorized according to the dewy decimal system. That included classification for kinds of books she only own one of such as “UFO’s and Self Defense” (999-Extraterrestrial) and the children's book “Sharing and Caring” (335 – Socialism). Her books were dusted weekly and she utilized a system of book recycling by moving any books not read in the past year to the lower shelf for donation. After a book spent a week on the green mile – she upholstered the shelf in green fabric – she would reassess its value and possibly replace it on the shelf or banish it forever. Despite the second chance system, this warden had never granted a pardon.

The books on Joan’s shelves were organized in that the books she had put back recently were stacked on top of other books. By her logic, the books at the top can be overlooked and the books at the bottom have been previously overlooked and she should therefore probably get some new books. 90% of her books were about ponies. One Christmas her grandmother misheard her and gave her a book about peonies; the book is the only one prominently displayed and only as a reminder of the injustice. Once a month, Mandy will hesitantly ask her to clean up her visually offending area and Joan will being to comply. Joan will stack two or three books at right angles before becoming immediately distracted by one of those long forgotten bottom books. She will sit and read it and then find another bottom book to read and then another, and then she will leave the house for cupcakes and leave the stack of half read books on the floor, messier than ever.

Sometimes Mandy would complain that she could not bring her boyfriend over because of the mess of her sister. Mandy’s boyfriend was Benjamin Walter Samuelson, President of the their Jr. High and second place winner at the school’s public speaking competition. Mandy didn’t hesitate to remind people of his achievement and often commented that his speech on improving the nutrition of cafeteria food was far superior to the winner’s speech on hope but those German judges were obviously corrupt. Secretly, she felt as if she had let Benjamin down by backing out of her promise to invite him over and help him prepare for the big speech. Regardless, first and second place were allowed to go to regionals and she saw an opportunity to make good on her word. She was determined to have Benjamin over to her house and maybe up to her room. That meant convincing Joan to clean up her stuff, no matter the cost.

Phone Sex

2010-12-13T12:27:00.000-05:00

Click image to embiggen

The Perfect Town

2010-12-12T13:50:00.002-05:00

Click image to embiggen

Guilty Pleasures

2010-12-10T10:47:00.001-05:00

Click image to embiggen

Theme Park

2010-12-08T11:00:00.003-05:00

Click image to embiggen

Christmas Present

2010-12-06T11:23:00.001-05:00

Click image to embiggen

Battle of Geonosis

2010-12-05T23:43:00.003-05:00

Click image to embiggen

A Song Writer Has Trouble

2010-12-05T22:44:00.002-05:00

Song Writer: I want to write a song about my grand father dying but I don't know where to start.

Singer: A minor.

A Rock Band Doesn't Understand Metaphor

2010-12-05T22:42:00.003-05:00

Lead Singer: Hello, we're Cautionary Tales. We're going to play a few songs for you. This one is called, "Don't Move In With Your Boyfriend If You're Having Relationship Trouble."

Bass Player: Based on a true story.

A Voltron Cover Band Plays Another Song

2010-12-05T22:05:00.003-05:00

Lead Singer: Thanks everyone. That was the theme to Voltron. Next up, we're going to play it again.

Crowd: Yaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyy!

American Groupings of the World's Nations

2010-12-01T23:26:00.002-05:00

Axis of Evil
Axis of Annoyance
Axis of Mild Discomfort
League of Beneficial Yes-Men
Federation of Tolerable Desk Partners
Alignment of Everybody Else

Creating Better Power Point Presentations

2010-11-29T21:01:00.001-05:00

So you’re in charge of presenting the company’s third quarter update to the board of directors but your business lost money. Worse yet, your charts are a mess! Don’t worry, here is a simple tip to make that presentation look like a million bucks.

Insert a 3D Tank.

A 3D tank is the perfect visual to spice up those lackluster bar graphs. Just when you announce the 10% drop in online sales, have the tank roll down the X-axis and blow the shit out of those sagging Spring projections.

There are several websites from which you can buy pre-rendered 3D tanks models. Good ones are 3Dtankmodels.com, 3Dtanks.com, animatedlandbasedmilitaryvehicleswithtreds.com. They are royalty free so you can put the tank in every slide and it won’t cost you extra.

3D tanks. They’re unexpected but always a crowd-pleaser.

Ten Year Old Girl Realizes A Santa In The Mall Can’t Be The Same Santa At A Different Mall

2010-11-29T09:42:00.000-05:00

(AP - Ohio) Yesterday, ten year old Abigail Smith realized that the Santa she visited at the Easton Town Centre cannot have been the same Santa she saw the Lane Avenue Shopping Centre earlier that day. She noted, “The Easton Town Santa was open 12 – 4. The Lane Avenue Santa was open 11 – 3. Something doesn’t make sense.”

Abigail’s mother explained to her that Santa was magic and he could do anything. This explanation had satisfied the girl in the past but now that she was ten, it wasn’t enough. “If he was that powerful,” Abigail questioned, “why doesn’t he end world hunger and stop all the wars? Oh my god, there’s no such thing as Jesus.”

Cover Letter

2010-11-26T13:40:00.003-05:00

TO: Company
Fr: Me
Subject: Money

Dear Prospective Employer:

Please accept my application for the job you have available. I am actually trained to do something entirely different but I need money. As someone who works for money, I know that you will understand.

I use Microsoft Office everyday but I have no idea how to use most of its functions. I certainly do not know how to use the businessy ones like Mail Merge. Once, I used Excel to make myself a budget but that was four years ago. I type well though, so if you break all your fingers, I will be a great asset to your company.

Honestly, this cover letter concept makes me nervous. I do not understand the purpose of listing basic human skills like when people say they are 'organized.' If I was doing the hiring and someone told me one of their best skills was being organized, I would not hire them.

Everyone is at least kind of organized. If they weren't, people would not ever do anything. Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is that I am organized. Not super organized but at least organized enough to send you this letter before the deadline and, honestly, this job does not seem any more challenging than that.

Thank you for this opportunity.

Brian

Iranian Email

2010-11-24T18:17:00.000-05:00

TO: Obama@whitehouse.gov, Netanyahu@knesset.il
FR: Ahmadinejad@president.ir
Subject: Tea?

Message:

Gentlemen, I do not appreciate your public attacks of Iran. The meeting you requested to discuss my country’s nuclear ambitions will not occur as I do not consider Iran’s internal power needs to be an international problem. Trust me, that is all our nuclear technology is used for, lights and heat.

I feel like our relationships got off to a bad start. I would like to invite you both for tea. You should visit me at my cabin tomorrow. It is a small shack location in the middle of a remote desert which has been turned into glass. I would love to see you both there at T-minus twelve hours, er, I mean, 9:00 AM.

Please ignore the other destroyed cabins nearby. I’ve been meaning to fix them but I’m sort of the Tim ‘The Tool Man’ Taylor of Iran.

See you tomorrow!

-Ahmadinejad

Two Book Publishers Update ‘The Baby Sitters Club’

2010-11-22T13:07:00.001-05:00

One: Kids today get older faster. We need a way to capitalize on the existing demographic while giving the series some edge for a new generation.

Two: What if it wasn't a club but a vodka sex party?

One: Bam.

A Woman Yells At A Child During A Hockey Game

2010-11-21T23:59:00.005-05:00

One: Hey number five! You really suck.
Two: But -
One: If you're going to put goals in your own net, you should play for the other team.
Two: I -
One: Cry why don't you. Cry like a baby. That's why they call you Cryin' Brian.
Two: I'm Jake.
One: I'm so sorry! I thought you were my son.

Two Canadian Politicians Talk About Climate Change Policy

2010-11-19T20:03:00.001-05:00

One: I’ve been getting a lot of angry phone calls since the climate change bill got scrapped.

Two: We didn’t need that plan.

One: Now we need a new plan.

Two: Canada has a plan. It’s the American plan.

One: But that’s the American plan.

Two: America has a good plan. We can take that plan and make it our plan.

One: But we just killed our plan.

Two: All we have to do is follow the plan.

One: We should have a Canadian plan.

Two: The plan is good for Canada because it’s good for America which good for Canada.

One: Maybe.

Two: Not every plan has to be made in Canada. This jacket wasn’t made in Canada but it still works.

One: I think you’re missing the point.

Two: That’s the plan.

Two Cruise Boat Passengers Plan Their Day

2010-11-17T14:13:00.003-05:00

One: What are you going to do today?
Two: I am going to do nothing but sit by this beautiful pool and read my interesting book. What about you?
One: I`m not sure. There was a fire in the engine room and most of the electricity is out.
Two: What!? So, I am forced sit by the dumb pool and read my stupid book?

Fake Cancer

2010-11-15T08:33:00.003-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, there is a new epidemic sweeping Ontario and it’s called Fake Cancer. Two women, so far, have been diagnosed and there's no telling how many more are out there.

These women suffer self-imposed weight loss, hair loss, and the social stigma of having Fake Cancer. When people find out about a person with Fake Cancer, they ostracize that person, leaving the sufferer to bear the burden on their own. It's important that people know Fake Cancer cannot be transmitted biologically in any way.

Having Fake Cancer is no easy task. The money raised through the fraud of Fake Cancer is barely enough to cover the expenses of pale make-up. Sufferers must also handle the crippling financial blow of defending themselves in court.

But you can help. The Canadian Fake Cancer Society is accepting donations of old hair clippers. If you can part with one, please donate it to our Clippers of Care program and help Fake Cancer sufferers who may not have the resources to properly shave their head on a regular basis.

Little Choreographer

2010-11-12T13:52:00.001-05:00

A poor little girl stood on the street corner shivering. Her thin frame supported a puffy grey coat which was losing some stuffing. She couldn’t zip it up because the zipper had broken off before she even owned it. She held out her hands, raised her eyebrows, and forced a limp smile as holiday shoppers passed her going in and out of the grocery store. No one bothered to look at her. When she reached out, they saw her hands and waved her off. That’s all she was to them, hands. Not a girl with a kind face and a warm heart but a pair of hands rudely entering their personal space. She felt like she had pick-pocket hands, that these passers-by had discovered her hands slipping their wallet from their pocket. It sure seemed that way based on how people sneered at them.

She looked at her hands, wondering whether they were right. They weren’t particular lovely hands, they could sure use a washing. Maybe they are a bit offensive. She found herself agreeing with them. Fancy that, she didn’t care for her hands anymore than they did. But her feet! That was where the action was. She loved her feet. They were pretty and nimble and she loved to move them and loved when they moved her. But she could not make change with her feet.

She head a mumbly hum to her right. There was a man, dressed in similar hues of grey and sad, singing a song and holding coffee cup. He sang, "We just want to dance here someone stole the page! They call us irresponsible write us off the page.”

He was gruff but pleasant, the way grandfathers sing. And how it worked! The nickels and dimes were rolling in. To get you have to give, she figured, but she knew she couldn’t sing. So, what could she do? She could dance! The man was providing the music already so she picked a coffee cup from the trash, put it at her feet, and danced around.

She moved about freely, however she wished, however she felt. Very quickly people noticed. A few stopped to watch, then more stopped, then some began to dance on their own. Strangers danced in the street, strangers danced with strangers, strangers mimicking the girl’s movement. They smiled and jigged and laughed. It was a whole new street. These people weren’t an audience, they were participants. They were compelled to join in. The girl danced until she ran out of breath and sat down. The people went on their way.

She looked into her coffee cup for the bounty of change but there was none. She scowled and got on her feet to dance again. The man continued to sing and she danced with more passion than ever. Again the people joined in, mimicking her movements. Yet again, they did not put any money in the cup they only danced. The girl was angry. She was giving these people joy and still she received nothing. She gave but she didn’t get.

So she raised up her right hand and so did the dancers. She raised up her left hand and so did the dancers. She stuffed them both in her pockets and so did the dancers. She clenched her fists and so did the dancers. She removed both hands and the dancers removed their hands too but inside of them were the contents of their pockets: lip balm, old receipts, cell phones, coins, and paper money.

She danced over to her cup, her arms out-stretched, and let go. The dancers followed suit and dropped all their things onto the sidewalks, hardly anything making it into the cup. When their hands were empty, she ran down the sidewalk, her dancers following, but stopped suddenly. The inertia kept them going far down the road leaving a pile of treasure behind them.

Princess Margaret Hospital Lottery

2010-11-10T16:14:00.001-05:00

Now is your last chance to buy tickets to the Princess Margaret Hospital Foundation Lottery. Last year, the top winners won a brand new home, luxary cars, and millions of dollars. This year is even bigger! The top prize this year is family doctor. The doctor will provide you and your family with basic medical assessments for the remainder of your life! High class!

The second grand prize is a coupon for an MRI scan. While not immediately gratifying, you can hold onto that for the next time your brain is bleeding for unknown reasons. If you win, hold onto that information; past winners have been hounded by friends and family asking for handouts because they 'suddenly' have mysteriously bleeding brains.

There are still tickets available. For only one hundred dollars, you have the opportunity to win great prizes:

Emergency Room Line-Skip
One Free Elective Surgery
Five Minutes With A Doctor Who Knows What He/She Is Talking About

EDITOR'S NOTE

2010-11-09T10:40:00.002-05:00

[Last week was the Toronto Sketch Comedy Festival and it was my fifth year participating. It was a hectic week of many performances and gatherings which resulted in my life being put on hold. The blog will be back tomorrow.]

Social networking

2010-11-03T23:35:00.001-04:00

People crave the authentic online social experience and each new form of networking improves on the last. Facebook is about to be a thing of the past as my new website provides people with the most accurate social experience ever. It’s called Personal Space.

Personalspace.com is a website that you can personalize with the click of a button. When you sign up, you will be asked to choose ‘introvert’ or ‘extrovert.’ One options prevents you from adding any personal information while the other automatically bombards your friends with useless information about your interests.

Your Friend list functions by fluctuating automatically. Some friends will be removed for several weeks during which their messages to you are rerouted to the junk folder. You will be unable to contact them to explain. At other times, your friend list will be washed of everyone you know except for the person you communicate with the least. This is done replicate the experience of taking a long bus trip and having to sit next to a dude you feel awkward talking to who coincidentally also traveling to Edmonton this weekend.

Once every six months, a person you used to date will be added as your current partner’s friend. This will be done without consulting anyone.

There is no guarantee that any information added to the site is private. In fact, we guarantee the opposite. At some point, highly sensitive information about you will be posted on a stranger’s wall. Personal Space will also search you messages for the names of other PS users. When found, PS will send your message to that person, regardless of what the content is.

Visit Personalspace.com right away. It’s the most authentic social networking site in the world.

You Tube Comment

2010-11-01T11:17:00.003-04:00

YouTube – Puppy Falls Asleep On Kitten
July 08, 2010 101,102 views
Like? Dislike? + ADD |=| f t SHARE Embed
Highest Rated Comments
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dreadhead @wetnosefan China is profiting from our greedy capitalism.
We demand that everything be cheaper, we consume without end,
and when all our jobs go overseas, we complain about it. If you can’t see that the
kitten is America and the puppy is foreign production weighing on our GDP,
you’re fucked.

Hot Dog Stand

2010-10-31T11:25:00.002-04:00

This not so complicate. People, they want hot dog. One after the other, endless. Me, I say, what you want? They say, polish sausage. I put polish sausage on grill. It heat. We wait.

I say, white or wheat? They say, pardon? I say WHITE OR WHEAT! They say, white. I think, why you no understand me talking? So I make polish sausage.

Then I say, four dollar. And they say, I want drink. I say, get drink from cooler. They say, pardon? I say, GET DRINK FROM COOLER! Why so much trouble? So they get drink.

I say, five dollar. They hand me ten dollar. Why ten dollar? Why? Five dollar so much better. You make me get change now. Change down below. I bend over. Get change. Give you change. Now hot dog is burnt.

I put hot dog on bun. They say, why hot dog burnt? Me no like. They yell. They say, not much time for lunch. Me very smart person. Me make lots of money.

I say, hot dog burnt because you make me get change. I say, you so smart, you bring five dollar next time. Not get burnt hot dog.

I’ve Got This Nuclear Bomb In My Apartment

2010-10-29T08:41:00.000-04:00

I’ve Got This Nuclear Bomb In My Apartment. I don’t know to do with it. There’s got to be a way to capitalize on this situation. The most obvious action to take (with a bomb anyway) is to detonate it. But I don’t want to die and I don’t think there’s anyone in my apartment building I want dead. Oh wait, yes there is. Tim McMurray in 3B. Fuck that guy. But this kind of machine is not an focused attack. I would have to hate him enough to take out a lot of other people which I don’t.

I guess I could take the country hostage or something. It happens in the movies all the time but those kind of people never win. And I don’t want to steal people’s hard earned tax dollars. I could sell it to the government! That’s how I make my millions! No, that won’t work. I would have to explain how I acquired the nuclear bomb and I don’t have a good explanation.

There must be some way to come out on top. At the very least it makes an interesting coffee table. Maybe I could use it as an outdoor barbeque. Crap, now I feel like I’m doing one of those divergent thinking exercises where I come up 200 uses for a paper clip. I’m terrible at those.

What do I have so far…coffee table...barbeque...conversation piece? That’s terrible! That’s not even a use. It would just sit there which is what it’s already doing! And I definitely don’t want people asking to many questions about it. Guh! This is why I never got into that gifted program with all my friends.

Metalheads Try To Name Their Baby

2010-10-27T12:44:00.004-04:00

Abominus: My first choice is Sphincter Parade.

Bonnie: Not bad. What about Blood Puppet.

Abominus: That's cool. What about Cunt Baby. It's not even really a name, you know? The baby's whole identity is vague and uncertain except for the fact that it's a cunt.

Bonnie: What about Abominus Junior? For a boy or a girl.

Abominus: Aww, that's sweet. I like that.

Runaway 8

2010-10-26T00:33:00.001-04:00

TEN YEARS AGO

I was camping in the backyard with some friends. It was almost dark but my dad was barbequing some hotdogs for us. My buddy Dave and I were in the tent talking cute girls in the class. He said, “I’m into Susan Norman. I think she has great boob potential. She’s big boned.”

I wasn’t a big fan myself and countered with, “I’m into Katie Obermayer. She was amazing reading Juliet in English.”

“I guess,” said Dave, “but low boo potential.”

“Dave’s got the right idea there.” My dad was leaning into the tent with a tray of hotdogs; we eagerly dug in as Dad crawled inside. “Susan Norman comes from a great family. She’ll be someone important when she’s older. That’s the girl I would keep my eye on. Plus, she has great boob potential.” He winked and patted Dave on the shoulder. Dave laughed.

“I’m not saying I don’t like Susan,” I said, “I just think Katie is more fun.”
“My boy, there are lots of things that are fun in life. This decision isn’t one of them. This decision is a lot more strategic than you’d think. Do you boys want to lead a successful life?”

“Yes,” we chirped.

“Study hard. Graduate high school with good grades and go to university. Study something useful. Find a solid girl with good teeth and settle down. You will help each other while you build your wealth.”

I was really happy to have a dad like mine who prepared me for the future.

EIGHT YEARS AGO

I was at my high school graduation ceremony. We did that hat throw thing. I punched my buddy Dave in the shoulder and he punched me. We smiled and hugged each other.

My parents had split up a week earlier but were putting on airs for my friends’ parents. My mom hugged me, then my dad. He said, “You should have been valedictorian, not that Hamilton kid. It used to mean something to be valedictorian. I guess now-a-days it’s an award for placing last in the butterfly and impregnating a minor.”

“He’s a good guy, Dad.”

“Don’t defend him, dear,” said Mom. “So have you decided where you’re going to school?”

“Yes, I’m going to teacher’s college.”

“Wow, I guess you didn’t deserve to be valedictorian after all,” said Dad.

SIX YEARS AGO

My dad called on the phone. There was a floor party happening on my dorm and I ran down the hall to get it. I knew it was him because he called the first Sunday of every month. Before I answer the phone I coughed into my hand and smelled it. Then I realized he can’t smell beer over the phone.

“Hey Dad.”

“What are you drunk?”

“No!”

“Listen, I was talking to my one of the Fellows at the UofT medical school. He can get you in for next year.”

“I dunno. I think this is going to be good. Productive, I mean. And lucrative.”

“Yeah, Right. All the reading I’ve been doing says that young teachers are having a hard time getting jobs. The older ones are retiring and then double dipping with part time teaching. You’re going to spend your first five years struggling, supply teaching, and wasting the best years of your life.”

“Where did you hear this? Teaching is a job, Dad. It’s a good job.”

“Not anymore, boy. Listen to your dad.”

FOUR YEARS AGO

I was hanging out a science faculty bar trying to drink away the blues. Katie and I were having trouble with the long distance thing since I moved to Toronto to study medicine. She complained I didn’t call her enough which I probably didn’t. I didn’t not want to be with her, I was just busy. Medicine was a lot harder than teaching and I was clear to me that I wasn’t predisposed to the subject: I couldn’t tell a femur from a brain stem.

We had had a big phone fight an hour earlier. The phone fights are the worst because I can’t see her. I don’t know how to react to what she’s saying without facial cues. Someone can be yelling but they don’t necessarily mean it. The intent is found in the eyebrows. Are they raised in surprise or squished in frustration? They comprise an important layer of sub-textual communication.

As I sat at the bar, Katie called over and over. I didn’t answer. I knew what I was going to say if I did. I let another call go to voicemail and watched as the phone ticked over from eight to nine messages in my inbox.

“I know you.” And then there was Susan. “My God. Kevin, how are you? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

I was really happy she came along and gave me something to do. I hadn’t seen her in years and to be honest I didn’t really know her too well in high school. I knew of her, sure, and we talked at parties but that was it. It gave us plenty of opportunities to explore the conversation. She had great teeth.

TWO YEARS AGO

I had just told my parents I asked Susan to marry me. They were delighted. My mom immediately got out her phone and called her friends. I think she even called a newspaper. My dad gave me a big hug and said, “You’re getting there, boy.” I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. He was always confident that I was getting somewhere but was never clear about where it was. In between calls my mom would pipe in.

“So when is it?”

“I think it will be a few years. We’re not in the most stable position.”

“Your mom and I will take care of it.”

“Really?”

“Yes! It’s our gift to you.”

“That’s really generous of you but we wanted to take care of it ourselves.”

“Nonsense. You’ll never be able to afford the wedding Susan deserves. Let us take care of it.”

“What?”

“We want to do it.”

“No, I mean, why won’t I be able to afford the wedding. I’m going to be a doctor. I’ll be able to afford it someday. I was thinking of specializing in pediatrics.”

“Pff, I guess,” my dad gave me this look. It’s a look I’ve seen before but never understood. To me, the look was very caring. It came my way when some big life lesson was en route and it always made the life lesson pleasant. But now I didn’t see it that way; I saw through it. “Doctor’s aren’t what they used to be. They’re only in high demand in the country. You might be able to get a job on some native reserve but never around here.”

My heart broke. I didn’t respond to his statement but just nodded like I agreed. He smiled proudly and put his arm around my shoulders. He took me to the wine rack and asked me to pick out a bottle, any bottle I liked.

Runaway 7

2010-10-24T23:33:00.001-04:00

So me and Ed and Gavin hung around under the tree house that night. We made a fire and hung around drinking beers. They’re good guys. They didn’t bring up real estate investing once. Given our surroundings, perhaps they didn’t think I had anything useful about the topic. After we spilled a few cans I was thinking I could brag about my beachfront property but I didn’t think they would get it and, honestly, I felt better knowing they wouldn’t.

I didn’t have to put on airs with these guys. It was nice and casual. So said, “We could do this.” Which didn’t make any sense at the time either. It was one of those times when I had been having an entirely different conversation in my head than the one in front of me. Then, by accident, I blurted a part of it into real life. I was so excited.

“Do what?”

“This. We could live out here. We each build a tree house. We live like Ewoks. We do what we want. It’ll be great.”

“Let’s do it!” yelled Gavin. He was a bit too on board with the idea but I let it slide; I was too excited. We tapped our beers together as my mind raced with the possibilities. A place free of traditions, social norms, where people could be and do what they wanted.

“What’s it going to be like?” said Ed.

“It’s going to be great. We can invite anyone we want as long as they agree to be neat and respect others. We’ll forage for food. We’ll hunt animals. We’ll tell stories instead of watching TV. We’ll make up creation myths about how we got here. We’ll make clothes out leaves. It will be really communal.”

The guys nodded in approval.

“Hi Kevin.”

It was Susan. She could been standing there for a long time. The last time I saw her, she was wearing her wedding dress but now she wearing jeans and purple hoodie. It didn’t look right. She looked uncomfortable in those clothes, as if they weren’t hers.

“Um, hi, Susan. Beer?” I didn’t know what to say.

“No thanks,” she said calmly. “So, this is what you’ve decided? Ewoks?”

“Or the Nav’i. They’re very similar architecturally”

“Your dad told me you were out here. I can see you from the house so I sit in the window and watch you. I don’t think I’m being creepy. I’m not video taping or anything. I’m just fascinated by this.”

“Thanks,’ I said confidently.

“Yeah. Your dad is selling the house. I said it was okay. There’s going to be people coming to see it so, you probably shouldn’t be in the backyard.”

“I’m not in the backyard.”

“It’s basically the backyard.”

“it’s a few metres away from the backyard.”

“Whatever, Kevin! Christ! Just…move alright.”

“I’ll move in a bit. Okay?”

“Thank you.”

“Are we going to talk about the thing?” I asked.

“No. I’ve moved on.”

“Moved on!? Isn’t that a problem Susan? Don’t you think that’s a sign of a deeper issue?”

“Have fun in the trees.” She walked off.

“It’s going to be awesome in here! I’m going to build a water slide and a Foosball table and a break-dance floor!”

I honestly planned to.

Runaway Part 6

2010-10-22T12:36:00.001-04:00

I worked my first shift at the Jugo Juice. It was a bit tough figuring out the register. In order to do the job well, you’ve got to do a couple of things: 1) take the order. This is complicated. See, most customers really know the drink they want but just because I work here doesn’t mean that I know. That took time. 2)Take the customers money. 4) Give the customer change. 3)Close the register; this tells the computer that the transaction is complete.

I was generally getting three out of four. I would take the order, take the money, and then close the register, forgetting their change. Or I would take their order, forget their money, and give them change assuming they had. Either way, the whole process was exhilarating. Here I was, for the first time, working on my own. I was solving my own problems and making my own decisions.

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

I was having lunch with Susan at this new restaurant called Le Restaurant. Looking at the menu, it seemed like a typical lunch place except the prices were higher and the font was italicized. I guess someone had to design that and that costs money. Susan said this was the place where everyone was going lately. I didn’t know who everyone was but I suppose the place was full so everyone must have been there.

Susan did her usual thing which was running into people she knew and talking to them instead of me. She ran into a friend from first grade and they picked up right where the left off; she ran into the father of a guy she used to be in a chamber music ensemble with so they had lots to talk about; then she ran into her tax guy and they had a great chat.

Throughout, we ordered and I ate. She was always too busy to eat. Unfortunately the tax guy asked about me which is the worst. I don’t mind sitting quietly and eating but I really hate talking to Susan’s non-friends.

“This is my fiancé, Kevin.” Susan always said that like it was a big deal. It was all in the word fiance: that word got all the glory and then the ‘Kevin’ part hung limply at the end. I shook the guys’ hand and he asked me what I do.

Susan said, “Kevin’s in medical school. He’s a great doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor yet, honey.”

“He’s so modest. He’s thinking about specializing.”

“Oh!” said the tax guy like that’s such a big deal anymore, as if the work world does NOT demand people have three degrees nowadays. “What in?”

“I dunno,” I mumbled with a mouth full of french fries, “Ears and noses? That’s a thing, right?”

He laughed. Susan said something about getting salad next time.

“His father is the mayor,” she says.

“You’re Jack’s kid, huh? Great stuff. Great stuff. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

My dad was a doctor before he became the king of this town ten years ago.

“Susan, you don’t have to tell everyone that,” I said.

“He’s embarrassed. He’s so cute.”

“Maybe you could help me with something.” The tax guy puts his shoe on the table, right next to my food, and pulls up his jeans. “There’s this weird dry spot on my calf. What do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. Xerosis?”

Susan goes, “Isn’t he good?”

Little do this people know, it’s just the medical term for dry skin. The tax guy took his shoe of the table and said, “Thanks, Doc.”

“Not a doctor,” I remind him.

“Oh, Kevin, stop,” Susan remind me.

AT THE JUGO JUICE

“Make me a Cherry Grove.”

“What?”

“Make me a Cheery Grove already,” said the lady.

I guess I had been daydreaming. “Right away!” I said with a smile. “Here you go.”

“Where’s my change?”

“Right, sorry. Two dollars and twelve cents.

“The drink is two dollars and twelve cents. I gave you a five, so I need two dollars and eighty-eight cents.”

“Right, sorry. There you go.”

“You’re terrible at this.”

“Sorry.”

It was luxury. Being shitty at something felt amazing.

Runaway Part 5

2010-10-20T17:04:00.001-04:00

Ed and I walked around the mall for few hours. He liked to keep in touch with the other Jugo Juice managers - mostly to sell them weed as it turned out – and I needed some supplies. Ed got me a job working in his branch and was kind enough to float me a few bucks which I promised to pay back. Ed was pretty jumpy and kept asking me if random men were my father.

“Is that your dad? What about that guy? Oh, that guy looks pissed. He’s gotta be your dad.”

None of them were my dad. The mall we went to was affectionately known as the Grub Mall so it’s unlikely to have a Harry Rosen in it. It does however have a Barry Wosen which is where I bought ‘outdoor-style socks’ whatever the hell that meant.

“I’ve got socks at home that cost forty-five dollars.” I said.

“Jinkies!” said Ed. I couldn’t tell if he genuinely enthused; I think he was.

“I bought them for a camping trip to the Everest Base Camp trail.”

“You hiked up Everest?”

“No, I hiked to see the trail that people use to get to the Base Camp which sits at the bottom of Everest.”

“Why didn’t you go up?”

“My brother tried to convince me but I wasn’t interested. Lot’s of people have climbed Everest. It’s not that special anymore. Even more people have been to the Base Camp so that’s less special.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“You know what, Ed? That’s an excellent question. Why has no one visited me in the woods?”

“Because you’re hiding.”

“Yeah, but I’m not that resourceful. I’m only going to be in so many places. School. Mom’s place. Dad’s place. My old apartment. My new house. Jugo Juice. I guess there’s a few Jugo Juices but would it put them out too much to check all three? I was missing for twenty-four houses and didn’t see a single human chain combing the woods.”

I picked up some long underwear and a big sheet of plastic to cover the tree house in (for the water and the bugs). I thanked Ed again for the money – I really would pay him back – and went to check out the Jugo Juice at the other end of the mall. Not only do I consider that lazy, but it’s disrespectful; I would walk several mall lengths for that juice.

Ed sold some weed to that manger of the Jugo Juice. His name was Gavin and he seemed like a really nice guy, mostly because he gave me a free juice. Ed doesn’t understand privacy and told Gavin my story.

“That’s sucks, bro,” said Gavin. “Can I crash at your place?”

I explained to him that my ‘place’ was a child’s treehouse that didn’t have much space in it. He didn’t mind. Apparently, all he wanted a plot of land to pitch a tent on.

“Yeah,” I said, “it would be nice to have some company. I’ve read Yurtle The Turtle fifteen times in the last day and half.”

Runaway Part 4

2010-10-18T15:09:00.003-04:00

The day of the wedding, I was starving myself in preparation for the monstrous dinner. As Susan came up the aisle, it took me a minute to realize that the feeling in my stomach was not just hunger, but something more. By that point, I hadn’t eaten in over a day. I put on my smelly tux and went into the forest looking for something to eat (I wanted to keep my clean set of clothes clean).

So there I was, this scumbag failed-groom, scavenging for berries in the woods. I found these little orange ones (they were gross) and then I found these little red ones (they were gross) and then I just started eating green things because that’s never let me down before (so gross, totally let me down). I was scrapping my tongue with birch bark to get the taste out.

Then the tree behind me exploded. Little bits of fibrous shrapnel flew past my face. I heard footsteps coming toward me and there was my dad reloading his shot gun. I ran.

“Run Kevin! One of these bullets could be a girl who wants to marry you!”

Yeah, he’s a funny guy. All his friends think he’s the life of the party. I don’t see it, but I guess were not really friends. Being friends with your son wouldn’t be an appropriate relationship for a father.

A few more rounds blew open trees as I passed by them. My legs just wouldn’t agree. I was tired and hungry. I hadn’t had anything to drink either. Another tree blew open and I fell. My dad walked to me, firing rounds into trees and into the ground.

“Run Kevin!” Blam. “Run Kevin!” Blam. “Run Kevin!” Blam.

“I can’t!”

My dad stood above me, rifle in hand.

“Yes you can. You can keep going. Run until nobody knows who you are.”

“Dad, it was just a wedding.”

“No it wasn’t. It was the social function of the year put on by me for my friends. It was a networking opportunity. It was a chance to show my family’s confidence and for one day, everyone was going to force a smile and praise me. You know how important it is for me to be loved.”

“I know Dad.”

He sighed and knelt down next to me. “I wasn’t really trying to shoot you, you know.”

“No.”

“Yeah, I guess I was. I guess I’m not as good of a shot as I used to be.”

“You’re better than me.”

“I know that, son, but thanks. You’re not a bad kid.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve had a good run, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m serious about leaving town. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“I thought we had a moment there!”

“Us? No. Scram buster.”

“Can I stay if I make sure you never see me?”

“I doubt that’s possible. This is my town. Always will be.”

He walked back the way he came. He stopped to examine a tree with shot imbedded in it.He then turned to me and raised his rifle. I winced. He made a fake gun noise.

“Nah,” he said, and walked away, whistling.

Runaway Part 3

2010-10-17T10:11:00.002-04:00

That night was unbearable. I was warm enough but the mosquitoes were relentless. I remember hearing the first one buzz past my ear and I imagined the smile on his ugly face as he discovered the blood buffet on his front porch. I’m sure word spread fast in Mosquito Town about the opening of Kevin’s Body: it’s upscale but affordable. And the downwind breeze - the smell of warm Kevin wafting deep into the woods - drew out every blood sucker and flesh feeder for miles.

Within half an hour I surrounded by a gray cloud of mosquito. I put on all my clothes but it didn’t solve anything, it just redirected the bugs to my juicy, unprotected face. I didn’t sleep much that night, especially with a pair of coyotes circling the base of the tree.

The morning light scattered the little vampires and werewolves and I finally fell asleep. I dreamt that I was at the church, standing at the alter. The bridal march played and Susan walked down the aisle. She took my hand and we smiled at each other. Just as the priest was about to speak, Susan interrupted, “I don’t think we should get married.”

“Great!” I said, “Neither do I.”

“I don’t love you Kevin. I’m only marrying you because our fathers own prominent businesses. My family encouraged me to marry within my caste. Also, my father told me that your father will die first, meaning our family will absorb his business.”

“My father told me the same thing,” I said.

“I don’t even like you as a person.”

“I don’t like you either," I said.

“Let’s not do this.”

I turned to the congregation, and said, “We’re not getting married. We’re going to find happiness on our own terms.” The congregation cheered and chanted, “Happiness! Happiness!”

Susan’s father hugged and kissed her.

My father approached me, tears in his eyes, and said, “I was wrong, son. You’re a better man than I. Don’t worry about finishing medical school. Have you considered living in the woods?”

“Yeah, Dad. I have.”

I woke suddenly, slapping a mosquito to my neck.

Runaway Part 2

2010-10-13T11:30:00.003-04:00

I don’t do a lot of jogging in my regular life so I was pretty tired after running through town. I guess I could have taken a cab at some point but I was having too much fun fleeing. So rarely does the opportunity arise.

I had drenched my tux in sweat. As I took off the coat I thought, they’re going charge me extra to clean this. Then I remembered that I didn’t pay for the wedding and felt a lot better. When I reached the top of the hill, I saw the Jugo Juice. Perfect.

“Hey, Kev!” said the cashier, “Quick ceremony.”

“Hey, Ed. Can I get a fresh orange and Acai with a bit of wheat grass?”

“No problem. So, where’s the new Mrs. Kevin?”

“I just bolted, man.”

“You what?”

“I bolted. I…you know…ran away.”

Ed put my ingredients in a blender.

“Are you okay?”

“Thank you, Ed. Thank you for asking me that. I really appreciate that. I bet most people won’t ask me that.”

“No worries, guy.”

“Oh shit!” I yelled and ducked under my chair. A few flowered cars zoomed past the Jugo Juice.

Ed eventually said, “They’re gone,” and I came back up. He handed me my juice and I sipped.

“So you’re not getting married. Does this mean I don’t have to be nice to Susan anymore?”

“What? Of course you have to be nice to Susan.”

“But you hate her.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“I barely know you and I know that you hate her. I talk to you for three minutes, once a day, while you wait for your juice and all you talk about is how bossy she is.”

“I don’t do that. I don’t remember doing that. She’s not bossy...all the time.”

“Yeah! She is, guy! So it’s okay you’re not marrying her! Oh, um, your card was declined.”

Ed handed me my credit card slip.

“My Dad is fast.”

“You’re Dad is also right there,” said Ed.

The flowered cars came back down the hill in the other direction. I guess they had Man-tracker with them and decided they gone too far. One of the cars pulled into the parking lot of the Jugo Juice and my father got out.

“You can pay me for the juice later.”

I put the juice on the counter. “I don’t do that anymore. It’s yours.” I ran out the back door and into the woods. I knew that if I kept going, up the hill, I would reach my house.

There it was. My brand new house, bought by my Dad and given to me as a wedding present. It had 7,000 square feet of space, two floors, seven bedrooms, eight and half baths, two bay windows, a breakfast nook, a wraparound deck, an in-deck Jacuzzi, an outdoor firepit, and a not so subtle pre-built children’s tree house just ten metres into the wood.

I watched as people left the house, having not found me, and drove away. I ran through the back lawn and entered through the back door. In the master bedroom were two suitcases, one for me and one for Susan. There was nothing else in the house other than our bed but we wanted to spend our first married night in our new house.

I picked up my suitcase and again felt regret; Susan’s suitcase looked so lonely by itself. I thought of leaving her an apology note but I had nothing to add. I left. I exited through the back door again thinking of all the possibilities that lay before me. None! I have nothing! This is so stupid! What am I thinking?! Look at that sweet house! I could be living in that! I could be rocking the hell out of the Jacuzzi right now! Christ!

There was no where I could go that was safe and quiet, no one I could call on who wouldn’t turn me in. And I knew that the first thing my father did was cancel my credit cards. So I walked back across the lawn, into the woods, and up the ladder of the tree house. It was pretty nice: 18 square feet, one room, cork floor, space heater, mini fridge, and a small library of children’s literature.

As I opened my suitcase, I saw Susan park her car at the house. She was alone. She checked the front door, seeing it was locked, and just sat on the front step, crying. She lifted her head from her hands and screamed, “Kevin! Where are you?!”

I pulled down the blinds.

Runaway Part 1

2010-10-12T17:15:00.003-04:00

The bridal march played and everyone turned their heads toward the door. Susan entered the church, beautiful in her silk dress. She stared at me, waiting for her at the alter, and all I could think was, “I have to get the hell out of here.” The need was urgent. Pressing. I really needed to leave.

I started bouncing slightly on my toes. I felt like a greyhound waiting for the rabbit to be released, unfortunately, there was no rabbit. I looked around for one. Something to react off of, at least something to draw attention away from me. Susan reached the alter, her father kissed her on the cheek and I thought, “well, I guess that’s the best I’ll get,” and took off.

I just ran. I ran straight down the aisle. It took a few seconds for people to understand what was happening. Her brother, the usher and college football defenseman, grabbed me in a big bear hug. I squirmed until I slid out of my jacket and crawled through his legs. I crashed through the church doors and took the whole flight of stairs in two steps. The congregation poured out behind me, giving awkward chase in their dresses and monkey suits.

I just ran down the street, leaving the wedding and guests in my dust. Cars honked as they drove around me. I wasn’t sure if they were telling me to get off the road ortrying to say, ‘Good on you, buddy. I wish I had done the same.”

It wasn’t until then that I really thought about whether or not this was a good idea; up until then I was reacting entirely on animal instinct. But as the adrenaline subsided, I started to feel regret. Like, maybe it wasn’t a good idea that I just left a very expensive wedding that I hadn’t paid for, left a woman that I committed my life to, and left my tightly wound father embarrassed.

Then I realized that all those reasons were exactly the reasons that forced me to run in the first place.

Poppies

2010-10-10T13:16:00.000-04:00

Man: Maybe we should change Remembrance Day to Veterans Day. It might be impolite to pin poppies on Afghan War vets who endangered their lives to convince locals not to grow poppies for heroin production.

Woman: STOP TRYING TO CHANGE MY COUNTRY! IT’S FINE THE WAY IT IS! YOU’VE BEEN LIVING IN CANADA TOO LONG!

Man: What does that mean?

Woman: BLARG!BLARGH! BLARGH! BLAAAARRRRGGGGGHGHGHGHGH!

Dr. Andre Lacey, Psychologist

2010-10-10T12:19:00.003-04:00

12:00 AM

My team and I are studying the effects of sleep deprivation on several subjects. The subjects will be tested throughout the night to assess their decreased ability to achieve tasks. I will be up all night to observe their behavior.

1:00 AM

Screw this. I’m going to bed.

Food Bank

2010-10-07T09:21:00.002-04:00

Int. Food Bank – Day

Homeless Man: I’d like to make a deposit.

Volunteer: You want some food?

Homeless Man: No, have food. I have this can of crushed pineapple. I’d like to deposit it in your food bank.

Volunteer: Thank you for the donation.

Homeless Man: No! I want you to hold onto this for me until I come back and want to eat it.

Volunteer: Any food we accept will be distributed to needy families.

Homeless Man: This isn’t Russia, okay. Just hold onto my pineapple. Maybe throw a little interest on top.

Volunteer: We appreciate your donation.

Homeless Man: You bank people are so entitled. This is where the recession came from. You think everyone else’s food is your food to use however you want. Forget it, I’ll just dig a hole in the park.

Margot

2010-10-04T12:15:00.002-04:00

Margot stood next to her husband Dr. Roberto Arias and greeted guests. Her husband wore a brown suit, the first garment other than a bathrobe since his release from the hospital. She wore a simple white gown which clung to her thin body like her old ballerina costumes. She knew one of her responsibilities was to show off her toned body so that Roberto’s friends would be jealous and tell him how beautiful his wife looked still, at forty-seven.

Margot and Roberto were celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary and also Roberto’s return to the real world since being shot and becoming a quadriplegic. Roberto’s friends put on big smiles as they walked up the steps and cried when they hugged him. Roberto himself laughed loudly, too loudly, overcompensating. Margot stood solidly by his wheelchair, nodding to the diplomats and well-to-dos as they passed by.

“That better not be Nureyev I see coming up the drive,” muttered Roberto.

“Yes, it is,” said Margot sternly.

“I told you not to invite him.”

“He’s my dance partner and one of my best friends. Of course I’m going to invite him.”

“Then do me the courtesy of keeping your hands off him. After all that’s happened, the last thing I need is to be embarrassed by this teenaged communist.”

“He’s not a teenager,” Margot snapped. “He’s a brilliant dancer.”

She married Roberto in 1955 and now spent most of her time in Panama where he was from and worked as a diplomat. Before him, Margot was the most celebrated ballet dancer in Britain. She was well known for her grace and sexuality on stage. She was made a household name by her role as Aurora in Sleeping Beauty and most recently for her charged performances with 24 year old Russian defector Rudolf Nureyev.

“Mr. Nureyev, you’ve come a long way,” said Roberto to Nureyev. “Forgive me if I don’t shake your hand.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” said Nureyev, his eyes already on Margot. “My darling!”

Margot hugged leapt into his arms. “I missed you,” she said.

Party guests soaked up the unusually public display. Roberto was already uncomfortable.

“Yes, yes, there are drinks inside,” said Roberto.

Nureyev kissed Margot’s hand, said “I’ll see you later. Congratulations,” and entered the house.

“I ask you for one thing!” fumed Roberto in a low husky voice, “Just some common decency and you throw that in my face for everyone to see.”

“He’s just a friend, Roberto.”

Roberto had to smile again and greet his brothers. They all smiled in return but furrowed their brows as they looked him up and down. The brothers all hugged Margot gently and whispered something like He’s so lucky to have you. Margot smiled back at them like they were interviewers asking about her private life. She kept her composure, smiled and said, "thank you".

Then, up the step came a dark haired woman, cutting her way through the crowd of well wishers who had politely lined up. She took Roberto’s hand, kissed it, and said, “Doctor, if you need anything, you let me know.”

“Thank you Anabella,” said Roberto.

The woman passed by Margot and entered the party.

“Who was that?” asked Margot.

“Just a friend,” said Roberto.

200 Posts

2010-10-03T23:29:00.002-04:00

200 posts lined the side of Interstate 176. Eventually, they would make a fence to keep the animals off the the highway, but now they were merely a distraction. My father brought me out here to see where he worked. He worked in places like this, dreary no-where road projects where plump med sit on tree stumps, drink thermos coffee, and fart.

This would have been fun if I were ten years old kid and it was during ‘Take Your Kid To Work Day.’ Unfortunately, I was a twenty-five year old man remembering that his father refused to participate in that day when he was ten and left me alone at school to an entire day of private reading.

“We do a post every six feet. That way the fencing will be strong,” said Dad.

“Dad, what am I doing out here? I don’t care about fencing.”

I phoned my Dad every month to say hi; it felt like of a legal obligation. After six years of long distance conversation, we had it down a efficient twelve line script that took us no more than minute. In it, we learned the same information about each other: that we were good, work was the same, and the weather is whatever it was.
“I thought you might want to know more about what I did. You used to ask me questions about it when you were younger.”

We just came from my mother’s funeral. I was surprised to see him show up since they hadn’t spoken in years. Even so, they complain about each other consistently and blamed each other for their places in life, neither of which was notable negative. Regardless, the commentary was draining. I think they were always trying to turn me against the other and it worked, I disliked them both.

“Do you want to pound a post in?”

He handed me a sledge hammer and I took it. The first thought that came to my mind was cracking him with it. But I didn’t. Instead, I started pounding away on the post. I pounded in three all by myself. My Dad just watched. When I let down the hammer I was sweating and breathing hard. My Dad smiled, said ‘great stuff,’ and patted me on the back.

“How many of these do you do a day?”

“About fifty. But I’m not building fences everyday.”

It was cool. He was a real person for a minute. I didn’t hate him as much after that.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: This post is post 200. Woot!]

Coincidence

2010-10-01T17:10:00.003-04:00

My girlfriend, Michelle, broke up with me two months ago. Things just weren’t working out and plus, I cheated on her this girl named Becca. It turned out that Becca and Michelle were best friends and elementary school but they had a falling out over some guy. Michelle finds out that Becca stole her boyfriend again, flips out and moves to Vancouver. She said it was to get away from me but she was already planning moving to Vancouver for school so whatever.

Two days later, I run into the fist of Jesse, Becca’s boyfriend. That thing felt like a crowbar and I had to be shipped to St. Paul’s Hospital in – guess where – Vancouver.

So the surgeon is reading my chart and he says ‘someone split your head with one punch?’ And I tell him about this Jesse guy. It turns out the surgeon knows Jesse because he installed a few metal rods in Jesse’s hand when he broke it.

He apologizes – he feels partly responsible for my situation – and says he’ll fix me up real good. In the meantime, he says, our student doctor will tend to you. And guess who walks in? Michelle. And she doesn’t say anything to me. She’s doing her job right but she doesn’t want to do her job.

So I get her talking and she says she’s great, that school is great, and that she’s seeing a new guy. A new guy? Who is this guy, I ask. She says his name Gerry and they hung out for a few weeks before realizing that this was the guy that Becca stole from her in elementary school. Turns out Michelle didn’t care about that anymore because they were kids so blah, blah, blah.

Anyway, my head’s all better in a couple of ways. The stitches are healing, yeah, but also, I now know that if I hold out for fifteen years, there’s a still a chance for me and Michelle.

Lego Kid

2010-09-29T18:40:00.004-04:00

I am a Lego kid. I have five hundred thousand pieces from a variety of sets which can combine to form anything imaginable: space ships, star fighters, or interstellar science vessels. I approach each design slowly, allowing myself days of thought before setting it to paper. My creative mind is like a gazelle that I need to carefully approach calmly and quietly or I will scare it away. Each design has a unique genesis – some slow, some violent – but each one fragile. Were I too hasty with my designs, the world would never have known “Spaceship #6”, the one with workable bomb doors.

Once I fell confident in the basic idea, I sequester myself in my bedroom and work straight through until completion. I don't stop for food or drink because if I did, my naturally idle mind would tempt me with sloth. As a result, some builds put me in a medically dangerous position. After building ”Spaceship #332”, the one that was actually two spaceships, I was hospitalized for a weekend.

The designs that require editing cause the most pain. Writing is rewriting, they say, but rewriting is the least gratifying part, pound for pound. Imagine spending days to conceive and build “Spaceship #500”, the one that was a spaceship and a tank, only to discover that the command hatch is not large enough to hold the Lego alligator you designated as pilot. Tragedy.

An extra day of fiddling was required, all the while those smiling yellow Lego men screamed at me “Why an alligator? That command hatch will hold three of us!” Silence you cowards! Build your own spaceships.

Digitizing Health Care

2010-09-28T09:15:00.002-04:00

Minister: Thanks for being a part of the team. You are all part of an important project to digitize the province's health care records. This will save the us money and increase the quality of care for everyone. So get typing.

One Year Later.

Minister: No one has typed anything? Just type the records into the computer! You all type, right? Good. I guess I wasn’t clear before. I’m sorry. But now that you know what to do, I’m expecting big things.

Nine Years Later:

Minister: Come on! It’s been ten years! What the hell do you people do here? You’re all consultants to other provinces e-health offices? But you haven’t done anything yet and you spent all this money! Where did it go? It went to hiring consultant from other provinces’ e-health offices. Great. Well, I don’t know what to do. If you type up one health record, I won’t tell anybody.

Grant Application

2010-09-26T23:20:00.001-04:00

Mission Statement of Jargon Books:

Jargon Books is a brand new publishing company. We plan to focus specifically on serving customers from untapped markets. Untapped markets make up 100% of new customer growth. By creating products for people who have yet to purchase things they don’t want yet, we will be there when they do. We will tap into the social zeitgeist and publish authors that are good. We already have a roster of good authors and many of the books in development are good.

Currently, we are looking into several untapped markets that currently do not purchase many books. Our research shows us that untapped markets currently hold a 0.1% market share but they could hold a market share that is higher if they bought more books. Below is a partial list of untapped markets that do not buy books but could if they did.

Babies
High School Dropouts
Blind Paraplegics

A Talent Scout Convinces Himself This Music Is Good

2010-09-24T10:12:00.001-04:00

One: Hey, Tommy, get in here.
Two: Here’s your tea Mr. Harrison.
One: Thanks. Listen to this band I discovered. What do you think?
Two: Yeah, they’re alright.
One: ‘Alright’? I’ll turn it up. Give it a listen.
Two: Yeah, they’re not bad.
One: ‘Not bad’? Are you hearing what I’m hearing? I guess I’ll turn it up a bit more. Now what do you think?
Two: WHAT?
One: They’re even better now, right?
Two: HUH?
One: They’re good, right?
Two: Yeah. They’re good.
One: ‘Good’? That’s it? I guess I’ll turn it up some more.
Two: Mr. Harrison! It’s already very loud.
One: TOMMY!
Two: WHAT?
One: THEY’RE GOOD, HUH!?
Two: I already said they’re good!
One: They’re like ABBA plus Sting for Bieber fans.
Two: YEAH! THEY’RE GOOD ALREADY!
One: That’s what I wanted to hear.

Injurious Bastards

2010-09-23T11:28:00.002-04:00

Jeremy worked data entry at RBC for two years. It was the best he could do with an English degree and he actually started to like it once he was allowed to wear his headphones and listen to music. Although RBC policy insisted otherwise, Jeremy’s productivity went way up with that distraction in his ears; he was twice recognized with the ‘Most Keystrokes’ award.

However, with his increased productivity went his exertion levels and after a few weeks he started to feel a tingle in his hands. The pain lingered after work and his aching hands kept him up at night. His doctor diagnosed him with tendonitis and wrote Jeremy’s supervisor a letter explaining that her star worker could no longer do strenuous work with his hands.

Unfortunately for his supervisor, Sarah, data entry was the only job that she could have him do without inventing one, which is exactly what she had to do. She would have loved to fire him but workplace injury laws prevented her. Firing him was preferable because she had to hire two new people to replace him and continue to pay Jeremy for his quasi-fake filing job.

Sarah worked several hours of unpaid overtime to accomplish the numbers HER supervisor had become accustomed to. After she missed her brother’s wedding, her doctor told her that she was overstressed and if she took a week off, her chest pains and pimples would subside. So she did.

Well! Sarah’s supervisor, Regional Manager Todd Harrison, threw up his pina colada. He had spent only twenty four hours in Hawaii for his anniversary – a vacation he felt so guilty asking for - when he received the email that Sarah had left. He would have liked to fire her but workplace injury laws prevented him.

But by not firing her, one of the five offices he oversaw would lose productivity and HIS supervisor, President of RBC Canada Laura Watton, might fire HIM. Unless, he thought, he could be injured on the job. So he flew back to Toronto, called President Laura Watton, and threw himself down a flight of stairs.

Back at home, Jeremy received no new schedule and was very worried that he was fired. Supervisor Sarah said she wasn’t working and to he should call Todd Harrison. Todd Harrison wasn’t working and he said to call Laura Watton. Laura Watton said, “This is the President’s Office. If you have a problem with your work schedule, please take it up with your immediate supervisor.”

New Jobs

2010-09-20T14:39:00.003-04:00

New Boss: Please traffle this article for me.

Me: What?

New Boss: I’m very busy. Good luck!

Me: Wait, I’m sorry, I don’t know how to ‘traffle’ an article.

New Boss: Oh. Well, it’s easy. You just take the article and traffle it. Then take your traffle to Bill and you guys will retraffle the traffle and put it in the fundle.

Me: I don’t understand.

New Boss: Did you not use fundle at your last job?

Me: I’ve never done anything like this.

New Boss: Look. Just traffle the article. Put the traffle in the fundle and wait for the traffle to be niffered. Once it has been niffered, sput the traffle, and retraffle it. If you have to grot the niffer or bup the haddle, go for it. Be creative.

Me: This is not going to happen.

New Boss: I’m very busy. See you in an hour!

Art Collectors Famous For Shitty Collection

2010-09-19T23:56:00.003-04:00

Bernie and Betty Brickner are Toronto's most celebrated art collectors. While not wealthy, they have amassed an impressive collection of modern art in their small apartment, all of it shitty.

They started collecting art in 1973 with an table-top sculpture by shitty artist Ben Gilles. The piece was meaningless and ugly and Gilles considered it a failure before and after the Brickner's bought it.

"I had given up on my career that morning," says Gilles, "and then the Brickners waltz into my studio. They tell me they love my stuff and they want to buy this shitty piece and hand me ten bucks. I bought cigarettes with it."

The Brickners continued purchasing shitty art, completely missing the point and having no taste whatsoever. They have been canaries for so many failed careers; when the Brickners showed up to Jane Hawthorne's 1979 exhibition, she knew her career was over.

"I was a really successful painter throughout the seventies but by '77 I felt that I was losing touch with myself. When the Brickners showed up to that show, I knew that I had become shitty."

Although the artists appreciate their support of the arts, everyone knows they just don't what the hell they're talking about. When questioned for this article, they seemed blissfully unaware their collection was so shitty.

"I didn't know until you called me yesterday about this interview," said Bernie.
"I had an idea," said Betty, "but I didn't know it was this shitty."
"You knew our collection was shitty and didn't say anything? What's wrong with you?"
"You always seemed to confident when we were buying."
"Something in here has to be good. What about this Ken Fiddleman painting? This is shitty?"
"Yes, it's pretty shitty."
"Betty! We have to get rid of this shitty art. Maybe the AGO will take it."

So far the AGO has not returned their calls.

Diary Of An Activist

2010-09-18T23:58:00.002-04:00

August 13, 2010

The team and I arrive in Seoul. We’re going to float hundreds of leaflets into North Korea on balloons. Today we write the message of hope and take it to the printers.

August 14, 2010

We picked up the leaflets. They looks great. This afternoon we’re picking up the three high-altitude weather balloons that will carry our message of hope into North Korea.

August 15, 2010
10:00 AM

Me and the team drive from Soul to the North Korean border. We pile the leaflets into clear garbage bags.

10:15 AM

We inflated the balloons and tied on the bags of leaflets. You don’t know what’s coming, Kim Jong-Il!

10:30 AM

The fucking wind blew them out to sea! Fuck!

A Message from President Raul Castro to the people of Cuba.

2010-09-15T10:03:00.001-04:00

Hello Cuba. It is Raul talking to you. I know you are worried because I am cutting half a million government jobs. But here is something that will cheer you up. You live in Cuba! You should see the tourism pamphlets for this place. They look nice. Cha cha cha, salsa!

Honestly, yesterday I saw a commercial for this beautiful beach resort and I said, ‘I want to go there,’ but it turned out the place was Cuba. And I WAS there. And YOU are there. What luck!

Have you tried snorkeling? You should. I know a guy if you need a guy. The other day I was thinking, ‘I wish I lived somewhere that had great snorkeling,’ and then I realized that I did! And you too! Bum bum bum, rumba!

You see? Your life will be better than ever before. People travel from all over the world to visit Cuba but you can do it for free because this is where you live. And now that you’re unemployed you have all the time sit on our sandy beaches. Man, it’s so warm around here. Flamenco!

Lady Gaga Is Music

2010-09-13T09:24:00.001-04:00

(Los Angles) Lady Gaga was crowned the reigning queen of music at the MTV Music awards last night. Nominated for the thirteen video awards, winning seven video awards, she arrived in a meat dress. Gaga solidified her place as music royalty by winning awards for video editing and wearing unusual dresses. She also won for best video collaboration with Beyonce, a woman who displayed her musical genius with the ‘Single Ladies’ dance. Gaga surprised fans by revealing the name of her new album, 'Born This Way', which was nominated for a ‘Music Album Title Award’ during the morning hours.

Smash For Mayor

2010-09-12T23:57:00.001-04:00

Hello, I am Smash Bingley and I’m running for Mayor. Kaboom!

Yes, Smash Bingley is an unusual name but it doesn’t end there; I’ve got all sorts of unusual ideas too. How about ‘saving taxpayers money’? That’s pretty unusual. How about ‘making sensible decisions’? That’s pretty unusual too. I’m full of ‘unusual’ ideas that these ‘regular politicians’ just don’t ‘understand’. Kaplowie!

Here’s my five ‘point’ plan. Watch out, they’re sharp!

1) Stop messing around.
2) Do politics differently.
3) Get stuff done.
4) Do the things on this list.
5) Fa-shoom!

Convinced?

Vote Smash Bingley.

First Annual Quran Bonfire and Children’s Apple Pie Festival

2010-09-10T12:54:00.001-04:00

Rev. Terry Jones is inviting everyone in the county to the bonfire and pie festival. The burning of Islam’s most holy book will begin at 2:00 with one hundred books already planned for destruction. People are encouraged to bring their own and toss them into the cleansing flames.

Afterward, there will be an apple pie contest for kids! Children are encouraged to try their hands at baking (with the help of Mommy and Daddy) and bring their tastiest creations. Fresh pies can be baked right on the Qurans.

Everyone will receive a participation ribbon and the baker of the best pie will receive fifty dollars and a connect-the-dots picture of Mohammad. It’s fun and gradually blasphemous.

Then there’s another bonfire. This one will focus on crosses and American flags. And more Qurans if they’re available.

EDITOR'S NOTE

2010-09-09T07:08:00.002-04:00

[Sorry, Team. I went to a far away land to attend a wedding in a hurricane. It was the best wedding ever which made for the worst blog week ever. New posts begin tomorrow. Cheers.]

Lawn Yawn

2010-09-01T22:26:00.002-04:00

Six feet by Six feet was all the front yard that Reggie had. But he wasn't going seize every opportunity.

Last summer had bought 4 pieces of sod. They looked nice and upped the curb appeal of his home. He let the roots grow in and brought in a real estate agent who estimated he added a thousand dollars to his property. He thought about selling but that lawn presented him with more opportunities.

A week later, he took his kid camping on the front lawn. It was great. They shared memories and roasted marshmallows. Reggie was a bit upset with the coleman stove fell over and burnt his lawn. His son didn't get it. "It's just grass, Dad." Woof, what a stare that boy got. Reggie took the next day off work to monitor and perpetually water the burnt area.

After a month of intensive care, the lawn was back to health and he threw a garden party. Only four friends could fit on the lawn but they had three noise complaints so he knew the party rocked.

Unfortunately the lawn was trampled. It wasn't unexpected since nobody moved all night but it was regrettable. He had to take a whole week off to manually restand each blade of grass.

At the end of the summer, Reggie and his wife celebrated their seventh wedding anniversary. She bought him a guitar and suggested she write a love song. Reggie couldn't wait:

I love you lawn
You do me no wrong
I wrote this song
It's about my lawn

The lawn must have liked it because it grew 0.3 centimeters longer than average that week. He was also happy that his wife finally accepted his relationship with their yard and put all his stuff on the lawn so that he could be closer to it.

Dolphins Are Bad Friends

2010-08-31T11:43:00.003-04:00

From the Journal of Doctor Whitney David Cobbler, Zoologist. Friend to the Dolphin

For the past ten years, I, Doctor Whitney David Cobbler, have been studying the North Pacific dolphin population in the hopes of saving it. Their numbers fell to endangered levels twenty years ago and since then I have spent all my time and money to build a sanctuary where I could mate them. I studied dolphin genetics and olfactory response in order to create an dolphin aphrodisiac. The chemical has been unsuccessful up until this year’s batch which, finally, the dolphins responded to. And then those smiling bastards got frisky and made a bunch of new dolphins on their own.

What the hell dolphins? There are hundreds of you out there now. You can’t do that. You can’t decide to make more dolphins after all the work I’ve done. I got nothing now. I have no other skills. I don’t know the science of any other animal. My knowledge is non-transferable. The government people laugh at me now. Literally laugh at me. I feel like I’m trying to sell snow cones in a blizzard. I give these presentations trying to grant money and there’s a thick layer of dolphins piling up outside the window. There’s not enough room in the ocean for all you friggin things.

I thought we were friends. I’m the guy in the boat everyday feeding you and trying to make the girl dolphins look pretty. Is this because I had to tag you? I’m sorry but I had to do it. It’s like getting an ear pierced. It doesn’t hurt that much. Stop being a bunch of pussies.

Jesus. Whatever dolphins. Whatever. Do you’re thing. You don’t need me? Fine. I can use my dolphin aphrodisiac as a shark enrager. See how you feel about that. There’s gonna be a lot of pissed of Great White Sharks coming your way with empty tummies and noses full of dolphin spunk. Enjoy it assholes.

Ian McKellen talks about the Hobbit.

2010-08-29T23:59:00.003-04:00

(CP) – While attending the Manchester Pride Parade, Sir Ian McKellen fielded questions about stalled production on The Hobbit and a leaked novelization that has been found in book stores. The novel has been snatched up by eager Lord of The Rings fans. “The novelization should not have come out. It will ruin the movie,” said McKellen.

Typical Lord of the Rings fan, Stephanie Kent said, “I don’t care about that, I had to read it.” But if the book is any indicator, the movie is fated to bomb. The book’s structure is far from three act, the story meanders, and the dialogue is overwritten. No director could make sense of script like this and it seems so unlike the source material.

The most glaring problem with the book adaptation is that there is little action. Sure, there appear a few promising set pieces which include complex CGI but the characters spend most of the book walking and talking.

Fortunately, McKellen said the movies will satisfy. “We’re also planning a feature film version of the novelization.”

The novelization costs $15.99 and contains production photos of Guillermo Del Toro quitting his job.

Fibe Internet (Is Out Of This World)

2010-08-27T10:27:00.003-04:00

White Guy: Hey, I saw the Bell guy was here.

Black Guy: Yeah, I signed up for Fibe.

White Guy: Fibe?

Black Guy: Fibreoptic Internet. I can share photos and video three times faster than cable.

White Guy: Did you ask him how we get out of this void?

Black Guy: Don’t you want to know my wifi password?

White Guy: No. Why didn’t you ask that guy how we get out of this infinite expanse?

Black Guy: Um. He was hooking up my new internet. He did my home network for free.

White Guy: The only thing we have in this place is internet. It’s already good. Did you ask him for food? Did he tell you why they brought us here?

Black Guy: No. I lost sight of what was important when he told me I would get the first month free.

White Guy: We don’t even pay for internet! Next time he shows up, punch him in the face and tie him to your table.

Subway Cookies

2010-08-25T10:48:00.002-04:00

INT. NABISCO BOARD ROOM – DAWN

Sarah Frank enters the board room at Nabisco where her sleepy eyed vice presidents hug their coffees. She drops a tin tray of saran wrapped cookies on the table.

SARAH: Oreo sales are barely in the black. Teddy Grahams are going extinct. Peek Freans have peaked.

MR. KEW (Timidly): What are those?

SARAH: They’re fucking Subway cookies and they’re fucking amazing. I want answers. What the hell is in these things?

MR. KEW: Well…*munch munch*… there’s a lot of fat.

SARAH: We don’t have fat in our cookies? Bullshit. I personally throw a tub of lard into the mixer every time I walk by it. Do you know often that is? Eighty five tubs a day.

MR. YAN: That’s not lard. That’s elephant sweat.

SARAH: What the shit?

MR. OLPERT: It’s from India. They put a big tub under an elephant as it sits in the hot sun. When the liquid cools, it solidifies.

MR. YAN: It saves us twenty five million dollars a year.

SARAH: It can’t be that. I love that sweat. What the balls else?

MR. KEW: Well…*munch munch*…it tastes like they use real chocolate.

SARAH: What the fuck? What are we using?

MR. OLPERT: Chalklet. It’s a chocolate substitute made from coffee grinds.

MR. YAN: We save fifty million dollars a year with Chalklet.

SARAH: No, it can’t be that. Chalklet is delicious. I ship it to third world countries because I’m a good person. What else?

MR. KEW: Well…*munch munch* … it tastes like they use flour.

SARAH: What the fuck? We don’t use flour?

MR. OLPERT: We use Phloor. I’m not sure of the ingredients but we get it from Arm and Hammer.

MR. YAN: I thought it was dry stick deodorant.

MR. OLPERT: We save a hundred million dollars a year.

SARAH: Shut your faces. I know what it is. Love. I hear it all the time when my dumb nephews are watching television. Food is supposed to be made with love. So, I don’t care what’s happening in your lives. I don’t care that Olpert is struggling with a shopping addiction. I want everyone to make these cookies with more love starting right now. Or help me God I will destroy every one of you.

Short Darts

2010-08-24T12:23:00.001-04:00

BRACEBRIDGE (CP) – Inga Thomas has been making waves in the Ontario Amateur Women’s Short-Darts League. At only fifteen years old, Inga is tied for first place in the age 15-19 bracket of the South-Western Bracebridge ladder. After her first place win at Dave’s Bar ‘Ladies Short Darts and Half-Price Wings’ night, her career winnings total thirty four dollars in gift certificates.

This girl is built for Short-Darts. Having hit her growth spurt last year, her arm length is almost 17 inches. Given that the distance from the throw line to dart board is only 20 inches, she has a huge advantage over other girls, and especially boys who have yet to reach puberty. Her reach rivals the massive 17.3 inch length of professional Short-Darts player Lisa Dent who was the Champion at last year’s Northern Ontario Short-Darts and Short Ribs Championship; Lisa did not place in the Short Rib event.

Inga has made the front page of several community newsletters but she says her new fame isn’t easy. During a recent public appearance at an Uffington Dart store someone threw a water bottle at her. But she’s taking it all in stride and insists she just a regular kid. Well Inga, I hope you don’t mind if I disagree.

Facebook Is My Best Friend.

2010-08-24T11:33:00.002-04:00

My fleshy friends tell me that I shouldn’t tell Facebook all my secrets. What they have forgotten is that friendship is a two way street. Facebook doesn’t steal my information; I willingly provide it and in return it suggests fun things for us to do.

I told Facebook that I liked the band Mumford and Sons and I last week I ‘checked into’ Sunrise Records on Facebook Places. The very next day, Facebook sent me a message ‘You like Music. You should become a fan’ and it linked me to a page where I could be a fan of MUSIC. I thought, Facebook is so right; I should be a fan of all music, everywhere. Why restrict myself to genres and preferences?

As a thank you, I took Facebook to this free jungle drum concert. With my laptop on and my browser open, Facebook and I sat on a blanket on a hill and sipped fresh tea. It was really special. Of course the signal was terrible out there and Facebook had trouble loading. And then my laptop died so he I was alone.

But I’m the kind of person who would make that sacrifice for Facebook, unlike my fleshy friends.

America, we won. Again.

2010-08-20T17:21:00.001-04:00

The General:

Troops, we are finally leaving Iraq. After seven years of fighting and thousands of lives lost, I can confidentially say that this mission was a success. Here’s how. We nailed the invasion. Bang on. I wish I had a more appropriate word than 'succeeded.' How about 'wrecked'? We wrecked that place up.

We successfully implemented phase one of part one of a thirty two part plan to get Iraq back on it’s feet. That part comprised of installing a Coca Cola machine in the government building. It's hot in Iraq so they were happy to have it.

In 2008, our field cooks perfected a recipe for Beef Burgundy using ingredients only found in the desert. I’ve tried it and I couldn’t it was turnips and bat meat. Impressive.

In total we managed to destroy 340 outdated armoured vehicles paving the way for new armoured vehicles with mp3 player compatibility. The next war is going to be bumpin’.

We successfully and completely stood our ground even after everybody, and I mean everybody, told us to leave. The international community, our own generals, and the American people all told us we should have left years ago. You have to respect that kind of stubbornness.

Most importantly, we all had a good time. With heavy hearts we say goodbye, but at least we can look forward to North Korea in 2012.

Food Noir

2010-08-18T13:19:00.003-04:00

I peak through the blinds at the van parked outside. It's raining hard. A man sits inside the van, his hat pulled low. His cigarette burns against the shadows. He tosses the butt out the window and exits the car carrying a long, flat bag, the perfect size for a couple of shotguns. He checks a piece of paper and looks at the houses nearby. He focuses in on mine and walks up the path.

The doorbell rings. I stand to the side of the door and say, “Who is it?”

“John,” he says. “I have something for you."

“Maybe I don’t want it,” I reply.

“This is 211 Brunswick Avenue. That means I have something for you.”

My mind races with all the possibilities. It could be a bomb from Big Fatty or a bullet from Little Shorty or it could be the pizza I ordered. I really want that pizza but in retrospect, having it delivered might have been a good idea; I have a lot of enemies. I take a chance on honesty.

“Is this the pizza I ordered?”

There’s a pause. Maybe he isn't paying attention or maybe this assassin is working out an answer to my question.

“Yes,” he says, “a large double cheese.”

It could be a lucky guess but that is exactly what I ordered. Man, I want that pizza.

“You got I.D.?” I ask and he holds something up to the peephole. I look through and see a badge: Pizza Delivery Union local 34. It looks legit but these things are easy to fake.

I just can’t take the chance. I yell at him, “Get out of here! I don’t want it!”

“What’s your problem?”

“Scram! Get out of here! Go back to your boss and tell him you didn’t find me.”

“I’m not leaving without a tip.”

I pull a twenty from my wallet and shove it under the door.

“That’s more than the pizza," he says, "I'll just leave it by the door.”

“I said scram! Take your package with you.”

He leaves and I peek through the blinds. He lights another cigarette and drives away.

I laugh to myself. I'm still alive, suckers.

A Message from PITA (People for the Internet Transitioning of Animals)

2010-08-17T12:02:00.002-04:00

Sneezing Pandas, Dramatic-look Gophers, Cute Kittens. The internet is wrought with young, cute animals who have struck it rich with multi-million-view videos. But these animals grow up and become less cute at which time they are summarily rejected by their audience.

They grew up. Where once was a giant head and a tiny body is now a regular sized head and regular sized body. When they cough, sneeze, look, or jump, it’s a now mostly annoying. That is why we need your help. Our organization needs money to provide homes burnt out internet animals.

Remember that dog that smashed into a wall after running while dreaming? Funny, yes, but now he’s living a nightmare. After years of touring the act, that Labrador’s snout is as flat as a pug. He’s not cute anymore and he has only 27 views on his new Inception inspired video ‘Dog Dreams of Dreaming.’

Remember the cat that kept falling over because he was sedated at the vet? He did well for a while, appearing as a cat run over by a drunk driver in several MADD television spots. But he was quickly pigeon-holed and couldn’t expand his range. He was relegated to a Steve Buscemi-type supporting character; never again the leading man.

Worse, there is a whole new generation of cute animals who see a leaked internet tape the fast lane to fame; they are celebrity whores with little respect for the talent of their predecessors. All they do is flash a little tail and expect big view. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work out and we’re seeing burnt out internet animals who are younger and younger.

With your money we can encourage these animals to appreciate their youth and move them toward the lucrative business IAMS pet food ads.

Drinking Plus Board Games

2010-08-15T23:51:00.004-04:00

Cranium: Play guys vs girls. Drink every time somebody says something sexist.

Settlers of Catan: You can buy a drink for one brick and one wheat.

Game of Life: Take a drink every space you move. If you get married, drink every two spaces. If you have kids in your car, drink every three spaces.

Monopoly: Take a drink every time someone complains about playing Monopoly

Criminology 101

2010-08-13T14:15:00.002-04:00

Professor Jacobs’ first year criminology class was a real bore. For fifteen years running, he had taught Introduction to Criminal Law and Procedure and he had obviously lost interest in the curriculum. In his defense there is not much fun to be had in any class whose topic is a procedure, unless it’s Introduction to the Procedure of Candy Eating. But that wasn’t this class.

On the first class of the first semester of a new year, the lecture hall was filled with the energy of excited students. But Professor Jacobs’ was already depressed to still be teaching this class.

“Please sit down everyone,” he said in a morose tone. “Today we will begin with the introduction to criminal law. Learning to navigate the Canadian legal system is a complex task but it can also be very rewarding for your professional and personal lives.” The class was already boring.

He continued, “At this juncture, I like to make the class personal by asking if anyone has any Canadian legal stories they would like to share. Does anyone?”
Someone asked about getting out of a parking ticket, someone else asked about environmental protection. Yeah, yeah, yeah, thought the professor.

And then someone asked, “If somebody kills a guy, I’m not saying I did it, but somebody did, someone else, they killed a guy, what kind of evidence do the cops look for?”

Jacobs pulled his head off his desk to look at the man, about 35, dressed in a suit that his muscled arms were about to tear open. “What?” replied the professor.

“Let’s say it’s pretty clear the guy killed the other guy but the other guy was a jerk, would that information sway the jury?”

“What kind of a jerk? Was he a criminal?” asked Jacobs.

“Maybe not a criminal. But he unnecessary, in the global sense.”

“Are you basing this on an existing case?”

“okay, it was me. I killed a guy. Maybe a couple of guys. But that has yet proven in court. Wow, that feels good to finally get off my chest. I’m glad that everything in this room is confidential.”

Another student piped up, “Professor, can we leave?”

To which the professor replied, “No! This is the most interesting thing that’s ever happened in this class! We must continue! What were you saying?”

"I’d rather not get into the details. Professor, do you feel like criminals have no choice?”

“I think there are many factors at play. Poverty for example. What do you think?”

The man rolled up his suit sleeves. “I don’t want to implicate myself with what I’m about to say, but I think that some people are monsters and they can’t help themselves. Destruction is part of their personality. Sometimes that destruction gets focused on a person with obvious results.”

“Interesting,” said the enthralled Jacobs.

“Professor,” pipped another student, “we’d like to leave the room.”

“No! We’re going to discuss this. Everyone get into groups of eight and discuss the idea proposed by Mister…”

“Blood Fist.”

“Mr. Blood First.” The professor put a chair next to Blood Fist’s desk. “If you don’t mind, I would love to join your group.”

“Go for it. And while we’re at it, maybe we could discuss what makes a good fake alibi?”

“Anything, anything.”

Gus The Barber

2010-08-11T14:31:00.001-04:00

INT. GUS THE BARBER - Day

Enter Man In Suit.

SUIT: Gus Salvati? I represent Roger Stoner of Roger Studios; you probably heard of him. I’m presenting you with a cease and desist order telling you that you can no longer use the name Gus the Barber.

GUS: What? Why?

SUIT: Mr. Stoner owns a series of upscale salons which use the folksy name as a quasi-ironic joke. You must stop using the name or face legal action.

GUS: What am I going to call it?

SUIT: You can call it anything.

GUS: I’m Gus. I’m a barber. I’m Gus the Barber.

SUIT: Yeah, I get that.

GUS: I can’t call it Jacob the Barber. There’s no Jacob here!

SUIT: I know there isn’t.

GUS: I can’t call it Ben the Barber.

SUIT: Ben The Barber sounds nice.

GUS: The alliteration is magic! But I’m not Ben!

SUIT: Just call it Gus.

GUS: Just Gus? It doesn’t tell me what Gus does?

SUIT: Then call it The Barber.

GUS: Which barber? Is it Gus, a man dedicated to customer service, or some terrible new barber who has no identity? No driver’s licence. Just some convict running from the law.

SUIT: Then keep Gus and change the last part.

GUS: You want it to be Gus the Carpenter? I can’t change professions at my age. What would I do with all of my scissors?

SUIT: Don’t change jobs, just the name.

GUS: I’m Gus .

SUIT: Yes.

GUS: I’m Gus the Barber.

SUIT: Yes.

GUS: So this is Gus The Barber.

SUIT: Yeah. I know!

GUS: Maybe you should change your face to a different face.

SUIT: Gus. Just call it something else.

GUS: You know what I think. This Roger Stoner fellow, his name’s not Gus is it?

SUIT: No.

GUS: And he’s not a barber, is he?

SUIT: No, he’s not.

GUS: Then he should change his name. He could be Stoner the Business Owner. That’s a great name for a business. Says who it is and what he does.

SUIT: Alright Gus. I see that you’re passionate about this. I’ll bring him your idea.

GUS: Thank you.

SUIT: So, how bout a trim?

GUS: I haven't cut a head of hair since 1976.

What's Your Favourite CROSBY INC Post?

2010-08-10T13:14:00.005-04:00

EDITOR'S NOTE: E flat :P

Help me pick winners from the blog.

What is the post from the last year that you enjoyed? That you laughed at? That pulled you back from a void of uncontrollable sadness?

Sometimes blog posts are written quickly. So I don't mind comments like 'That one, but fix it up.'

Crosby Inc Is One Year Old

2010-08-10T12:13:00.007-04:00

EDITOR'S NOTE: I missed my own blog's birthday by two weeks. Shocked by my failings and desperate to improve blog morale, I shoved cake into my computer's disk drive. I assume that's where the blog lives.

Thank you readers for keeping me creative and productive. I hope you have enjoyed it because I'm turning into it a serial Voltron soap opera.

These Are The Things The Define Me

2010-08-09T22:27:00.004-04:00

Welcome to my home. Please come in, there is much to show you.

Allow me to give your senses a tour. Do you smell that? It’s nothing. My apartment is delightfully neutral.

This is the living room. These are the things that define me. Those statues on the mantle tell you that I have been to a foreign place. What place? It doesn’t matter. They’re vague enough for you to understand they are from a native culture; they could be Incan but that’s not the point. The point is you know that I acquired them in that other place. The statues tell you that I’m a traveler, an adventurer, and open to new things. They also convey a hint of financial security. How else would I have been able to afford to go on the trip?

Here on the coffee table are three magazines which I have placed in a fan pattern. Note their variety. Scientific American, Men’s Health, and Mad Magazine. Each one tells you something about the image I’m trying to craft: I’m curious about the world around me, I take care of my body, and I’m funny, or at least, I appreciate a good joke. Mad Magazine doesn’t have the upscale tone I wanted but I got it for free and if there’s trouble I can claim it’s a ‘guilty pleasure’ and draw attention to the other two.

Next to the magazines are five hand tools that I have I oriented into a kind of craftsman’s wigwam. I keep them there at all times to offset the cerebral artifacts we have been discussing. Honestly, I do use them: last month I used the screwdriver to puncture a can of apple juice.

That’s all for the living room. Join me in my home library and you can marvel at my collection of books about alphabetizing a home library.

En Vogue Story Ideas

2010-08-08T22:31:00.002-04:00

INT. MOVIE EXECUTIVE’S OFFICE – DAY

EXEC: You’re a successful music producer. Why do you want to get into the movie business?

TODD: Not every story can be told in song. I’ve great some great visual ideas.

EXEC: Let’s hear the first one.

TODD: It’s about this girl. And she wakes up one day and looks around and - oh no! - everything is made of fabric.

EXEC: Fabric? What kind?

TODD: All kinds.

EXEC: Various materials.

TODD: Sure. Anyway, the whole world is made of it. Then she looks at her hands and sees that even she is made of it.

EXEC: So, she’s living in a material world and she’s a material girl.

TODD: It’s like Tron.

EXEC: Yeah…maybe. What else you got.

TODD: Here’s a good idea. This girl, she’s got liberal ideas about sex.

EXEC: I like where this is going. She’s into bondage, huh?

TODD: Maybe. But she’s not violent.

EXEC: I bet she’s got a messed up childhood and she’s a slut.

TODD: No. She’s just open minded about sex.

EXEC: O…kay.

TODD: Sometimes people get upset because their kids hear her talking. But she’s not sorry, it’s human nature.

EXEC: Well, yeah, there’s a time and place.

TODD: For sure.

EXEC: It would be good if there was a lot of sex in this movie.

TODD: I don’t think there would be. It’s just her expressing her slightly liberal idea that people should feel free to talk about their sexuality.

EXEC: I don’t like that one.

TODD: One more!

EXEC: Fine, one more.

TODD: It’s about these people.

EXEC: Uh huh.

TODD: And one day they go on holiday.

EXEC: And…

TODD: And they celebrate!

EXEC: Celebrate what?

TODD: Life. You know?

EXEC: These are all Madonna songs.

Films In Production 2

2010-08-06T21:46:00.008-04:00

Stumped
Based on “The Giving Tree”

A prank goes horribly wrong when a man dresses up like a tree and his friend 'accidentally' cuts his limbs off. At the murder trial, the jury is deadlocked until they are shown the unrealistic tree costume.

Orcanized Crime
Based on "Moby Dick"

A twisted surgeon trains a pod of whales to steal people's limbs for his experiments. One limb victim, who is a former Navy SEAL, tries to track down the doctor with the use of his new robot leg.

Monster in the Closet
Based on "Dr. Jykell and Mr. Hyde"

A respected town doctor lives a secret life as a drag queen, unbeknownst to his new wife. When another queen makes a pass at him, he struggles with which version is the real him.

The Nature of Entertainment

2010-08-04T13:42:00.006-04:00

INT. MTV – DAY

HOST: Welcome to the show. I’m here with L’il Rapper who just released his new album “Foam.” Where did you come up with this idea?

L’IL RAPPER: It was 2006. I just put out my third record and no one was buying it. I think it sold 25 copies, globally. But then my luck changed because I got rabies.

HOST: How did that happen?

L’IL RAPPER: A dog bit me and I got rabies. Not many people get it but it’s a really bad virus where your brain swells up and you can become paranoid and have hallucinations and die. My doctor said he could cure it real easy with a shot but I said ‘No man, I’m gonna spin off this rabies into a reality television show.’

HOST: And in 2007, NBC Commissioned twelve episodes of your show, “Hey, I Got Rabies.” That was a national sensation.

L’IL RAPPER: I just let the virus do it’s thing and we filmed it. I was confused all time and after three months I fell into a coma.

HOST: NBC threatened to close down the show.

L’IL RAPPER: Yeah, the producers said that me in a coma wasn’t interesting. But I thought they were the best episodes. Sure, I wasn't doing a lot lying in a hospital bed, but inside I was dying.

HOST: You got pretty sick and then your doctor stepped in and gave you the shot.

L’IL RAPPER: Unfortunately.

HOST: Your doctor at the time said, “This is the most reckless disregard for personal well being I have ever seen.” Do you agree with that?

L’IL RAPPER: No. And neither did ten million Americans per episode.

HOST: What happened next? Without the rabies virus, you had no TV show.

L’IL RAPPER: That’s when I gave myself rabies again.

HOST: Again?

L’IL RAPPER: Yeah, I found this crazy looking dog and antagonized it until it bit me. But he didn’t have rabies though so when I was getting stitches at the hospital I paid a nurse to inject me with rabies.

HOST: And that’s when you started work on “Foam.”

L’IL RAPPER: Not immediately. I wanted to give the virus time to get in there and get comfortable.

HOST: You still have rabies now, don’t you?

L’IL RAPPER: Yes I do.

HOST: That’s great. Will you perform a song for us?

L’IL RAPPER: For sure.

HOST: Great. Here is the new single from L’il Rapper called “My Brain Hurts.”

A drum beat begins.

L’IL RAPPER: Yo. Here we go.

Li'l Rapper grabs his head and makes weird grunting noises. Sometimes he says “My brain hurts" and “Seriously. Help me.”

The host claps along.

Not Reading Twilight

2010-08-02T15:49:00.003-04:00

INT. BOOKSTORE – DAY

A man flips through a book. A photographer raises his camera.

PHOTOG – Do you mind if I take a picture for the paper?

MAN – Sure, I don’t mind.

PHOTOG – Great. I need a picture of someone reading Twilight.

*CLICK*

MAN – Wait, I’m not reading Twilight.

PHOTOG – That’s ok. I’ll just write it in the caption.

MAN – Don’t do that.

PHOTOG – Come on, man. You’re embarrassed about people thinking you like Twilight?

MAN – I’m not embarrassed. Anyway, it’s just not true. I’m not reading that book.

PHOTOG – Well, I already took the picture.

MAN – I don’t care! Don’t write that!

PHOTOG – All it’s going to say is “Man enjoys new Twilight book.” I won’t even write your name.

MAN – But I’m not enjoying it. So don’t write that.

A bookstore employee comes over

MAN – Excuse me, this guy took a picture of me and I don’t like it.

EMPLOYEE – Yes, here’s here to take pictures for the Twilight release.

MAN – He’s going to write that I was enjoying Twilight when I wasn’t.

EMPLOYEE – You didn’t enjoy it?

MAN – No, I didn’t even read it!

EMPLOYEE – You shouldn’t make opinions about books you haven’t read. To teach you a lesson, I think this man should write that you were enjoying it.

PHOTOG – I’m going to write that you love Twilight.

MAN – No!

PHOTOG – You waited in line all night to get a copy. And you can’t decide who you like more, Edward or Jacob.

MAN – I’m reading “Eat, Pray, Love”. Look everyone! “Eat, Pray Love!” That’s what I was looking at. Not Twilight!

PHOTOG – Eat, Pray, Love? Why would you admit to that?

Police Chief

2010-08-01T12:55:00.003-04:00

INT. POLICE CHIEF’S OFFICE

CHIEF – Macklovitch! Can I talk to you please?

MACKLOVITCH – Chief, I know you’re upset but I opened fire in that Hot Yoga studio to catch a bad guy.

CHIEF – You never learn. We have this conversation every week. I tried reasoning with you and now I’m going to have to put on my mustache.

MACKLOVITCH – Chief, I’m sorry!

CHIEF – That’s not good enough. Apparently calm logic doesn’t work with you, Macklovitch. It’s come to this.

THE CHIEF PUTS ON HIS MUSTACHE.

CHIEF – You piece of shit! I’ve shit better cops out of my asshole! I’m gonna chew you up and spit you out and have a dog vomit on your broken body!

MACKLOVITCH – Chief, please! Don’t say such things.

CHIEF – You faggot rookies couldn’t catch a criminal if he fucked your mother which is what I’m gonna do to her tonight.

MACKLOVITCH – You don’t mean that. Do you?!

CHIEF – Yeah, I do. And every time you fuck up, I’m gonna fuck your mother again until you learn how to do your fucking job. You wop cops are all the same.

MACKLOVITCH – I’m not even Italian but your intention is still painful!

CHIEF – If you don’t catch these dirtbag low-lifes by tonight, I am going to beat you to death and then fire your lifeless body from the police force. You got me?!

MACKLOVITCH – Yes, Chief. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!

THE CHIEF TAKES OFF HIS MUSTACHE.

CHIEF – You know I do that because I love you.

MACKLOVITCH – *snif*

Spaceport Cape Breton 5

2010-07-30T14:51:00.002-04:00

Kent Taber was excited. I mean, really excited. More excited than the time he bought his first tie from Harry Rosen. The night before, he slept like it was Christmas Eve, waking every hour to check his clock and feeling the slow march toward morning.

It was Launch Day. The first launch of the first shuttle from North America’s first commercial spaceport: Spaceport Cape Breton. By 5:00 am, he could no longer wait to start his day and took a shower, using the extra time to condition twice, clip his toe nails, floss, trim his neck hair, and apply a small amount of foundation.

He waited outside his front door for his paper to arrive which the paper boy hesitantly handed to Kent, presuming he was a child molester. The spaceport manager poured himself a bowl of Fiber One and laid out the newspaper, expecting to see a front page feature of the launch.

There was nothing. No front page feature. No launch information of any kind. Instead, the front page photo was a young girl holding her prize winning plastic duck which had won a race of little skill against other plastic ducks on Sunday afternoon.

“This is the Cape Breton Post, right?” he said to loudly to himself. “They should be covering Cape Breton’s Biggest story!”

Kent called his assistant, Shelley, got her out of bed and told her that would pick her up soon in his 1998 Seabring. But first he paced around his condo for about an hour telling himself “I am getting better everyday,” and ”I handle conflict and tension with confidence” and that “I surround myself with positive people who want to help me achieve my goals." Then he got in his car which, in 1998, was advertised as "The Sedan, Perfected."

With Shelley in tow, they visited the offices of the Cape Breton Post where they found no answers about the front page. The only person there, the night security guard, told them that The Post was a terrible newspaper and most people didn’t read so it’s not like he really missed anything.

At 8:30 am he visited the local CTV station where there was also little activity. No camera people filling trucks, no reporters putting the finishing touches on their perfect faces.

“You people should be ashamed,” Kent said to the CTV night security guard who was trying to go home. “You call this a television station?!”

“Not really,” said the security guard.

“What about all the important news that’s happening out there?”

“I doubt it. The duck race was yesterday.”

Kent and Shelley then drove downtown to Prince Street. Shelley had been planning a small parade and hired a local welder to build a rocket themed float for Kent to ride through town. She knew if she was to salvage Kent from shame, the parade would have to be a hit.

Unfortunately, Gary McIntyre, the welder, had taken Shelley’s five thousand dollars and used it to construct a motorized beer cooler.

Kent yelled, "I can't ride on this!"

"Yes, you can," explained Gary excitedly, "It's a beer cooler that you ride on! See, you sit on the lid, right, and then the controls are right in front of you. There’s your gas and break. It’s just like a go-kart. And when you want a beer, lift this hatch and bam! Cold beer! But it’s not technically a car so you can drink and drive! Isn’t this fucking amazing?!”

Kent was the happiest guy anybody knew. He always had a smile on his face. He was quick with a joke and a compliment. Some people thought he was fake but he didn’t mean to be. He wanted people to have a good time. He just wanted people to like him. But that would never happen now. Kent looked out of Gary’s garage and said, “Today was supposed to be great and now it’s ruined. All I can do now is walk over there and drown myself in that lake.”

“Not that lake, bro,” said Gary. “That’s the tar ponds. There’s, like, a hundred years of industrial waste that we put in there. Super gross.”

Gary nodded, “Of course.”

“But hey, I could drive you to a clean lake on the cooler.”

Eulogy of an actor

2010-07-28T23:49:00.003-04:00

Welcome to the funeral of Vladimir Zukov. Vladimir will be remembered as a devoted son, a loyal friend, and a brilliant actor. As a matter of fact, Vlad was such a good actor, I’m not confident I’ve seen him since 2003. Is anyone else? Who is confident they’ve seen him since 2003? I’m seeing lots of no-nods.

I remember he got the part of the Vampire Lestat in a stage production. I know I saw him then because he was dressed as a vampire for, like, six months. But even that was 2002. Then he got a part as Man #3 in some movie and that was the last time I saw him. I think he was Man #3 for the rest of his life. Did anyone talk to him after that? Anyone? Obviously not, because Man #3 doesn’t have lines.

Let’s not remember him for years of poor health I’m told he suffered toward the end. Let’s remember him for the good times we were pretty sure he attended. Personally, I’m pretty sure Vlad attended a 1999 garden party at Toni Braxton’s house. Toni told this really funny story about the song “Unbreak My Heart” is really about time travel (because it's unbreaking, not fixing). Anyway, it was really funny and I’m pretty sure Vlad was pretending to be one of the waiters. But i can't guarantee that.

So let’s raise a glass to Vlad. A good friend. We’ll always remember you. Holy shit, is that him in the coffin? I really don't think that's him. This guy? No way. This looks like an emaciated Don Rickles. Is anyone confident they know what Vlad looks like? OK, lots of no-nods. So it's possible he's still alive somewhere? Great.

Seven Beers

2010-07-26T16:33:00.003-04:00

Hey beer drinkers. When the Summer sun makes it too hot to work, you want a quantity of beer that’s gonna quench your thirst. That’s why we have spent millions of dollars to discover just how many beers you need. It’s seven.

Seven beers is the perfect amount for anybody. They keep you lucid with a hint of plausible deniability. Sever Beers gives you the edge over the guys who only had a six beers. Exactly 16% more. We call it the right kind of drunk.

You can locate our beers by our distinctive asymmetrical packaging, the ones with seven beers in them. For only the cost of one more beer than six, you can have seven beers your way – one after the other. Seven!

Car Accident

2010-07-26T01:59:00.002-04:00

Anchor: This afternoon, there was an accident downtown. A SUV ran a red light and hit a car. Thankfully there was no injured. Let’s watch the footage.

*Footage of SUV running a red light and hitting a car*

Anchor: This footage, caught by a security camera, shows an SUV running a red light and hitting a car. Spectator Rob Ghery was on the scene when it happened.

Rob Ghery: I was at the intersection. Then the SUV ran a red light and hit a car. I don’t think anyone was hurt though.

Anchor: Here’s footage captured by a local resident on her iPhone.

*grainy footage of SUV running a red light and hitting a car*

Anchor: Let’s go to Gwen Lynch, the woman who capture that footage. Gwen, what did you see?

Gwen: Did you watch the footage?

Anchor: Yes, we did.

Gwen: So you saw the SUV run a red light and hit a car.

Anchor: Is that what you saw?

Gwen: Yes, I saw an SUV run a red light and hit a car.

Anchor: Was anyone injured?

Gwen: Thankfully no one was injured.

Anchor: Interesting. When we come back, our traffic scientists have put together a speculative animation of what the accident may have been like.

Kitchen Constitution

2010-07-23T14:01:00.003-04:00

Left hand side of the fridge is mine.

Right hand side of the fridge is yours.

Mutually exchanged foods include fluids that are typically used in small quantities and cost little (Plum Sauce, Yellow Mustard) but not more expensive condiments (Olive Oil, Grainy Mustard). If there is uncertainty about an item, it will be addressed at our biweekly roommate meeting.

Food items that frequently run out (Milk, Butter) can be borrowed but only if done in good faith of replacement. Butter can be borrowed at a maximum of 50 ml, milk at ½ cup for cereal, 1 tablespoon for tea/coffee.

Expensive snack items like Doritos can be exchanged on request (“Can I have one?”) at which point you will be given one chip/cookie/skittle. Requesting “another one” pushes the quantity of food into the ‘borrowed bracket’ and return will be expected.

Crosby Inc

Movie Remakes After Being Dark-Knighted

***Hiatus***

Boxing Day

Haikus About Sleeping In Someone Else’s Living Room

A Christmas Miracle

Stacks II

Stacks

Phone Sex

The Perfect Town

Guilty Pleasures

Theme Park

Christmas Present

Battle of Geonosis

A Song Writer Has Trouble

A Rock Band Doesn't Understand Metaphor

A Voltron Cover Band Plays Another Song

American Groupings of the World's Nations

Creating Better Power Point Presentations

Ten Year Old Girl Realizes A Santa In The Mall Can’t Be The Same Santa At A Different Mall

Cover Letter

Iranian Email

Two Book Publishers Update ‘The Baby Sitters Club’

A Woman Yells At A Child During A Hockey Game

Two Canadian Politicians Talk About Climate Change Policy

Two Cruise Boat Passengers Plan Their Day

Fake Cancer

Little Choreographer

Princess Margaret Hospital Lottery

***EDITOR'S NOTE***

Social networking

You Tube Comment

Hot Dog Stand

I’ve Got This Nuclear Bomb In My Apartment

Metalheads Try To Name Their Baby

Runaway 8

Runaway 7

Runaway Part 6

Runaway Part 5

Runaway Part 4

Runaway Part 3

Runaway Part 2

Runaway Part 1

Poppies

Dr. Andre Lacey, Psychologist

Food Bank

Margot

200 Posts

Coincidence

Lego Kid

Digitizing Health Care

Grant Application

A Talent Scout Convinces Himself This Music Is Good

Injurious Bastards

New Jobs

Art Collectors Famous For Shitty Collection

Diary Of An Activist

A Message from President Raul Castro to the people of Cuba.

Lady Gaga Is Music

Smash For Mayor

First Annual Quran Bonfire and Children’s Apple Pie Festival

***EDITOR'S NOTE***

Lawn Yawn

Dolphins Are Bad Friends

Ian McKellen talks about the Hobbit.

Fibe Internet (Is Out Of This World)

Subway Cookies

Short Darts

Facebook Is My Best Friend.

America, we won. Again.

Food Noir

A Message from PITA (People for the Internet Transitioning of Animals)

Drinking Plus Board Games

Criminology 101

Gus The Barber

***What's Your Favourite CROSBY INC Post?***

***Crosby Inc Is One Year Old***

These Are The Things The Define Me

En Vogue Story Ideas

Films In Production 2

Hiatus

EDITOR'S NOTE

EDITOR'S NOTE

What's Your Favourite CROSBY INC Post?

Crosby Inc Is One Year Old