A Request For Help, If You Are So Inclined

So here is the deal, users of the interweb,: my sister desires that we co-author a book together.
Naturally it would be her fancy-pants credentials that would initially pave the way, but she has this misguided notion that it is my "humour infused ramblings" that will ultimately sell the premise of this joint venture.
As I think everything I do/say/write is hilarious, I am ultimately too deluded to objectively determine which pieces of my writing are actually enjoyable enough for others to warrant some re-editing so that they could be used as sample pieces of my work.
This is where you come in.
Is there a post that I have written that you find particularly enjoyable? If so, let me know. If you so desire, I will send you a hand written thank you note for all your trouble(s), which probably sounds better than it actually is because I am left-handed and my penmanship is practically illegible. So in case the promise of a poorly hand-written thank you card does not do it for you, I am also willing to include some sort of other wonderful surprise. I wouldn't get too excited about the surprise either though because it is unlikely to have any real monetary value and will have to be skinny enough/small enough to fit inside the thank you card envelope... but I am totally willing to spray the thank you card with some sort of fancy perfume (not necessarily owned by me. I may just go to Sears and start spraying the gift cards I purchase with random samples of perfume) to make the deal that much sweeter.

And then I ate a cupcake

When I first saw the giant wooden pole on my front lawn I thought, finally, my parents had decided to help me realize my dream of holding a giant Scottish festival, featuring a caber toss competition, in our backyard.
Alas, my dreams were quickly shattered when I saw several Hydro trucks dropping off similar poles next to all their dilapidated carriers of power along my street.
'So close,' I thought.

Hey there, cupcake.

I made cupcakes this past weekend as part of a fund-raising effort - well, a fund-raising effort in a round about way. I think they turned out pretty well, as did the fruit floral arrangement things that I also made.

I am not high

Okay, that is a lie. I am a little high. Or a lot high. Maybe medium sized high.
My parents went out of town for a funeral this weekend and I decided it was the perfect time to break in my new bong. Also, I tend to clean when I am stoned and I thought, since the house was looking a little dirty, that it may just be the incentive I needed to tackle some housework. Really, if you think about it, I am doing my parents a favour by partaking in recreational drug use. I am being completely selfless; thinking only of others. Sacrificing my own personal well-being for the sake of the family.
About twenty minutes ago, while laying down on my bed, I accidentally stuck my big toe in the top of my bong - which was resting on my floor. About five minutes later I would forget this and proceed to stick my mouth where my toe had just been. I should probably mention that I'd been outside just minutes before, barefoot, trudging through god knows what. On this trip outdoors I encountered a snake. Screaming, I briefly looked behind me to see if the dogs would come to my rescue, which, of course, they would not. When I looked back, the snake was gone. I spent approximately twenty minutes standing there debating whether or not I had actually seen any snake to begin with. "But marijuana does not make people hallucinate," I tried to reason. When the snake did finally make its reappearance, I pointed and yelled at it. "I knew it! I knew it!" I screamed. "You are real!" My screaming was quickly interrupted when the snake started to slither towards me. It was at this point in time that I squealed and ran into the house, tripping up the stairs as I went.

Secrets that aren't so much secrets as I just haven't found a way to work them into a conversation yet

Secret Number One: In middle school, I stayed home sick for an entire week just so that I could watch all of the Planet of the Ape movies that were being shown every day at noon on the Sci-Fi channel. I may not have learned how to do order of operation properly until grade ten, but by god did I develop a fear of a primate revolution.

Secret Number Two: I once, at a house party, fooled around with a guy I had known for five minutes because he had already called shotgun on the fold out couch and I figured that it was the best way to avoid sleeping on the floor.

Secret Number Three: I smoked pot for the first time when I was in grade seven. I am not entirely sure if I actually inhaled.

Secret Number Four: I have never had my legs, armpits, or cha-cha professionally waxed because I have never been sure how long I am supposed to let the hair grow before I go back in for another wax.

Secret Number Five: When I am bored, I brush my teeth.

Secret Number Six: I once wore swimming goggles while performing oral sex on a former sexual partner because the two times before that he'd ejaculated in my left eye.

Secret Number Seven: I am borderline socially retarded. I never quite mastered the art of making friends and generally just feel awkward around new people.

Secret Number Eight: I once stole a pack of cigarettes from the gas station my sister was working at. They were Benson and Hedges and package was all pretty and silver.

Secret Number Nine: In grade twelve I cheated on a math test by burning the formulas to a CD I had made and placing that CD in my disc man while I was writing the test. I still barely managed to pass the test because I couldn't bring myself to listen to more than a few seconds of my illicit audio files without my conscience getting in the way.

Secret Number Ten: I didn't actually pass OAC Calculus on my own merit. My official transcripts list my mark as 50%. A teacher later explained to me that a 50% really means that your actual mark was under 50%, but that the teacher felt that you deserved to pass and bumped you up. Considering that I had a calculus tutor and was able to successfully complete any calculus problem I was given so long as I was not in a test-like situation, I agreed that I was deserving of a pity pass.

Wake-up call

I have awoken every day this past week, at 5:30 am, to Lil' Kim telling me of her sexual escapades.
I feel confident in saying that she has lead a very full life. In addition to traveling the world and coming into contact with many new people, she has also engaged in sexual intercourse with a variety of ethnic groups. Of course, I am paraphrasing here but I am sure the general impact of her message remains the same.
5:30 am is the time I take my birth control pill and vitamin at, so it seems somewhat fitting (yet highly ironic) this week that I am reminded to do so by a song in which Lil' Kim recalls instances of her own promiscuity.

But he probably wouldn't be quite as inclined to let me drive his sweet car if I puked on his basement floor

On Friday night, I watched Finding Nemo after participating in hours of excessive drinking.
It should have not come as a surprise to me that a movie that takes place almost entirely underwater would cause me to need the bathroom even more than usual while on a bender.
On one of my many bathroom breaks during the movies' 100 minute run time, I actually fell off of the toilet and hit my head on my bathtub - although I would never admit that to anybody but you, interweb.
The next day, so hungover that I was certain death was eminent, I spent an hour at the home of one of my neighbours. We were bonding over saltwater aquariums and he told me wonderful stories that I was unable to give my full attention to because I was too busy contemplating just how offended he might be if I threw-up in the middle of his aquarium room. For a few minutes I was able to forget about my nausea as I watched him feed a tiger shrimp to his lionfish (which seemed slightly ironic at the time).
Having friendly, rich neighbours has resulted in several perks for me: a) a standing offer to test drive a silver Porsche 911, and b) being gifted aquarium equipment that is valued at approximately $500.

Excerpts From An Evening Out On The Town

We’d proclaimed the evening to be one of mayhem, although at it’s 9:30 commencement I was already yawning. She began the festivities by nearly breaking my passengers side window with the monkey wrench she’d brought with her and, speaking directly from my heart, I told her that it was in her best interest to stop playing with her tool while in my car.

“How skilled are you at mooning people?” I’d asked.
“Not very,” she’d answered honestly.
“Okay, maybe we’ll just forgo that because, no offense, but I really don’t want any part of your vag touching my car.”
“That was a concern of mine as well,” she’d confided.
These are the reasons why we are friends, I think to myself, we share common concerns – like avoiding awkward moments that could arise when ones vagina comes into contact with the window of a close friends new vehicle.

I told her I’d pay her five dollars if she went up to someone and asked them if they were able to identify a song for her based solely on her interpretation of the non-lyric portions of the vocals.
I demonstrated for her briefly the noises she should make, “Haaaaaaaaaaaoooooohaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhouuuuuuuuuu, haaaaaaaaaaaooooouuuuu. Haaaaaaaaaoooooouaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhouuuuuuuuuu, haaaaaaaaaaaooooouuuuu… only way more breathy-like. And then there is the part where she is almost doing some sort of a yell. That is probably the most important part.”

Later, we walked by the lake front where passing strangers heard me say things like, “and then he ejaculated with such force that she was blown right to the ceiling.” Conversations rarely make sense when you are only able to hear disjointed pieces of them.

Teenaged infatuation

"Do you remember that time we did it on the golf course?" He asked, and I was glad to see that he was smooth as ever.
"Which golf course?" I countered.
It is a far cry from the virginal life I am currently leading, but there was a time when sex in all places public was a regular Friday night for me (read: in my second year of high school). It had a lot to do with him, of course. His shaggy brown hair and big, bright eyes made my heart beat so erratically that, at times, I was positive his mere presence would send me into cardiac arrest. I was so in awe of the fact that he wanted to be with me, in any capacity, that I would have willingly jumped off of a bridge if he'd even hinted the idea appealed to him.
Of course, things were different now. His physical presence still made my heart beat faster, though only slightly, but he was not nearly as captivating as I had once found him to be. His hair was much shorter now, but his eyes shone just as bright.
I stood there, sipping my drink, and listened as he told me all about his life and what he had accomplished in the years since we'd last spoken. I took the time to catalogue all the ways that he had changed over the years; the way his shoulders seemed even more broad than I remembered them being, the newly formed wrinkles that appeared in the corners of his eyes each time he smiled.
There had been a two month period when I'd wanted nothing more than to spend every waking moment with this man.

Or something like that...

Because I am all hilarious like that, after finding the disembodied hand of a statue in my backyard (no doubt belonging to one of my mother's and the victim of our exuberant dogs this past winter), I decided to plant it in the front flower bed. I can only hope that when my parents return home later tonight they will briefly fear we are under attack by zombies.

Did I mention they are pink?

There be monsters in my aquarium.
Well, maybe not monsters, but at the very least there are scary looking worms with unsightly body hair.
I initially believed them to be a physical manifestation of my subconscious unease with the fact that, in my celibate state, I have let the grasslands of my Southern hemisphere become unruly. Just in case my metaphor confused you, what I mean to say is that, the next time I get a bikini wax, the esthetician may be wise to bring a weed whacker along. But I digress....
The internet tells me that my aquarium monsters are misunderstood creatures. "Harmless detritivores," it tells me. Harmless or not, I am relatively sure they spend their evenings peering out the glass walls of the aquarium... looking at me... making all sorts of dastardly plans, which they will put in motion as soon as they able to secure a means of escape.

I suppose it is possible that there is just a shortage of backhoes in New Brunswick

Around 11 pm last night, two dudes broke into my Dad's shop yard and attached his backhoe and trailer to the back of their pick-up and took off. What they did not realize was that, in addition to the cameras located in various spots on the property, the backhoe was equipped with a GPS unit. Imagine their surprise when, thinking they were home free (primarily because they were over 680 miles away from the scene of the crime), the Quebec Provincial Police pulled them over and arrested them.
All the details have yet to come out, but it appears as though they were headed for New Brunswick. What I do not understand is why someone from New Brunswick would drive all the way to Hamilton to steal a backhoe. I am fairly confident it would be much easier to steal a backhoe from New Brunswick, and surely it would cost less money in gasoline to transport it to your final destination.

Breakfast of Champions... and by Champions I mean Stoners

"Come over to my house. We can do mushrooms," he said.
"Dude," I paused to check the time, "it is not even nine o'clock yet. I am not eating mushrooms before I eat my oatmeal."
"Don't be silly; You can eat the mushrooms with your oatmeal," he declared. "But seriously, come over and we will do mushrooms and watch Across the Universe. I have beer."
Oh yes, beer. Because if my delicate sensibilities are offended by the very thought of partaking in recreational drug use prior to 9 AM, it is highly probable that the idea of consuming alcoholic beverages first thing in the morning is likely to trigger a different response.
"I am not doing mushrooms and drinking again. Do you remember what happened last time?" I asked him. This was a stupid question, of course, because he rarely remembers anything, let alone the things I want him to. I decided not to wait for him to answer, "Everything was wonderful until we started watching that movie and I realized I had finished off the 750 mL bottle of amaretto all by myself, in addition to the mickey of rum. After that, things were not so wonderful anymore."
"Okay, so no drinking and no mushrooms before noon. Come over; I will make you an omelet."
His downfall is that I know him too well.
"First of all," I told him, "I would never eat anything you cooked because I am not even sure that you know what a kitchen is. And second of all, you are not tricking me into eating an omelet that is made with magic mushrooms. It's just not going to happen. They don't even taste like regular mushrooms and, on top of that, I don't think you are clever enough to rehydrate the mushrooms so that I there is not a noticeable difference in texture."
"Wait, what does rehydrate mean?"
"You just proved my point."

Draft(s)

Late at night we whisper back and forth over the phone.
Each conversation is essentially the same; we vie for the title of the bigger loser.
"I have not had sex in over a year," he tells me.
"That is okay though," I reassure him, "because you are just being picky. That is actually a trait that women find attractive; not having sex just for the sake of having sex. If I did not know you as well as I do, and you had not previously been involved in a sexual relationship with one of my best friends, I would totally hit that."
"That is one of the nicest things you've ever said to me," he sighs dreamily.
- 05/03/08

My friends constantly try to show me their breasts. It's true; ask Nina, she will tell you.
I cannot say for certain why it is that they have this urge, but I suspect it is made all the more enticing by the fact that I do not want them to show me their breasts. Call me old fashioned, but I generally find that seeing my own naked breasts more than fills my breast viewing quota for the day.
- 07/03/08

It took me some time to realize that you were not the person I remembered you being. In our time apart, you had changed, grown. It was to be expected, really. I would not deny you personal growth simply because that meant the memory I carry of you is no longer an accurate picture of the person you are today.
Regardless, this revelation resulted in disappointment. We no longer shared the same shorthand we once did. I found myself refraining from making jokes; worried you would misinterpret, fail to take them in with the spirit with which they were intended. This turned out to be a justified fear. When an oafish comment finally did make its way past my lips, you looked nothing less than offended.
Did you really doubt me that much? It hurt to realize that you did, but, again, I suppose that was to be expected.
I wonder if you see similar changes in me. Am I the same person you remember? With the exception of a few additional neurotic behaviours, I have always thought myself to be a person of very little change. I still believe in the same things I believed in ten years ago. I still love the same people I loved ten years ago. It is true that many people have entered and exited my life in the past several years, but my feelings for each and every one of them remain the same. Then again, I suppose it is hard to see evolution when you are exposed to it every day, especially when that evolution is your own.
I know that I am more withdrawn than I once was, but I believe that, at heart, I have always been and will always remain to be the same person.
- 17/03/08

"Your teeth are very clean," my orthodontist told me, as if this should come as some sort of surprise to me; as if I am not the one who has been brushing said teeth several times a day, every day for nearly a quarter of a century. As it turns out, I happen to be the primary brusher of my own teeth.
I sat in the reclined chair, bright light shining in my face, wondering who it was that brushed my orthodontist's teeth.
- 23/03/08

#2

Did you know that coral poops? It's true; no word of a lie.
How do I know this? Well, my coral, much like several men I know, spends an inordinate amount of time pooping. It poops in the morning, it poops in the evening, it even poops in the middle of the afternoon.
Long, stringy, dark brown stuff that reminds me of - well, I won't tell you what it reminds me of. Let's just say that coral is not so pretty when it is in the middle of taking a dump.