She says my jokes aren't funny, that they're "older than cancer." I find that insensitive. They don't get down like that in Swingtown, I say
In a perfect afterglow, I tell her about my dog and how smart he is. She says, That's weird. And I feign hurt until I realize she means it.
Then what? Then the end? We cheer? Then what? Stop asking if I’m two years old. I’m not. But what’s next? You don’t know, do you? Then what?
The darkness seems darker tonight. She does not speak to me as she normally does. I know what is happening. I'm sure of it. Untie me, I say.
You have 27 days to enter this Goodreads giveaway of advance copies of my upcoming novel. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? bit.ly/18fC8Qh
I could say no. I could say no, and untangle myself from a life yet to be tangled. I should say no. It is all I have been taught. I say yes.
The CEO says something devoid of meaning. I reminisce about a scooter. Life has brought me to this point. I raise my hand to ask a question.
Devastating amazing incredible piece by @tejucole
on Nelson Mandela #mandiba bit.ly/1aGyQ2Z
I didn’t know how ill I’d been until I saw the gif the next day. I turned off my phone and fell into a funk. I was ruined. So were my socks.
The fields stretch to the horizon. He feels insignificant, or more so than normal. Let’s go, he says. But she tugs at him. She wants to stay
Le 6 decembre, 1989 #jemesouviens
The sun came out. After days of a cold steely rain, I suggested we celebrate the light by going fishing. I feel like killing things, I said.
: my wife is selling her ceramic wares at the Salon de metiers d'art in Place Bonaventure. Great gifts! pic.twitter.com/Wr7LEgE62p
: ma femme est a la Salon des metiers d'art. Parfait cadeaux pour les fetes. Stand B-1. pic.twitter.com/EIi2AVZ8S7
And then she blurted out, My bologna has a first name, and his eyes met hers, and she looked a little shocked, and he had never felt manlier
We did what I'd long wanted, and she noted my expression and said, That was sex, and I was sure she was insulting me and I was ok with that.
Enter a contest. Win my book.
It could be exciting. Maybe. arjunbasu.com/archives/waiti…
Toronto: I hope you enjoyed the break in the action.
The juice sucked, and after all the indignities I’d suffered, I said, Fuck detox. The nurse said, Smell yourself. I did and I sat back down.
Enter to win an advance copy of Waiting for the Man on Goodreads. bit.ly/18CRBu3
Hope neither gives you heartburn RT @HottyJohnScotty
This is all I plan on doing today. pic.twitter.com/YnFJ6w0btH
I’m ready to close the deal. I say, I make a great beef macaroni. She gets up and leaves. The bartender gives me a look. I know what I want.
The wind. It takes things places. Transports. Causes surprising introductions. Like this loogie. It was once mine. And now disgraces my shoe
Wait. THIS is the right cover. With the right blurb by @DougCoupland
The awkward response to an awkward question. A moment of pain that foreshadows anger. A sigh not altogether honest. Then, the tossed object.
This is the cover of my upcoming novel (pub date: april 15) @MichelVrana
designed it. pic.twitter.com/a2hpMb3n6L
I am not a member of your club. I can’t even apply for membership, not that you’re asking. But that’s fine by me. We have better sandwiches.
I had prepared for any question she might ask. My phone rang, and I answered it. How fat are you? she asked. I hadn’t prepared for that one.
The food is wonderful and while we talk about the wonder of the food we don’t talk about our unhappiness and of course we both order dessert
I support the goals of @MichaelChongMP
. Join me, call for a free vote for MPs: leadnow.ca/reform-act?t=tw #cdnpoli
We got to my place. She gave me a look that told me my dreams were about to be fulfilled. That's when I chose to tell her she frightened me.
We grew old and now bathe in denial. Because it's more fun. You taste like rancid meat, she says. I’d disagree. But I’ve tasted her cooking.
This is the end, I said. She didn't reply. Or couldn't. Her breathing worried me. That was some cliff, I added. Normally she loved my jokes.
She releases me, or breaks free, whatever, she looks away, outside, in the opposite direction, Your lips are so thin, she says, unsatisfied.
train derailment. nydn.us/1j7p0il
-12 in critical condition
This is what #Kiev
protesters are staring at this minute: A wall of riot police. bit.ly/IkNp6b pic.twitter.com/VMHydnAT4F
I want her to love me as much as I do her, but this makes me try too hard, and I create awkward moments, a series of soft rock guitar solos.
Fell asleep with @robdelaney
Made him sleep on the wet spot. pic.twitter.com/gLCXVeva7O
I found the tire gauge. You don't need that, she said. She insisted. I measured the tire pressure. It was low. Is it low? she asked, smugly.
I was curious so I graphed NHL teams by Twitter followers. Man, Edmontonians sure love their losing teams! pic.twitter.com/sclBEzod0t
Yesterday I touched (something that looks like) my upcoming book for the first time. bit.ly/IrGuYC
We got stoned, for old times' sake. We giggled a lot and got the munchies. So we went out for Chinese and then we took our cholesterol meds.
A physical book! With appearances by @DougCoupland
. Generous dudes one and all. bit.ly/IrGuYC
My reputation hung in the balance. But in front of us, my colleague, prone, bleeding. Shock electrified the room. I could apologize, I said.
Pre-order is available for the April 15 release of @arjunbasu
's "Waiting for the Man" #Toronto
's @ecwpress ow.ly/oRm5w
I ordered a drink and she sighed. She said, You said you wouldn't drink. But I'd said I wouldn't get drunk. She doesn't know the difference.
We went to the art museum. I had something to prove to her and I proved it for a few hours, until proving it wasn’t important to me anymore.