We sat dumbly in the electric blue glow of the TV. I yawned so hard I hurt my jaw. What is this shit? she asked. I didn't know. I never did.
I put down the phone. I need to binge, I thought. I searched in vain for some booze. What I really wanted was love. Preferably from Kentucky
I heard a woman say, I’m not going there. She pointed to a bar at the end of a dark alley. I’d been inside it once. That’s how uncool it was
Tremendous: Mordecai Richler's 5,000 books at Concordia University. bit.ly/1aYSZkK
The dogs bark. I look outside and see my ex walking up the steps and she has that look. I open the door. Not again, I say. And I let her in.
Writerly advice: don't count your words bit.ly/1jvNAXD
He places the burnt toast on the table and sits down and loses himself in his phone and she studies the toast and says, What happened to us?
I answered the door. I want to be famous so I can get discounts on stuff, I said sadly. I was handed my pizza. Do you know who I am? I asked
One day, he noticed he was the oldest man in the bar, that the girls inside were indeed mere girls, and he left the bar, and never returned.
I clear my throat and tell the story but the house is empty, again, except for the dog; she sits in the corner. Waiting for scraps. Hopeful.
She said, It's on the house. I looked at my drink. Who are you and why aren't we married? I said. She told me her name. Then I got cold feet
We exchanged business cards in a formal manner. Then we didn’t speak for an hour. Then the meeting was done. Then they left. Then I was paid
: This Chris Farley-as-Rob Ford movie from @tristangough
is better than I ever could have imagined. youtu.be/RUY6lDja-DE
She says, Surprise me. I say, Then it’s not a surprise. She says, Surprise me. And we speak in circles of diminishing cuteness, growing old.
Six months from now @pmharper
is going to admit he approved the payment but in a “drunken stupor” #robfordplaybook
There is instability in a distant land. And I imagine this is good for our local restaurants. Because we need their food. Their daily bread.
Here's a story about @robdelaney
and his dumb book that almost doesn't mention bodily functions bit.ly/1aGo00b
I sighed through dinner. She asked what was wrong. I said, There’s so much violence. She was quiet. And then she reached over and punched me
The road forks. I say, 50-50. It's obvious right away we've made a poor choice. Like a grocery line, I add. Except with threats of violence.
So what I said. Not a good thing. She ends up crying. How could you? This from my mother. I put a mirror before her. That's what I did. Yes.
A woman drops her purse and I pick it up and give it to her. She says, You have a sweet soul. But I’m unimpressed because my soul is lonely.
I walked into a travel agency. I don’t know why. I feel bad for you guys, I admitted. I bought a plane ticket. I feel bad for me too, I said
Dear Canadian media: Rob Ford is a (way) more entertaining sideshow. But robocalls and PMO/Senate scandal are more important. Hop to it.
Things Rob Ford is: the White Obama. Princess Diana. Kuwait. Mayor of Toronto.
No wonder he wants to lose some weight.
The leaves fall on us. We revel in the simple joy of the season. She says, I think I love you. Then I realize the leaves are covered in shit
The funniest Rob Ford related thing yet. And yes it involves the mayoral reference to, um, female anatomy bit.ly/HVfvEo
The dancers look like they’re wilting, or even dying slowly, and I whisper, I don’t get modern dance, and she shushes me with sublime grace.
I opened the wrong door and saw a friend doing unexpected things and I said, I thought this was the bathroom, and my friend said, It can be.
I started noticing more and more stories about my friend in the media, and I remembered he'd called his new wife good and that she was in PR
The silence is an anvil on my shoulders. You used to find me funny, I sigh. I stand up and burp and she laughs, but her heart’s not into it.
I walked up the hill and I sat down at the top of it. Then I walked down it. And she said, Why did you do that? And I said, Why do anything?
She says, Tell me your story, and I do, and when I wake her up she is polite but distant and I say, Where was I? and she falls asleep again.
We are nothing like you. She says, let’s put this on our holiday cards. We’re drunk and ready to make a mess. I tell her we have no friends.
Typical fembot follow list. A part of me should be flattered for keeping such stellar company pic.twitter.com/1D1yvcubYb
These new spambots are epidemic. Well, fembots really.
The wind shifted and the quality of our discussion did as well. She had become angry, for no discernible reason. Then the wind shifted again
The yard was covered with birds. He wasn’t afraid but she had seen the film and she was. That’s silly, he said. That night, they ordered in.
The cops storm my apartment. There's not much to see except the blood in my sink. I say, That's emu. And a cop says, It tastes like chicken.
I was on British TV last weekend. I'm the one without* the accent.
*depends on your point of view youtu.be/fbTM2-L_esM
I come home to a bedroom strewn with flowers. My wife wears a new teddy. But my mind is elsewhere: I invited the guys over to watch the game
She complains about my "false modesty." This is like complaining about the sunshine after rain. I think I know myself. Now I’m “delusional."
The birth of Irritable Bowell Syndrome RT @GiantSweetTart
: I fucked Sir Mackenzie Bowell #Canada
I burped loudly. She said, You’re the best. Sarcastically, sure, but I chose to ignore it. Why change, right? So I smiled and I thanked her.
Media edition: Phone: 116, TV 111, Book 61, Computer 16. Radio 11, Newspaper 8. bit.ly/rIKjSM
He felt the box mocking him. The size of the thing. So what's inside? he asked, to get it over with. My birthday present to myself! she said
Nothing a pizza couldn't fix... “@DiGiornoPizza
*wraps you in a warm embrace*”
Shoulda called my novel City on Fire :( “@nytimes
: ‘City on Fire,’ a Debut Novel, Fetches Nearly $2 Million nyti.ms/1brky8M