Not a creature was stirring, not even a ...

I dedicate this poem to the lowly critter we caught trying to steal hubcaps from a vehicle in the driveway last night. He left at the scene (1) a screwdriver, (2) the hubcap he meant to take with him, (3) a freshly picked tomato from the garden, and (4) a sullied reputation.

And Miklos in his kerchief (or the bathroom) and I in my cap (or PJs),
We'd just settled down (or were about to) for a long summer's nap (or sleep);
When out of the yard, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter;
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash;
The sensor-light on the garage that we know,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to all things below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a dirty little boy, who was trembling with fear;

His eyes -- how they shifted! his hair, little there-y!
His cheeks were so greasy, his eyes two red cherries!
His thin little lips were beginning to quiver,
Too young for a beard, no description to deliver;
The screwdriver, yellow, he dropped in his fright,
And the hubcap that fell lay there still in the night;
He was skinny and wimpy with the face of a chimp,
A tomato, he'd picked from the garden, that shrimp.

So down, down we dashed to the driveway below,
Miklos yelled "Hey, get up!" to the dumb shmoe;
The boy crouched behind ye olde pickup truck,
In his haste and noise, had just run out of luck;
But the boy popped up quickly, and ran for his life;
I would have too, Miklos has a sweet knife;
The cops they were called, and we all just giggled;
Chuckling about the hubcap and tomizzle;
So if Welland's your home and you're stealing our caps,
We hope you enjoy the unripened tomates.

Can I have your couch?

3:30 is decidedly the worst time to be on the bus. Between the fat children intentionally barking like dogs, spouting swearwords in order to irritate the driver, and the sardine can-esque personal space factor, I rarely enjoy a 3:30 trip home.

I would even go as far as to say that when I start paying out the ass for a car in a couple of months, I probably will not miss the 3:30 bus all that much.

I have too much to talk about this week. I've been quiet for so long. What has become of me?

We've got a new apartment for May and I have an interview for a possible co-op placement! Excitement follows. So many people I know have this same interview coming up, which is discouraging for me somehow. I'll have to be really suave to sweep these folks off their feet.

A dirty guy with dreadlocks* told my professor to "hold [his] horses" yesterday when he asked the guy to turn off the metalhead music he had blaring from the earphones of his mp3 player in Stats class. I'm beginning to wonder just who some people are, and what kind of zoo I'm attending school at. When's feeding time??

God I stink today; I just realized now. I hope no one smelled my B.O.



*Not all guys with dreadlocks are dirty, but most are.

Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

Ever have your car graffiti'd? 'Cause it turned out that I had the other night. Actually, so was everyone who parked on the street treated to a delightfully scribbled tag that probably signifies absolutely nothing aside from sheer sans-dickery on the side or back of their auto. Among the conclusions I've come to in the past year is that St Catharines' kids need to develop hoop dreamz or something to keep themselves otherwise occupied.

I thought all hope was gone until my mother tried the Mr Clean Magic Eraser on it, and it worked perfectly. Took off the graffiti and did not remove the car's paint. The Taurus wagon rides on, nutsackless fag art-free.

Anyway, tonight I've been occupying myself with folksy, enjoyable music and Mitch Hedberg.