Just so you know

This site is being repaired or reconstructed or renovated. 

Whatever you want to call it, I'm trying to make it look a little more presentable in case Oprah, or Heidi Klum happens upon it. After all, I wouldn't want to hurt my chances of having someone important discover me just because my website looks like it was designed by a guy in prison. 

For the record, it was designed by a guy in prison (not me, my cellmate) but that shouldn't colour your opinion of it's quality. Feel free to look around and help yourself to anything in the fridge. Except the beer. That's mine. And please... leave a comment or two. It's the polite thing to do.

R.I.P.

Now that Joe the Plumber has a book coming out, I think I can finally put an end to this year-long dream of having my manuscript published. If an unlicensed, tax-evading, toilet dwelling bald guy takes precedence in the publishing world over me, an unemployed, alien-evading, rehab dwelling writer-guy, what hope is there?

On the surface, I have done everything right. I have learned a new word every day to improve my vocabulation (today it was ‘alas’). I have consumed enough alcohol to develop a level of cirrhosis that rivals history’s best writers. And I have even gone thong-less for 27 days straight in the hopes that renegade paparazzi would capture my “talent” and publish my exploits in Writer Monthly creating the kind of buzz that would make cash registers sing.

 But alas, it was all for nothing.

It seems as if publishers would rather hear about the trials and tribulations of cloggy u-pipes than the intrigue and excitement of mannequin stalking.

 What gives?

What do I have to do to get noticed? Do I have to start wearing my fuzzy Alf fanny pack again? Do I need to exchange my plastic I Dream of Jeannie slippers for something less comfortable but more conservative?  If you think having incompatible nipple colours would be enough in this day and age to set you apart from the crowd, think again.

If I owned luggage, I’d pack my bags and pursue my dream of becoming the world’s first pregnant man. What? Thomas Beatie did that already. 

Damn! One more dream that has  twirled down the drain of life.

Not President-Elect Terrence Paquet

Now that the proverbial dust has settled from the recent U.S. elections and Barack Obama has won the coveted prize, I have a bit more time to reflect on my own failed efforts to become the President of the United States. 

In hindsight, I guess there were many things I would have done differently; not the least of which is wear pants for the ENTIRE campaign and not just those moments when I felt the chilly outdoor temperatures would compromise the integrity of my "running mate".

I suppose the fact that I'm Canadian was a problem for some voters, but if an African -American can hold office, why not me, a crack-addicted, pop-tart-eating, welfare recipient hiding in the basement of ammunition store wearing a plastic Woody Woodpecker puppet on his privates and a cardboard Burger King crown on his head? Perhaps I overestimated the appeal of retro-marionettes and cutting-edge style in both the red and blue states.

Looking back, I also think I should have spoke English to potential voters. Maybe they would have understood what I was trying to say.  However, in my defense, I thought Aramaic would have appealed to all those religious folks that paid 10 bucks to see the Passion of the Christ.  Boy, was I ever D'+aLeM!

Finally, my campaign slogan could have used the skills of a good writer too. Apparently "Hopefully, I'll be able to" just doesn't have the same magic as Yes We Can. 

Live and learn I say.