Urban Warrior

So I'm lying down on my basement couch in my lucky blue bandana, you know the one, good ol' bluey who has seen me through countless slams and improv shows, when my father comes down and stares me straight in the eye and says the following. "Alright, at 1900 hours, we will be going to an Indian restaurant for an evening of fine dining. YOU shall be suitably attired in such a fashion as to make it look like you CARE about your grandmother and mother, not like you're some kind of refugee from one of Che Cuervera's bands of Urban Warriors! RRRRRRR, you will be ready by 1830 hours or else!" He then gives my bandana the stink eye and stomped off to the chamber of doom to attire himself.

Man, I love my Dad. He's so unintentionally hilarious.

In regards to poetry news: The Capital Slam Semi-Finals, of which I am enrolled as a semi-finalist, are going down on May 11 at the Velvet Room in the Byward market. Doors open at 8, cover is still $10.

Got an idea for a poem, about some dude who hates dogs but gets a puppy every time he breaks up with someone to attract a new chick and then when he breaks up with that one, he lets them have the dog and gets a new one over and over and over again.

Did I mention he hates dogs?

I think it's funny.