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I was induced with bacon about 10 minutes ago and expect to be going into poo labour in about an hour. It feels like it’s a poo girl.

Still no progress. Have to go back to the hospital for 5. Eating bacon and trying to nap until then. As for Kat, I’m gonna have her change the oil in my car.

Gel is in. Let’s hope this starts something. In other news, I’m a bit parched and could use a burger.

No news. Well, I just peed if that counts, but I’m sure it doesn’t.

At the hospital… Let’s see if anything happens!

Yep. I’ve reached a whole new level of nerdity and can now post here from my Blackberry. So whether I be taking a dump in a Norweigan airplane hangar or bustin’ caps in a whore’s kneecaps in the Arizona desert, you’ll hear about it as it goes down. Seriously, keep an eye here tomorrow as I’ll attempt to give you live baby updates from the hospital room, waiting room or washroom as I clean vomit from my shoes. ...

Been a while. No post. What’s the deal? I was eating. So our expectant child is now 1 day overdue. I’ll have to speak with him about this when he arrives. Can only imagine he’s in there trimming his nails or fiddling with his glasses. Anyway, nothing to report now except that if he ain’t out by Thursday they’re going in after him. Since I last posted I think I’ve gained about 20 pounds. Kat’s gained about 3. I couldn’t let her win. My bitch-tits are blossoming and there’s no end in sight. My diet consists mainly of cheesy bagels and Passion Flakie’s and sometimes they merge into a heavenly sandwich. I have a newfound enjoyment of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, fake “fruit” sticks and Pop-Tarts by the handful. I’m now wheezing at the level of someone thrice my age and raising the soap to my gut this morning caused a muscle pull that I can’t quite work out. Why do I tell you all this? To make you feel 100% better about yourself. You’re welcome. ...

I had a teacher in grade school who was garbage. Leading up to my year with him, I often heard that he was hated. I assumed it must’ve been due to his Selleck-esque mustache or his Old West leather vests, but I would come to learn that it was because he hated fat children. It was the Summer of ‘87 and a young tubby kid (me) was dominating Grade 5. The other kids cried at my overpowering achievements in spelling and if I recall correctly I was taking Grade 12 math. It was all so easy and breezy until it came time for the yearly outdoor adventure. ...

I guess I’ve subjected you all to enough of my turtle-covered wang. Let’s move on. I’ve had very little time to write anything here lately what with my hectic schedule and long commute love affair with Burger King. Do you know you can ask them to hold the onions and add extra pickles? Well, you can, and it’s absolutely divine. Went to the dump yesterday. Had some shit from the basement that I really felt the environment could better deal with than I. Broken speakers. Old table. They’re biodegradable, right? Hey, not my problem. ...

Wendy’s called me today. Evidently they’re upset that I made it impossible to think of anything but a torn up crotch when looking at a Spicy Baconator. They let me in on their initiative to rename the Baconator the Torn Up Spicy Crotchonator, and I gave my approval. Truthfully, Wendy’s should be proud that they’ve come up with a sandwich that can universally be described as looking like a sloppy pile of woman junk. Even my Mom refers to the pic as “the photo of the greasy axe wound.” God love you, Mom. ...