The first thing we came to understand is that you have to cede a lot of control and adapt to your baby rather than have your baby adapt to you. It’s also been important for us to discover that there are a billion different ways to raise a child, and any attempt at raising the child in a glittering, TV commercial kind of way is doomed. For instance, our Doula was an ex-cop who took smoke breaks throughout Rachelle’s labour, and shouted things like, “Push like there’s no goddamn tomorrow, push till you feel like you’re going to shit, then push ’til you feel like you’re going to shit and puke!” It wasn’t what we expected, but it worked.

When we found ourselves overwhelmed, disoriented and exhausted after the first week of being parents, we reached out for the help of a night nurse who would come in once a week and look after the baby while we slept. We found a man named Jim through an ad on Craig’s List. He had a super reasonable rate ($75 and a bottle of wine) and seemed very nice on the phone, so we thought we’d give him a try.

These are the notes he wrote for us (feeding time, amount fed, etcetera) when he was caring for Jones:

August, 23

11: 15 pm— James is a cute, little bugger. Sometimes when he’s sleeping it looks like he’s punching at somebody. Think he’s going to grow up to be fighter. We gotta give him a fighter nickname. I like “Little Fister,” but it’s your baby, so it’s your call!

11:45 pm—Had quick shower.

11: 50 pm—Crying like it’s the goddamned end of the world. Solution? Bottle. Four ounces of the good stuff. He loved it, just like a little wino. Got him to burp, then changed his diaper (Hoo, daddy!) and told him stories about the greatest hockey fights of all time until he fell asleep at about 12:30 am.

12:35 am—Didn’t see any cheese in the fridge. Not a big deal, but just thought I should let you know. Always good to have a lot of cheese in the house.

1:00 am—Now watching Netflix and completely into the totally awesome Deep Impact, which is a way better end-of-the-world flick than Armageddon. Can’t believe how young Leelee Sobieski is in it! She looks like a little child! Hard to believe she grew up to be a sex bomb. Not that long ago, somebody hacked into her cell phone and spread her “personal photos” all over the internet. Did you see them? Me neither. I’d never look at stolen material. (LOL!!)

2:00-2:30 am—Smoke Break: Left some Loggins and Messina on in the nursery to help calm little Jimbo. (Note: You have raccoons in your backyard)

2:45am—James crying. Fed him four ounces of milk, changed his diaper (just pee!) and then soothed him while watching the rest of Deep Impact. By the end, James had stopped crying and I’d started!

3:15 am—Put James to sleep. As a point of interest, this is the time in the Amityville Horror movie when the father killed his entire family while they slept. Always gives me the creeps this time. Weird thoughts.

3:20 am—Washed hands.

SWORD FOR SALE—WARNING—MIGHT BE HAUNTED–$150

This sword is from the 1700s. I got it at an antique store in my memaw’s hometown back in 1984. The person who sold it to me told me to be careful because there is a 90+% chance that it is cursed. Since it’s been in my house my life has descended into pure chaos. My knitting group came over and they all said they could feel a strange energy in my sword room (I have a collection of over 100 swords. This is my only haunted sword). Since I got this sword, about 3 times a week a crucifix will fall off of my wall for no reason. I am 76 years old. I cannot have this cursed item in my house anymore. Please take it off my hands!!

This is my response:

I am very intrigued by your sword, but unfortunately the $150 asking price is far too much. Instead, I would like to offer a trade. I have two unique and haunted pieces that I think might exceed the value of your haunted sword, and which you might then trade or sell, thus allowing you to acquire more non-haunted swords for your knitting bunker.

The Haunted Painting

It is called The Green Man and is about 8 feet by 5 in size. It darkly looms. I had a heart attack in its presence, and then fell into a black and murderous depression as I sat beneath it working on my graphic novel about a green man who goes on a killing spree. If it wasn’t for Netflix, I’m not sure I would have pulled out of that spiral. The paintings bold use of colour and the ominous unsettling mystery that it projects, one that seems everywhere at once, but mostly, in a threatening way, above and behind you, ensures that the Green Man will always make for an amazing, if chilling conversation piece.

The Haunted Squirrel

The squirrel is called Mr. Peanut and he was found hanging from a hydro wire in front of our apartment. It was as if he had just committed suicide. I have no idea why, but I was compelled to bring his carcass down and stuff it. Since then, he has lived on our mantelpiece, but occasionally we find him in different parts of the apartment as if transported by mystical elements we do not understand. For instance, I once woke up from a nightmare yelling ‘SKY DEATH’ with Mr. Peanut on my throat. It’s truly unique piece.

I will trade you both the haunted painting and the haunted squirrel for the haunted sword. It is a good deal.

Let me know.

Michael Murray

It was here, at a pub called Roosters, where we became last-call drinking acquaintances. Ever since that time we’ve maintained sporadic contact, usually in the form of late-night messaging whenever one of us is drunk and alone, but recently, as Ford’s problems have escalated he’s asked me to take on a more strategic role in the maintenance of his public image.

I just want to let everybody know that although I’m not a political or even personal supporter of Rob Ford,  I do have some sympathy for him, which is why I help out. I grew up around guys like him, boys who came from wealthy families but preferred sports to school. They liked to party, mostly, and as the years advanced a kind of self-loathing typically settled in right next to their sense of entitlement. Pressured by family toward a measured, presentable career they never wanted, these men hated the pretenses and expectations of the rarified culture from which they were bred, and soon enough felt victimized and angry. As if having tumbled from their family homes up on the hill, I would see them at last-call in marginal bars, places where their peers would never dream to inhabit, places where predictably being able to pay for your own drinks was sufficient to earn you a kind of social capital. Rob Ford is one of these men. He’s a guy who should have become a gym teacher, but propelled by an instinctive fury and a certainty of both his victimization and superiority, he’s lurched swinging into a job for which he’s completely over-matched.

It’s the sort of thing that simply can’t end well.

As the story of the video of Ford allegedly smoking crack cocaine was detonating the news cycle, I got this message from Ford:

MUR:

THE FUCKING SHIT IS HITTING THE FUCKING SHIT FAN!! THERE’S SHIT EVERYWHERE!!! IT’S SHIT STORM CENTRAL!! THE FAKE VIDEO OF ME NOT SMOKING CRACK IN LITTLE SOMALILAND WITH 5-STAR AND CHICKEN WING HAS TO BE DESTROYED. WE NEED TO BUY IT BEFORE THE SHITSTARTER ASSEHOLES DO! IT’S THIRD AND LONG!! GIVE ME A PLAN, LITTLE BUDDY, YOUR BRAIN IS LIKE A RUNNING BACK!!

ROBBER

Slobber:

This is what we do.

Remember that guy who used the Internet to trade up from a paper clip to a house? Well, we do the same thing. We’ll create a shell, a grassroots organization that just wants to see the people who report crimes punished rather than those who commit them. We will call it CITIZENS UNITED AGAINST BLACKMAIL, and we refer to ourselves as Cubs For(d) Justice.

The first item we put up is a Rob Ford fridge magnet, just like the ones you were running around putting on cars in a parking lot, when you weren’t high on coke, while that meeting you were supposed to be attending was taking place.

As the drug dealers you don’t know want $200,000 and to move to Calgary, I say our end game is to trade them an expensive home in Calgary for the video you’re not in.

I see the trading (which we will manipulate through CUAB) breaking down in this way:

Rob Ford Fridge Magnet = Hamster = Crack Pipe = Don Bosco Football Helmet (Collector’s edition) = A Vaporizer = Mobility Scooter (you still have the one from the cottage, right?) = Weekend In Niagara Falls= Probable Sex date With Toronto Argonaut Cheerleader= Seat on Toronto City Council = Senate Appointment = $450,00 Home In Calgary With Rental Unit in Basement That Is Near To Inadequately Defended Drug Territory.

We will then trade the house for the crack tape that doesn’t exist, snookering the media elite and winning one for the little guy.

This is the link to the post I have created on Craig’s List:

http://toronto.en.craigslist.ca/tor/bar/3818830265.html

I do.

In fact, like the great dissolute songstress Whitney Houston, I believe that children are our future. If we treat them well, they will shovel the driveway, or something. They will be like little slaves, which is why I want one. However, unless some sort of dodgy “miracle” takes place, I won’t be having any little slaves in the future. You see, after taking an ill-advised vacation in Cuba, I was rendered, “un hombre con un conteo de espermatozoides diminuto, pequeño,” and without the intervention of science, my wife and I will never be able to have the little slaves we’ve always dreamed about.

Now, we’re poor people, and the only way we can afford the expenses of tinkering with God’s will, is to sell our car, a stunning sex machine of a Honda Accord Sedan LX. This little dreamboat was born in 2006 and has the gentlest 137,700 Km on it you can imagine. It’s like all it’s kilometerage was acquired under doctor’s supervision. It’s sapphire blue, the same colour you always wanted to animate your lover’s eyes. It has a perfect body. A calendar body. You will want to marry this car and make little baby cars with it.

All we are asking is $9,500.That’s practically nothing when it comes to cars that can speak in a British accent.

And remember, by buying this car you are investing in the future, for we will immediately turn the money over to doctors so that they might create for us a test tube slave, I mean baby. Our child might save the life of your child. Think about this.

This car, this beautiful, never-been-smoked-in and obedient car, is an automatic. It has never been crashed into anything, and it has an impressive engine that boasts all the things you want in an engine. The car is goddamn perfect– it was even blessed by a priest! And if you like to party, well, you should know that the stereo has a CD player, 120 watt speakers, power windows and locks, a folding rear seat back and an air conditioner that is so effective, so good at it’s job, that you will want to get close to somebody just to warm up.

Did I mention that the car has 4-wheel ABS, grey fabric interior, has passed all drug tests and is E-tested and certified? I meant to. I also want you to know that beautiful French actress Marion Cottilard rode in this car. She smelled like pumpkin and vanilla.

And that it’s only $9,500.

Goddamn, this is the deal of a lifetime!

Buy our car, the future depends on it!

Reply to: bwgbv-3107894753@sale.craigslist.org