An Official Memo

To: The National Battlefields Commission of the Government of Canada
Re: The National Battlefields Commission of the Government of Canada

Dear the National Battlefields Commission of the Government of Canada,

Although I've always enjoyed your work, it pains me to take umbrage at your recent decision to declare the soiled chesterfield upon which I slumber a National Battlefield. True, a great many epic and bloody struggles have occured on it's pleather exterior, but the situation remains entirely too delicate to glorify at this time. Please remove all alabaster plaques, along with the Tricentennial Memorial Gift shop.

In yours, I remain,

Herbert U. Norway

I Believe in Myself!

As penance, I have begun work on a series of inspirational posters. I call them 'Inspirattitudes'. Behold!

- This is the first day of the best of your life!.
- If you want to challenge God to a fist-fight, you'll first have to build a catapult to get to Him.
- Make it a rule to plan to rule.
- If things always went the way you planned... etc.
- Release the retarded surgeons.

The posters will also feature pictures of inspirational things. Like kittens climbing out of buckets. Or monkeys doing taxes.

gravy pool.

I doubt that any of you Johnny and Suzie Care-Nots are the least bit interested in the trials and tribulations of one Herbert U. Norway in the last month and one-fifteenth, so perchance it's time that I begin to flash a piercing light into the fog of my yesteryears...

I was born in a coat of armour to a working-class mother of eleven. She worked in the cotton mines, and could scarcely feed herself, nevermind the middle-class Los Angelite family that she had the misdirection to sponsor. Obviously, mine was a cruel upbringing in a neighbourhood of ill-repute. The moon!

Coming up next, Herbert converts to Islam, then Judaism, then Judo-Islamisism.