Friends,

I apologize for my extended absence from this blog. Many of you assume that it has been a result of the heavy workload I have at the Stratford Shakespeare Festival. I have also welcomed my third child, Cleopatra, a little bundle of excitement and farts. Yes, either of these situations would be more than enough to cause my attention to wander but there has been another drain on my time: The Angry Birds.

Most of you are laughing derisively right now. (Some of you are masturbating derisively: this is the internet after all). "Seán has been too busy playing Angry Birds to do his basic duties such as blogging, bathing and wiping himself? What a giant idiot!" Wrong.

While it is true that Angry Birds is an addictive and challenging game, what many people don't know is that the game is based on a very real conflict that is tearing apart the animal kingdom.

Many centuries ago, as represented so movingly in the opening sequence of the game, Pigs stole a number of eggs from Birds. This led to reprisals. Birds launched a number of attacks against pigs all over the world. The pigs, never brilliant strategists or engineers for that matter, chose to hide within hastily built structures they threw together from scraps of wood, slabs of rock and cubes of glass. These crude structures repelled the birds at first but soon the birds began a highly unethical genetic breeding program that gave rise to many different species of birds with highly specialized abilities: exploding birds, birds that split into three separate entities, birds capable dropping exploding eggs, etc. The pigs responded by growing moustaches and building more precariously elaborate structures.

How can this cycle of violent continue? Can we live in a world without birds and pigs? I for one can not. I refuse to accept that a peaceful resolution to the conflict is impossible. I have been dedicating a huge amount of time and a considerable portion of my income to mediating this dispute but there is no end in sight. I need help.

Here's what you can do: whenever you see a bird, you must scream: "Leave those pigs alone!"

When you see a pig shout "Give back the eggs!"

It seems like a small thing, a drop in the bucket, but only by showing our solidarity can we end the violence. Only through international censure can we hope to change the future. Some would say, "Why don't we just use the violence they seem to love against them? We could kill two birds with every stone we threw, possibly three depending on the grouping." No. Violence does not solve anything as the conflict of the Angry Birds has shown us. You might say, "What about sanctions? We could refuse to eat any more bacon until the war is ended." No. By not eating pigs, we are playing right into their hands. And they are too delicious not to eat.

So. I've told you what I need, what the world needs. It's time to yell at things. The Anger of the birds must be soothed. This conflict can't continue. Thanks for you time.

I just wanted to take a moment to say good-bye to a person who was a part of the Corky and the Juice Pigs experience back in the early days. My friend Eric Tunney passed away in Windsor recently. He was a sweet guy, a comic we all looked up to when we first started our careers and a gentleman.

When the Juice Pigs first started performing at the Rivoli, Eric was an established comic on the circuit. He was an awesome prospect: a guy who'd left high school to pursue a career as a stand up comic. His persona was cool. He was John Hamm before anyone ever imagined Madmen, tall and lean, impeccably turned out in a sleek dark suit and holding his trademark cigar. His material was clever and classy. He agreed to host our first serious run at the Rivoli and he was gracious enough to take the step down to do a gig with a group that was obviously nowhere near as established as he was. He was a good guy and a great comic and a friend.

Over the years, my career has taken me here and there. I hadn't kept in touch with Eric. He was living in LA and trying to break in there. I wish I'd made a greater effort now. I know he was having problems but I had no idea how serious they were until I heard of his death. The strange thing about comedians is that they see the humour and everything around them, they entertain people and make them laugh but so many comics live sad and isolated lives. I know that's true because I've felt that loneliness myself.
Eric, good-bye. Everyone who knew you will miss you. I prefer to remember you on stage, tall and cool, cigar smoke rising into the lights. You were a comic's comic and we're all still laughing at the back of the room.

Human Friends
I am very sorry for not contacting you sooner. So much has happened. The truth of the matter is that once again I was being held against my will.

While on holiday in the Dominican Republic, I was abducted from my hotel by a gang of bloodthirsty pirates. I mean that literally. They were thirsty for blood. All day long they would drink nothing but blood. They also ingested Rum but in solid pellet form. Very disturbing. These pirates kept me isolated from the rest of the world in a man's mouth. The man, a pirate named Rusty, had a very large and well-appointed mouth with a jacuzzi and a squash court but still...no matter how comfortable: prison is prison. I eventually escaped by clinging to a potato chip and being passed out of Rusty's ample rectum. I built a raft out of coconuts and my own raw need and floated into the shipping lanes. At last, after drifting for days, I was picked up by a Portuguese fishing boat.

Unfortunately, the Portuguese fishermen were part of a Maritime Sexual Humiliation Cult. They forced me to perform unspeakable acts with with turbot. I finally managed to jump ship in Halifax and rode the back of a truck bringing camel diapers to a circus in Belleville, Ont. Then I walked the rest of the way home.

Just in time to announce I'll be hosting Molson Canadian Hockey House throughout the Vancouver Winter Olympics! You can get a sneak preview of what we'll be doing in Vanc at the Comedy Bar on Bloor Street in Toronto, February 3rd and 4th. Hope to see you there... if I haven't been abducted again. Included is a picture of two of the Portuguese Fish Cultists The one with the white hair is Carlo. You wouldn't believe what's lurking in those big yellow pants.

THE SEƁN SCHAU RETURNS!

Hello
Humans!
I am delighted to inform you that I am recently returned from Saint
John New Brunswick after hosting the Tenth Annual Canadian Comedy
Awards. What an incredible city! Not only was kerosene invented there
but also the first ever steam-powered fog horn! Not content to rest on
their laurels, the people of Saint John built a seventy meter tall
statue of Chris De Burgh out of bacon and a bridge made of live mice.
The awards were a huge success. People won them and were pleased. I
wore a shiny black suit made of the sweat of seals. The audience
smelled and loved it.
I have to say, I didn't enjoy my accomodations. Elderly people from the
cruise ships kept climbing in my hotel room and asking me to bathe them
or sell them fudge. One night I woke to find a sailor standing over me
on the bed, masturbating and shouting "Launch the harpoon!" We became
friends... Maybe even more than friends. His name was and is Salty
Joseph. All in all, things went well. Now I'm back at Startford and
doing the show until November 8th. Dig that if you are capable!
Enclosed is a picture of my good friend and perhaps more than friend,
Salty Joseph.

Today is my first performance of "A Funny Thing Happened On The Way to the Forum" in Stratford and I'm sorry to say, before I have even set foot on stage, I am already in trouble. I'm sure you've heard the bizarre tale of Mickey and his unreasoning hatred for me. Well, he's up to his old tricks. I woke up this morning to find a blood-thirsty hyena waiting for me in the shower.

I was able to lodge a loofa in the creature's jaw and then we wrestled back and form across the bathroom. My body was raked by the fierce animal's vicious claws. Tattered and bleeding I managed to hold the monster down while my infant son, hypnotized it and convinced it to commit suicide with a bottle of Mydol.

As I hurled the inert body of the Hyena out the window, I saw Mickey standing on the lawn laughing maniacally. I was puzzled at how he had access to so many wild animals but was told later that he works as a zoo volunteer as part of his psychotherapy. If they new how he was using the animals, I'm sure they'd reconsider their course of treatment.

Now, with the show only hours away, I am struggling to force my liver back into my abdominal cavity. But the show must go on. I'm sure I will survive the show but perhaps not the run which ends on November Eighth.



My liver is now hanging outside my body

I am going to open in Stratford Festival's "A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum" on Saturday. As the day grows near, I am bust trying to learn lines, dance steps and wrestling moves.I find my nervousness manifests itself in strange ways. I've started sleeping underwater, I can't pass a squirrel without screaming and I have a desperate desire to farm.Hopefully, all these quirks will fade when the show is up and running.

The rehearsals themselves are going smoothly. The cast and crew are wonderful. All of them, that is, save for the evil Mickey. He is constantly trying to sabotage my work. Last night, during a runthrough of act one, he threw a burning otter into my pants. First of all, I'm sure burning an animal is illegal, especially indoors, and second, it's distracting. When I suggested we call the police, the stagemanager revealed that Mickey had eaten them the week before.

I will have to find a way to neutralize Mickey and do my job effectively. I will keep you updated. In the meantime, buy tickets for the show on the Stratford Festival website. You can also read my new book "The Prince Of Neither Here Nor There".

Enclosed is a picture of the otter Mickey set alight. I managed to douse the flames with my urine.

Humans! I am in Stratford Ontario, home of the Stratford Shakespeare Festival where I will soon step into the role of Psuedolus in "A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum". The rehearsal schedule is grueling, doubly so because each member of the cast insists on slapping me in the throat during vocal warm-ups. Stephen Ouimette has particularly sharp fingers. They insist that it helps prevent vocal nodes. Ah, the theatre.

Apart from the intense rehearsal schedule, I have been taking in the Shakespearean atmosphere: the bodkin fights in the town square, the bear baiting by the riverside, the masturbating in the bushes, the plague re-enactments and the Elizabethan Cat Dancers, the slightly poisonous unpasteurized milk stalls. What an amazing panorama of Rennaissance excitement!

All is not roses however. There is always one person whom I cannot seem to please and this time it is a stagehand named Mickey. Mickey does not seem thrilled with my intepretation of the character. He stands in the wings, relentlessly sharpening a pocket knife and screaming, "I'm going to cut you, Cullen, you diseased prick!" I can't tell you how distracting this is. I've asked the stage manager to make him stop but apparently Mickey is the nephew of Des Mcanuff, the festival director and so he can do whatever he wants. I hope he doesn't scream at me during performances or, if he must, that the orchestra plays very loud.

I will be on stage on or about the first of September. Keep your eye on the blog and follow my tweets. I have included a picture of Mickey so that you understand what I'm dealing with.

PS Read "The Prince Of Neither Here Nor There" in fine bookstores everywhere. And even some shitty ones.

IN BOOKSTORES AUGUST 11th!
The first book of The Chronicles of the Misplaced Prince is set in a world where Faeries exist, hidden in the cracks of our reality. Brendan, the hero of the stories, discovers that he is a Faerie who was lost in the human world. As a teenager in his first year of high school, he must come to grips with the fact that the family he has grown up with isn't really his family at all. Will he be forced to turn his back on his human parents and embrace his Faerie roots? How can he hope to survive in the face of otherworldly powers that are determined to destroy him before he can grasp the scope of his newfound birthright?

Humans! I am receiving a number of queries from concerned citizens about the return of my CBC radio show, Simply SeƔn. I regret to inform you that the CBC decided not to renew the show this summer. The show was originally conceived as a summer replacement but my intension and hope was that it would lead to a more permanent timeslot on the magnificent CBC broadcast continuum however that has not been the case. I enjoyed my time on the show. I enjoyed sharing my musings with you. So many, many people sent in kind e-mails and letters of support over the years and for those I thank you deeply and with the utmost humility and violence.

My producer for the show was and is Michelle Parise. She was a wonderful partner and a good friend. She is mostly responsible for the incredible playlist of great Canadian indie and alternative music. On a happy note, CBC Radio has decided that the kind of music we played should be the basis of their new format. I'm glad they liked our choices and now you will get the music you so richly deserve.

Thank you to all my guests over the years especially Ron Sexsmith, a very funny man and a golden talent. Thanks to Tom Anniko for his guidance and support. Thanks to all the great Canadian Talent we exploited for our own purposes. Thank you to Old World Grampa. He says hello and "Happy Canada! Make your own wine."

Thanks for listening. I had a wonderful time. I loved reaching you through the radio and your many kind messages over the years made me believe I was doing something worthwhile. I know my sense of humour is not for everyone but I hope it was good for you. I'm sure there were those who didn't like the show and if you are one of them, I ask you, humbly, to eat my balls.

Once again, Humans, Thank You and Enjoy the rest of your Saturday.

PS If you wish to be angry, why not channel your frustrations at this picture of Vlad the Impaler.