I'm gonna go talk to myself on Bloor Street.

How kickass would it feel to just give up everything and walk along Bloor Street mumbling to yourself? You know, just let the OCD flow. Yelling occasionally about how the number six fucked up your marriage or how the damn politicians drank your pea soup. Imagine the liberating sensations crawling up your endocrine glands when you stop carefree teenagers to warn them of falling pianos. Think hard about the clever signs you could make with a million words crammed into a 3x4 inch placard taped to your chapeau. Living the dream, man.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzEhoyXpqzQ