Sunday, May 6, 2007

Naughty Drug Not Implicated in Children

I have never used crack or cocaine for the same reason I have never been in a casino. Oh, I'm sure it's a lot of fun, after all, how can six million American be wrong?

It's just that when I was a teenager I got hooked on the arcade and their games, and I was shocked and awed when I came to the conclusion that I was always broke, and always hustling new money, to feed my gaming habit.



These insights seem to trickle down in an addict's life. I've noticed even the most hard hearted drug and booze whores seem to have a genuine concern about their offspring, even if they don't care about the fathers. It's the same thing, sort of - shock and awe about bringing a newly addicted baby into the world. Oh my God - now two habits to feed!



But new research shows that pregnant dirty crack whores no longer have to fear for the health of their unborn. Not the same story for drunk whores or tobacco whores or the combination of the two. That's a diagnostic face chart you see here, that helps doctors identify FAS in kids, who face an uphill challenge for the rest of their life. By tracing the facial defects, they can arrive at an accurate diagnosis 97 percent of the time.

Now, when I was a teenager working with older men, they would sometimes comment unfavourably on the local village idiot; "Product of a drunken fuck.", is what they said. Turns out they were not far wrong.


If you really want to insult someone, no kidding around around, you want to get into a fight or something, just say this to the bigmouth who is sounding off on you: "The best part of you trickled down your mother's leg when she stood up to get the bottle."

That will work. Every time. Either you ,or the bigmouth, or both of you, will need medical attention afterward.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Where is Osama Bin Laden?



It seems during the louder noise of environmental destruction that most of our higher minds have forgotten about American president Bush's favourite whipping boy.


News out of England today indicates some of Bin Laden's supporters will be going to the Crowbar Hotel, but where is the charismatic leader hiding out, and why have the Americans let up on their pursuit of him?


Actor Pee Wee Herman, seen in this mug shot after he was arrested for exposing his genitals to children in a cinema, bears a remarkable resemblance.
Smart money has Osama hiding somewhere in a cave in the Hindu Kush mountains that separate Asia from the Indian subcontinent, but I dunno, methinks the mysterious Pee Wee is Osama in drag, living comfortably in the Sierra Nevada.




Sunday, April 29, 2007

Egad Watson - You're Naked!

Are some things not sacred, like the briar pipe, the Homburg or Stetson, the waistcoat and the jerkin?


Can Holmes and Watson stroll around sans deerstalker hat, tweed overcoat, spats and boots? But what's this? They are not part of Scotland Yard, but if they were, they would protest long and loud.


London's venerable Scotland Yard has turned to the Fashion Police to help them choose new uniforms fit for the 21'st Century. Only fitting, old chap, to go with the new sign.




If you didn't know, London's Metropolitan Police and Scotland Yard are the same. What Englanders once called "Bobbys" were the Metro Police, distinguished by their bell shaped head gear.

Compact Flourescent Bulbs Pack Mercury Wallop



As much as the public has become mass-hypnotized by the current campaign and governmental nod toward compact flourescent light bulbs, there remains a potent poison in each and every one of them.

Late last year the same government who so breathlessly introduced the current schema to save electric energy mentioned quietly that mercury levels in Canadian fish are too high to allow unlimited safe eating of them. Anyone able to draw a connection between A and B might wonder then, how these new style bulbs can be safely disposed of.


As it happens, these bulbs are supposed to last up to seven times longer than the traditional light bulb, so those in power of our waste disposal are saying, "We have plenty of time to figure out a disposal strategy."


Just remember that the so called waste experts are currently to blame for the ban on eating Canadian fish more than twice a week because of mercury levels.


Maybe by 2012, there will be no more fish in Canadian waters, which should the suit the waste experts just fine, because then there woul no longer be mercury problem, as far as eating fish is concerned.


Thursday, April 26, 2007

Mafioso Unable to Buy Judge in Canada



Breaking News, April 26, 2007 @ 4:00 pm EDT




Former City of Vaughan mayor Michael Di Biase has lost his bid to "buy" a Canadian Judge despite Mafia links and pressure applied by Hell's Angels in the form of call-girls, illicit drugs and the torture-death of the Judge's spaniel dog.

Di Biase first made headlines in Vaughan (the city north of Toronto) after being caught by municipal police for the fifth time running red traffic signals. Each case, including the last, had been thrown out of court on technicalities.

After a Toronto Star newspaper story concerning the loss of the ticket summons by the court on the fifth offence, Mr. Di Biase defended his ignorance of red lights, saying,

"I'm the mayor, and I'm always in a hurry."


Di Biase lost the mayor's seat to an incumbent who had exposed his extensive pre-election gifts to Ontario Premier Dalton McGuinty and his brother David, a federal Cabinet Minister, at a lavish eight course dinner hosted by one of Di Biase's Mafia land-developer buddies, who just happens to live down the street from Michael.


Roger Anderson, chairman of Durham Region, has no such worries as Di Biase. Not only is Anderson able to live in the back pockets of developers who want to build in the regional municipality, he is appointed rather than elected.








Prozac Approved for Dogs


It had to happen eventually in the U.S. where people think their pets are exetnsions of themselves - Prozac has been licensed for use in dogs.

It's being used by owners to control "separation anxiety" which once was merely chewing the toes off your Manolos or the laces from wing-tips, but has now escalated to raiding the refrigerator and drinking master's supply of beer.

Facing competition from their canine friends for the supply of an addictive substance, in this case beer, has led the American Food and Drug Administration to approve Prozac to lighten Fido's angst when you leave the house.

Coming home to a drunken dog when you expect him to be sober can lead to all kinds of family problems. Denial or making excuses for the dog only ingrains these. If the dog has to go to rehab, then whole family should go too - it's a family disease.

Good thing that dogs lack a prehensile thumb and forefinger to operate a Bic lighter. Otherwise you'd come to a drunken dog who has become cross-addicted and smoked all of your stash too!

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Kid's Nervous Breakdown Due to Climate Change

The Canadian government released today their inspid war on climate change tactics. It got me to wondering why college and university students no longer protest these willy-nilly pablum textured policies.

I personally had a nervous breakdown (kinda like being caught in an endless acid trip gone wrong) over the U.S. government's nuclear testing on Amchitka Island, Alaska.
There were prostests on college and university campuses all over Canada and the U.S. This was back in a time when students (read people) had power over the media, because the media needed them on lsow news days.


Not any more. Is crowd control more effective these days? Do all of those students not want to ruffle any acadmeic feathers in case they get failing grades at the hand of the administrators? My word, think of it - denied my MBA because of participating in a student demonstration that I could easily avoid.


No dear readers, not because of any of that. It's because of apathy.


The only use apathy is to us today, is for the saving the lives of the potentially suicidal.


"Suicide?, I can hear the apathetic depressive saying.


"I don't really have an opinion on that. Check with me again tomorrow."

Monday, April 23, 2007

Kids Fucked Up Over Climate


There's a rumour among the boomers that thier grandchildren are fucked up about climate change.

Sorry, but the author of Silent Spring, a book from 1961 that outlined the environmental remains of the Boomers is olde now. Ed Note: It has been upon us since 1968, the acknowledged date of DDT pesticide awareness.
Yes, they have reason to worry! No fall-out shelter will help.
Silent Spring was required reading in the grade 10 class of 1964 of Dr. F.J. Donevan Collegiate Institute.
Don't get me going on stupidity!

Don't Blame Me - I'm Hooked

Okay, I ruffled some feathers with the "fat" blog. I admit, before others, I am capable of mistakes.
First, I have my addictions too. Nicotine. Gasoline. Valvoline. Casein. Vaseline. Farting.
Farting does not connote overweight, but it CAN indicate a liver problem, or a gall bladder problem. If you are fat, and fart, it smells like a bag of Humpty Dumpty potato chips being opened, then you probably have a liver, gall bladder problem or lower intestinal tract disease.
If you forget what your shit smells like, just buy some potato chips, then hold your nose over the tear-open spot, snick it, and inhale.
If it smells like your farts, go immediately to your nearest Wal Mart store. If no Wal Mart exists within 160 kilometers, you may be excused, then go to your nearest Tim Hortons store.
Check the Fat Pants on the server women. Think of the farts, then eat your doughnut.

Taxpayers to Pay for Poor Eating Habits, Sedentary Lifestyle

Well, err, excuse me, but as a taxpayer I resent the extra millions Ontario is pumping into their health care system to treat the obese for their poor eating habits and couch potatoe lifestyle.
The excuse for all the extra spending is, if they didn't these people would die.
Well, if they all died off, maybe the Darwinian principle would weed out those who don't give a shit what they look like or how they live their lives, and after a generation or two, the problem would be naturally eliminated.
This would be hell for Wal Mart though. I have noticed, along with many other people, that a disproportionate number of the customers in a typical Wal Mart are fat.
Why this is, is not completely clear, but I think it has something to do with intelligence. Fat is one thing, but fat and stupid is a ticking time bomb waiting to destroy our health care system in Canada.
What about the servers in Tim Hortons. Do those fat pants all the server women wear only come in one size and they have to hire to fit the pants? Or does Hortons human resources have a policy that they only hire fat women?
Well, I guess it makes sense if you don't want to have your customers feeling guilty about ordering a fat laced doughnut with a fat laced ice capp. Now, don't get me going on stupid people.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Raelians Have the Best Costumes


Well, my cult-to-join search in over. The Raelians have the best Web site design and they are conveniently located near Granby, Quebec, just a short seven hour drive away.


The Mennonties are drab dressers who feature no zippers (the devil's mechanical device, I'm sure you'll agree if you have ever been frozen out of you jacket on a ski hill by a snowy zipper) but merely buttons.


Mennonites have only two suits of clothes, one for work the other for worship, and closets are prohibited in the home because supposedly they're a sign of vanity, but actually it's so the fornicators screwing your wife while you are out farming beets has nowhere to hide when you come home early with a headache.


The Mormons are too organized, the Scientologists have Tommy Cruise and the Krishnas have ay too much patchouli oil.


Some of you have wondered why I was interested in the religious sects, but you have to realize that even religious girls get horny.

Don't Leave Home Without Them

I have enjoyed a couple of days off Blogging, but it was getting to me. I have so many ideas during the course of a day, and it's fun deciding (or not) which pearls of wisdom to publish.

Today's bit is about underwear. For common folk like we, all we have to be concerned about is getting hit by a bus, only to find out much later that the clinical staff and paramedics got a big charge out of how our guts have exploded into our already dirty underwear.
Of course a minority of others, the so-called rich and famous, have other concerns about underwear (or not) over and above the obvious bus incident most of us were told as children.
In fact, some people as so bored for affection and tenderness, that they abuse sensibility to the maximum. Think of all the chafing and rubbing injury that underwear prevents.
Well, it seems some have more time on their hands than others, who forgo shaving on the weekend as a rite of relaxation. Sunday night or Monday morning, it's out with the razor for that business class look.
Talk about chafing itching, heat rash or prickly heat as it's called. Thos red spots are ingrown hairs, trust me.


Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Communal Living in the 21'st Century

I thought the Home Hardware consortium was owned by Mormons, but whoaaa! Was I wrong!

I went to the local Home Hardware here in town, a family run business where all the employees go the the same church and all the men volunteer for the volunteer fire department, to ask about Mormons. I was interested, or I thought I was, in joining the Mormon commune in Bountiful, B.C.


It turns out, the staff at Home, and at Home's head office are Baptists.


"Baptist, anabaptist, what the Hell's the difference?", I asked the man I buy my nails and screws from.
"Well," he says, "An anabaptist is really a Mennonite, but we are the true Baptists. There's a big difference."
"No shit?", I say. "For Chrissake, I didn't know that."
I do know there's Mennonite community near Kitchener, Ontario, which used to named "Berlin", but we're going into strange historial territory there.
On my way home from the hardware store, the images of rosy cheeked Mormon girls stuffing goose down into pillows and duvets was soon replaced by something more sinister.
I'm beginning to wonder if this whole idea is too far fetched for the likes of me, but I will keep looking.




Saturday, April 14, 2007

C'mon to the Commune

I've been wanting a little polite adventure in my life lately. Not the kind of gut wrenching terror available in white water rafting or even on the roller coaster.
No, just a kind of reverent, pipe smoking, laid back adventure, like going to live on a commune was an adventure for the baby-boomers in the 1960's. Then I thought of Bountiful, British Columbia, the polygamist community.


It's the only commune I can think of aside from the Raelians, who are little too far left of center for me. Buy hey, they both have young girls aplenty and a guy have have more than one wife.


Sure, Bountiful must stink to high heaven with all those dirty cloth diapers being wrung out, washed, and hung out, and the crying and overall smell of babies is a turn off for me, but what the heck, maybe I could get used to it!

But the Bountiful group are an offshoot of the Mormon's (Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints), and pedophile Michael Jackson is a Mormon too, so I'm just not sure.

The young girl in the center photo under the white robed Raelian is the daughter of the Canadian lieutenant of the Bountiful sect. But wait, there are three more girls in the photo who look like sisters to each other. Anyway, inbreeding aside, this is the real deal.

Only one thing is stopping me, sort of like that old line in "Hotel California" by the Eagles - "you can check out any time you want, but you can never leave." But for a while, I could live like a king!


A bunch of Mormons own the local Home Hardware store Maybe I should start my research there.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Things We've Learned from Boomers



These are some things we have learned from the now older baby boom generation, who were defined by their music, admission of sex as recreation, soft drug use and long hair.

Campus unrest: Administrators with their security teams have learned how to stifle free and critical thinking on the nation's campuses of higher learning. At one time, the America-Viet Nam war was stopped and black people everywhere began to be noticed as humans because of enlightened students protesting stupid racial customs and ignorant politicians. The only light students are capable of seeing today is the one at the end of the end of the tunnel of graduation, which signals the begining of disillusionment when they find a degree down't guarentee a job.

Music: There are very "songs" on the radio protesting environmental, political or racial inequalities these days. That's because the now-rich boomers have figured it's better to crank out rap music albums telling the young how kill each other, and not the "established" people. Very few musicians thses days are saviours, except for their own bank accounts.

War: the military industrial machine is raking in money hand-over-fist thanks to aging boomers pouring investment money into the stock market, which in turn fuels the wars, ad nauseum.

Free thinking: Dead! No one wants to think anything radical, because no one will listen, or those who do will become threats instead of adversaries.

I think I'll go do a crossword puzzle. It's less upsetting.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

What Good is Suffering


There is a phrase about a dog; "He suffers fools gladly."

Myself, I find amusement first with fools, then contempt. Which makes me wonder how other view me. I've studied Maslow's theory - the question fits with feedback on the estimation of my own self.

Try to balance that with independent, critical thinking and it doesn't turn out too bad.

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Am I Crazy, or is it Hot in Here?

Is it hot in here... or am I crazy? Oh, how the mighty have fallen!



Canadian biathelete Olympic medal winner Myriam Bedard is regretting telling the media that her partner convinced the country's former Prime Minister, Jean Chretien, to stay out the American led war in Iraq.




Myriam is now facing a court trial to explain why she abducted her daughter andremoved herself to the U.S., fearing persecution here at home. Does this conduct remind you of Dar Heatherinton? She's the Lethbridge, Alberta, council woman who faked her own abduction to Vegas, them fabricated a story about an invisible stalker.




Really ladies, mehtinks you have too much time your collective hands, with maybe a lump of opium to go along with the case of white wine. At least Dar looks repentant.











Monday, April 2, 2007

Immigrants: Don't Come to Canada - it's Corrupt




Well, it took while, but the Quebec Provincial Police have put out an Interpol warrant for another sleazy Ottawa resident for bilking the Canadian taxpayers throught the corrupt Liberal sponsorship program. That's him, to the right.




This scumbag, John the Flower (Jean LeFleur) went on the lam in Costa Rica right after all the shit hit the fan in Ottawa. Since then has disappeared, hence Interpol.




Chuck Guite is languishing in a Quebec penitentiary since 2006, when he was found guilty of the same kind of shenanigans , defined as "confidence tricks", so Jean better stay hidden unless he wants to live in the crowbar hotel.




But wait - wasn't the whole sponsorship thing started by that other Jean, Jean Chretien? Or was it his successor as Prime Minister, Paul Martin? And then didn't Martin lose the election he promised after the invesigator, James Gomery, concluded his report? These guys are all over 60, what's up with that?




Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, Gomery's daughter was employed by the law firm that was trying to prosecute Chretien and Martin. It goes on, and on, and on...




Ohhh! Dearie me, let's stay out of Canada. Except for the suits and they be white, it's just as corrupt as back home! Pass the knackwurst Hienie.

Mounties and OLG Struggle


I'm feeling a bit tired out this morning. Maybe posting later today... it's the full moon, I think.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

Get Off the Phone

Have you ever picked up a call to find that it's that friend who goes on and on and on... and on?

You try yawning, saying "yes" over and over, even when you should say "no" once in a while. You suggest calling back later, you say you have to go a meeting in two minutes, or you have a roast in the oven (or reheated pizza in the microwave); you've tried everything, but nothing works to silence that annoying, self-centered and conceited individual.
If you have trouble saying no, then you need the finest invention for ridding yourself of annoying callers, politely and forever.
Next article, "You Can Pick Your Friends, and You Can Pick Your Ass, but You Can't Pick Your Friend's Ass.

Preparing for April Fool's Day

Well, all you schmucks, rubes, hicks and hayseeds, get ready to fall off the turnip truck, April Fool's Day is nigh!

Some of you might be apprehensively wondering if my Blog is one big joke, but I assure you the contrary is true, I just love a good hoax.
Like this photo of my former corporate headquarters building where I slaved away as a graphic artist and communications specialist under a couple of psychopathic idiot supervisors who made over $100,000 year, one on salary, the other on wages a "bonuses".
Talk about dirty tricks! Get ready!


Saturday, March 31, 2007

Canadian Aborginals "Different" - No Bullshit


I know this native man, his name is Rick Beaver. I got to know him by way of his wife, Ruth Clarke. Ruth was a student with me at writing classes at Queen's University in Kingston.
To me, Rick looks more like a Ukranian boyhood chum of mine, Donald Boychuk, than he does a native man.

But Rick is very much a First Nation guy, he and Ruth live on a reserve in Alderville, Ontario, just a short drive form my place in Port Hope. And being a First Nation guy, Rick is well... "different".

Rick Beaver lives in a home he built himself that has a great southern exposure and a stone floor to absorb heat from the sun in the winter. The house is dug in to the south slope of a mound of earth to advantage the natural warmth of the planet. In the winter, he burns wood for heat, and when it gets really cold he has a propane furnace he can use. There's a tandem axel gravel truck parked in his driveway when he's not driving it.

Of course Rick is a famous artist too, but his profession and his house are not what makes him different from us white folks. It's his way of being in the world that is different, something I have notice in First Nation people all over Canada. No bullshit in that.


Without going in to too much detail, I think First Nation people must "see" differently than white people. This has enabled Rick to transfer his mind onto canvas, and that is popular in the last 20 or so years, so he has a market to work toward.


I think if Rick did not have his art he would go nuts in a white man's world. I have, and I'm not even that much different than Rick.


Friday, March 30, 2007

Big Foot Documentary Saturdy, March 31.


Well, it had to happen sooner or later. Those peaceable Big Feets living in harmony with nature in the vicinity of Norway House, Manitoba, are the topic of a CTV documentary that airs Saturday night, March 31.
I can visualize the producers sitting down to a plateful of bannock, beans, fish, macaroni, wieners, and moose stew at the annual York Boat races, making friends with the locals, and looking over their shoulders for sightings of the gentle giants.
Really, all the attention might benenfit the Cree who make up the local population, but what about Mr. and Mrs. Big Foot and their family of four? Will Poppa Bigfoot relapse into his alcoholism due to being under the magnifying glass?
Will Momma Big Foot be so influenced by the invasion of modern cluture that her shopping addiction resurfaces? Trying to get a pair Manolos in Norway House is nearly impossible, let alone getting them in size 26 EEEEE width!
And how will all the attention influence the Big Foot kids? Are there any counsellors available to these folks?


Thursday, March 29, 2007

Bullshit Detector Busy This Week


Whew!
It's been a busy week. This morning when I turned on the B.S. detector it was pointing toward Ottawa and showed a 9.5 out of 10 on the scale.
Nothing unusual about centering on Ottawa, which has the highest concentration of bullshitters this side of the American border. But don't get me started on the Yanks.
No, it seems that administators at Canada's venertated Royal Canadian Mounted Police have been using the pension fund of their rank and file to pay off relatives working in the said pension office, where nearly 50 of the sixty odd employees are relatives of the administrative team. (See my March 25 post in the Archives section for more on family run business and the Mormons.)
No wonder the Mounties are hiring new people! Doesn't say anything in the recruiting poster about being a relative of a Mountie though. Must be a typo on their part.
But it doesn't end there. Seems the same administrators were contracting out work at inflated prices. No trail of cash, at least not yet, back in to the Mountie's administrators pockets. (See my post from March 21 on Corporate Greed leading to Unhappiness.)
This is a helluva way for the RCMP to support the young people of Canada, by showing them how to be white-collar crooks. Youth suppport is one of their mandates.
And incredibly, it still doesn't end there! Accused of neptotism, the former head of the RCMP, who was fired after changing his testimony under oath on the Mahar Arar case, ordered the Ottawa municipal police to investigate the hiring practices of the Mountie pension board, then two days later called off the investigation, changing his mind, to order a financial audit. He should have known, it's only a woman's perogative to change her mind. (See my post of March 23, Why I Don't Like Cops.)
So it's been a busy week for dirty administrators, what with the Ontario Lottery and Gaming Commission in hot water after failing to investigate its own dirty laundry.
I'm not hard on administrators, they are exceeding hard on themselves, and some of them haven't even been caught yet. Well, we shall see about that. Time to slap a couple of wrists then persecute someone who is innocent to take the fall.


Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Children's Entertainers Give Me the Creeps


There's something about children's entertainers that makes my skin crawl.
Children's entertainer Pee-Wee Herman, a.k.a Paul Reubens, was arrested in 1991 for masturbating in a cinema. He was fined $50 and had to do some community service. Maybe that's why I don't like kiddie komedians and their wankers.
Then came Sharon, Lois and 'Bram who were all born in the late 1930's and early 1940's, with their spot on CBC television and subsequent Order of Canada Medal. No spring chickens, them.
But oddly enough "Barney" does not scare me. I just detest his singing.


When I was standing in line at the supermarket today I heard a shopper in front of me tell the cashier that the cardinals were singing this morning. It's supposed to be a sign of spring I think.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Palestinians Die in Own Sh*t


It's a sad day. A Sh*t Tsunami has killed a number of people in Palestine. What a way to go, in your own sh*t.
Hindsight is always 20/20 but, maybe they should have stuck to outhouses.

Kids Have Balls - Again

These kids have found their balls. No bullshit here. Reminds me of those photos from the early 1960's when students all over the world banded together to stop the American war in Viet Nam and get the "vote" for black people.

The students above are from Birchmount Collegiate in Toronto. Reason they are so hyped is 'cause they have found the bullhsit in the school's administrative office, who suspended students for Blogging about their Principal.

Face it; administrators are afraid of what they don't understand, Bloggers! More power to these kids. They are learning a real big lesson here.

Monday, March 26, 2007

Ontario Lottery & Gaming Commission Fraud

When I turned on the Bullshit Detector this morning it started pointing at 1420 Yonge St., Toronto, the head offices of the Ontario Lottery and Gaming Commission (OLG).

Let me be the first print journalist to quote an executive of the OLG, who said, on the condition of anonymity, "When it gets this bad, you have to hold your nose".
Honestly, have any of you known an honest gambler? Okay, leave out the "honest" parts and ask te question again. What's that smell?
That quote did not come from Theresa Roncon, Communications Specialist at OLG and my former cougar girlfriend. Actually, she's a hired talking head, for OLG. She makes most of her dough hosting "Cottage Life" on the Life Network and some kid's show. But I digress. Seems tha the OLG was paying hush money to retailers who had scammed unwitting Lottery winning to those doughheads who are too lazy to check their own ticket numbers against the winning numbers. They insist that the retailer scan the tickets, "Just in case I miss one", duuh!

You've actually seen these lazy fat slobs, standing at the Lottery terminal at the corner store, dressed in stained track pants with a fistful of lottery tickets.
Oh, I know, you've been playing the same numbers - father's birthday, nephew's birthday, brother's birthday, cat's birthday and your christening day - since 1981, so you're number have just gotta come up soon.
But really, spending so much on Lotto that you have to eat dog food? Over $70 a week, and they're on welfare too. It just gets stupider!
Poor Mr. Chang , the proprietor, is desperately feeding tickets like .45 caliber ammunition into a machine gun, as fast as he can into the terminal scanner, and when a winner is detected a ring tone sounds.

"Ahh," he says, face all crinkley smiles, "you win fi' dolla."

The poor slob signs the ticket, which is really a loser ticket that Chang picked form his stack of losers, as he tucks the $10,000 winneing ticket into his sock.
Chang cashes out the five bucks to the mouth-breathing track-panted idiot slobbering all over his counter. This is all fine.

The OLG and the Ontario Gaming Commission (two seperate entities) run by the Ontario government is really just a vacuum device for the tax on stupid people.
Yes, about 70% of what you spend on Lotteries and in the Casinos goes straight into the provincial treasury.

"It's good for the health care system.", you say? Yes, but... you're paying a very visible tax that you don't have to. You can't con me. Well, not more than twice on the scam.

I know, you get an entertainment factor out of playing the Lotteries or plugging your hard earned cash into the slots. Why not just throw cash out the car window to homeless people as you drive around the Lakeshore district? Why not beat yourself, at least feels good when you stop.
Whoops, there goes the Bullshit detector again. Must be the Media Conference about to start at the OLG offices on Yonge. Follow the money. As for Theresa, I don't kiss and tell, but it wasn't worth it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Vendors Prevent Tag Art in Port Hope Ontario



There's only one piece of tag art, or in this case painted graffiti, in Port Hope. I know, I've been riding all over on my bicycle looking for spray paint artwork.
This sole sample of grafitti, "We are all victims of the system" is behind the drugstore in this town's only strip mall. It's right next to the railway tracks, with a two meter wooden fence blocking the view to the rail line. A safe place to paint without getting caught.
It's not my tag. No, honest, really, it isn't.
My bullshit detector went off right away. It gave me a heading to the closest hardware store - a Home Hardware that is run by Mormons. Rock icon and pedophile Michael Jackson is Mormon. Just so you know.
So I go to the Home Hardware and start snooping in the paint department. Plenty of spray cans on display. One of the young Mormons (it's a family run business, all the employees are related) hovering near by asks if she can help me. Nice, pure blonde teenage Mormon girl, granddaughter of the owner.
"Yes," I say, "is there any age limit on buying spray paint?"
She clues in right away, eyeing me suspiciously. My reputation as a bullshit detective is preceeding me. Maybe it's my trenchcoat, deer stalker hat and pipe.
"Oh yes, you have to be eighteen or over to buy spray paint.", she says.
"Why is that?", I say, eyes narrowing.
"It's because of the fumes.", she says.
"The fumes?", I ask.
"Yes - the kids are sniffing the paint fumes, and dying."
I feel like asking how many bodies have been found to date, but let it slide. 'Cause it's bullshit.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Bullshit Gym Classes On Line


Now this is really bullshit. High school students can sign up for on-line gym classes. Yes, it's an honour system for educating young minds and bodies on the intricate movement of the human body.
Personally, I'd rather sign up for online yoga. Maybe I could cook a roast of beef online too, and I wouldn't have to wash the pot after dinner. Think of the possibilities! Online sex? - no way. There wouldn't be any odours.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Why I don't like cops



I liked the police until I was eight years old. But then one of them screwed me, and that all changed. When cops screw up they do it big time.
But when I was eight, my buddy Stevie and I found out what they are really like.
Stevie was a Roman Catholic and had to go to confession every Saturday. I, an Anglican, would walk with him to the church because there was a littel creek and some scrub woods in the ravine next to the church.
After confession, we'd ramble around in the ravine looking for crayfish in the creek, chasing minnows, floating leaf boats - boy stuff.
On the way to church there was pay telephone booth where we religiously checked the coin return compartment. Sometimes we'd find a nickle or a dime someone had forgotten. This one Saturday, on the way to Stevie's confessional, we found a white cotton bag full of coins on the shelf right in front of the pay phone.
Our best guess was, the guy who collected the money out of the coin box had emptied it, but forgot to take the bag and put it in his truck when he left.
We decided to keep the money; I was to bury it down in the ravine while Stevie was in confession, then we'd come back for it later. It was lot of money to an eight year old, about fifty dollars.
I had almost finished digging the hole with a stick. I sensed a movement, looked up to see Stevie and the priest walking down the path toward me. Stevie had confessed the finding to the priest, who told us to take the money back home and call the police. Being a good little Catholic, and I an honest Anglican, that's what Stevie and I did.
Stevie's dad called the cops for us. When the officer arrived he drove right in Stevie's driveway, where we were waiting with money bag on the front steps.
The cop took the money, and told us what good little boys we were. I remember feeling a sense of pride in being praised by this big burly cop. He told us if no one claimed the dough after three months, we could come to the police station and claim it. We marked our calendars.
The waiting was awful. It seemd like eons. To pass the time, we'd plan and fantasize about what we would do with all that money. Stevie was going to buy a bow and arrows, I was going to buy a pup tent. We'd go camping and hunting.
On the appointed day, having not heard a peep from the police, Stevie's dad drove us down to the Cop Shop. The three of us went, and Stevie's dad explained the situation to the desk sergeant.
Smiling, like a cat that's learned to fry mice in butter, the sergeant said, "Where's your property receipt?"
"What's a property receipt?", said Stevie's dad.
"Whenever one of our officers collects anything from anyone, he gives them a property receipt. You'll have to show me the property receipt.", he said.
Stevie and I asked the nice man if he still had our bag money. "It was a white cotton bag full of coins." we stammered in unison.
"I don't know," smiled the nice man. "Where's your property receipt. It has a number on it, and I can't find anything here without that number."
Our dreams shattered, Stevie and I started to cry. Stevie's dad grabbed him by the arm, told me to follow him, as he dragged his son back out to the car.
Through clenched teeth, "Let this a lesson to you boys!", said Stevie's dad, as he viciously let out the clutch and wheeled us around to head back home. It was the first time I'd heard Stevie's dad burn rubber with the tires.
And it was a lesson.




Thursday, March 22, 2007

How part time jobs are hazardous to everyone's health


I've been working for Nucomm, a big corporation that runs call centers in economically depressed parts of Ontario. It's a part time job in Cobourg, paying $10 and hour, so it gives me pocket change after talking angry customers through to a solution. It's not the kind of job I want to spend much time at, because everyone who calls me is really pissed that they can't connect to the Web.

I'm the guy who answers the phone when you call Rogers or Cogeco about why your computer's DSL connection on the cable network doesn't work. It's a contracted out job, and Nucomm has the contract for now.

I have a lot of experience dealing with pissed people over the phone from when I worked in a call centre for major municipality answering the phone when people called about not having their garbage or blue boxes emptied on collection day. They paid me $30 and hour, plus benefits and expenses - but that was in another life.

I work shifts at Nucomm, mostly weekends and evenings. There's not a lot of people trying to surf the Net or send E-mails after midnight, and there's a geek who loves the night shift, so he gets most of the overnight time. I wouldn't want to work all night like him, so I count myself lucky by default. But I've been feeling really hollow lately, and I wondered why.

It turns out that an economist has figured out that us part-timers are not only at risk for health problems, we are actually poisoning the world too. We who hold part time jobs, it turns out, really are hazardous to every one's health.

Until I read this article, I had no idea that I was likely causing my girlfriend's yeast infection by working! I thought it came from my sleeping around with the single mothers in town!

So, I've been trying to persuade my fellow workers at Nucomm to either go full time or quit. I figure I need the job there myself to help pay for my daily expenses. I kind of like having a warm place to sleep and being able to buy a coffee and doughnut instead of walking the back roads picking up beer bottles. So I need the job, and it's all I can get right now.

But if I can't talk enough of the part timers at Nucomm into quitting, I'll have to start twisting the arms of folks working at Tim Hortons into quitting or going full time. And who hires all those women working at Timmy's? Do those Hortons uniforms only come in one size, and they have to hire to fit the fat pants, or is it the other way around? Anyone know a good union organizer?

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Why we fat, and between the ears

Over time I have learned to dumb myself down to fit in with the masses. I say "I seen it" and "youse" and "guys" instead of "people" to improve my acceptance rate with the status quo. But I don't look like a nerd, so this confuses people.

I'm not particularly intelligent either. My high brow friends suffer me like a fool because I won't kiss any ass just because they are rich. They wag their fingers at me, tut tutting, pointing out this is why I never stay out of the working poor rut. I don't say "youse" or "I seen it" to these people, even though they say it, because I actually know it's not good grammar.

But I did get a promotion out of the working poor rut, working for a major corporation. The extra money was nice for a while, but my co-workers were actually just status quo folks who had fallen their way good paying jobs after being hired by a pair of psychopaths. The psycho's talked, "I seen youse guys" or my favourite "yizz'le" a contraction for "youse will" and they listened to country music.

I had never been fat, or even pleasingly plump, so at first in that job I stuck out like a hard-on in junior high school. Such has been my fate; to be singled out for being normal in with a bunch of oddballs.

We know it's true that we accumulate the habits of those we spend the most time with. So it was inevitable, I suppose, that although I had the self control not to lose my mind working with these slackers, conformists, and sexual deviants, that I did lose my waistline.

To fit in, I stopped bringing to work my bagged lunch of whole wheat sandwich, some fruit and vegetable sticks. After all, I now had the salary to buy lunch at the local diner. Sometimes we went to the Mandarin buffet for some of what I call "fried fried" - breaded fried food that is deep fried again, or ordered in thick crust pizza.

One associate, a really nice guy that was faking his way through being a materials broker, brought in trays of Krispy Kreme doughnuts for all us saps hoping he would get a lucrative contract. Some of us were hooked on lunchtime pita wraps filled with otherwise healthy fillings, dripping with mayonnaise. The sumo wrestler who made the wraps at his walk-in restaurant knew what middle income people liked, and how to disguise it as health food, so he was worshipped in kind.

After months of over consumption, when I got home from work I was too groggy and exhausted by all the eating to cook, so there came more take-out. More drinks. No sex. I felt, and looked, terrible, but at least I felt I fit in.

One day, a coworker took a digital photo of our lunch bunch, my peers - it was some one's going away party - while I was saying "youse guys". As the photo was circulated via the corporate Intranet my memory went back to the moment I was saying youse, and the penny dropped.

As luck would have it, I quit my job soon after, to join the ranks of the working poor, again.

Because I'm between full time jobs, I now have the time to walk everywhere I want to go, or take my bicycle, can't afford take-out anymore, I lost five notches of belt and 25 pounds. My breathing improved, I lost the burning spot in my gut and no longer suffer from acid reflux so don't have to take Nexium like candy.

I can sleep through entire night without waking up sweating but I've lost most of my high brow friends because "Youse is no use to us anymore.", they say.

I get bored easily, but it's 9:41 am and the public library opens here at 10. It's bright and warm, so I hang out there, reading newspapers and good literature for free. I feel it's good for my brain.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

How corporate greed makes you unhappy

Hi all you no good slackers and guilty executivesCheck Spelling

Have you ever noticed how executives have an overdeveloped sense of entitlement lately? Lord Black of Cross Harbour (Conrad Black to Canadians) is currently getting his fingers burned in a Chicago court for conveniently forgetting that money belonging to shareholders in his companies is not to be used for his - and his wife's - personal spending.

But there's a lot more dishonesty going on in the boardrooms of our country due to this "I'm entitled to my entitlements" view, and it effects even the smallest entrepreneur trying to make pocket change. But how can a feeling of being entitled to perks make you unhappy even if the perpetrators feel no remorse, even when confronted, even with photographic proof? Here are some interesting facts on administrators, executives and their weasel ways...

Take, for instance, the low-tech "Honest to Goodness" snack system, which is a cardboard tray filled with sweet and salty snacks, left in office lunch rooms by entrepreneurs trying to make a buck.

There is an integral money box with a slot, into which the buyer places coins or bills, all on an honour system, to pay the posted price of whatever they have just lifted out of the open tray.

The cardboard trays are replenished every Thursday by an "Honest to Goodness" employee - often the owner - the money removed and balanced against the products sold, and those remaining. Honest to Goodness statistics show some revealing corporate greed occurring in offices that house the executive, clerical and administrative staff on different floors within the same building.

First understand, Honest to Goodness figures an eighty per cent return, or 20 per cent theft rate, as the cut off point where they pull the vending box.

On the floor with the clerical workers, the rate of honesty for Honest to Goodness snack purchases is a steady 92 per cent year round.

Regular folks these clerks, most of whom have children at home, bring their lunch to work, are often timed by punch clocks, and are breathed down their necks by the administrative staff to "do a good job, be accurate and don't think up new ways of doing things - just follow our orders". Most clerks get their job by passing a time limited test on computer, and the test is set up to catch cheaters, who are eliminated from the competition. Written work rules and job descriptions cover every available loophole.

Clerks are a convivial lot. You can see them "wasting time" chuckling around the water cooler, trading day-care stories, talking prices on groceries, gasoline, clothes, guffawing at crude jokes... the essentials. But honest they are, and there's a certain peer pressure for them to stay that way. They don't steal much, because they don't have much themselves, there they know if someone stole from them, the consequences would likely be life altering.

But on the floor where the administrators work, there's not so much pressure. At times the work environment is like being at a mixed gender country club, where the women rule the roost. Just smell the designer perfume on the air when you walk in the room!

There are no timed lunches - a simple in-out board instead of punch clock - and no one has to tell them how to dress because the administrators use peer pressure instead of rules to enforce an unwritten code of office chic. They have the salary to dress better than the clerks, along with the leisure of not having to account for their time spent actually working on anything.

Like the clerks, administrators are convivial lot, but it's here where the ugly head of entitlement starts.

Most administrators get their jobs on the strength of the past education and their self written resumes. They lie on their resumes because they think all the other administrators (the competition) are lying on their resumes, so there's little guilt involved in lying. After all, the reasoning goes, if I have to compete with liars, I have to lie myself - right? It doesn't end there, but more on the entitlement to lie later.

On the administrator's floor the theft rate from the snack box varies between 15 per cent on regular weeks, then spikes to 25 per cent after some major holidays like Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter. Why the spikes at the high holidays and not, for instance, on Labour Day or Canada Day? Because on high holidays , mostly family gatherings, the administrators have higher-than-clerk expectations of what constitutes a good time.

They feel compelled to spend more time and money in this pursuit to make everything "perfect" than the clerks, and have correspondingly higher stress levels before the holiday - which leads to more theft from the snack box - a bigger disappointments then the clerks after the holiday, because their bigger efforts than clerical staff do not yield commensurately better satisfaction.

Up on the executive's floor, predominately male with a token attack-trained woman sprinkled here and there, where the pay is astronomical, the Honest to Goodness box lasted only three weeks before being pulled by the operator. It's the executives who say, "They pay me for what I know, not what I do."

The executives are accountable only to their own consciences or lack thereof, and they hold long talks around the table in their lounge egging each other on to shameless exploits in business that quickly extended to the snack box. Fully half of them ( 50 per cent) regularly stole items in week one, and in week two some enterprising exec stole the money from the cardboard cash box.

The final straw for Honest to Goodness on the executive floor came in week three when the entire box, snacks and all, disappeared. The executives blamed the clerks, claiming their floor had been infiltrated by some low-life when no one was watching. So now, not only theft and lies, but false blame too!

Next article: Why are professional engineers put in the position of supervising people while human resources people are prohibited from building roads and bridges?

Musing for the next-next article: Why I gained 20 pounds of belly fat after I was promoted.