Who Gives A Flying….

You know things are screwy when a house cleaning service pulls up in an $80,000 Mercedes SUV.

My house cleaner is talking about her stock portfolio. Time to bail.

The Toronto Star is also affectionately known as the Red Star of the Morning, Canadian Pravda.

CFL wants to merge with the Rock’s XFL. Say goodbye to the CFL. “Guys, 3 down football will not make it in the US. You have tried this before. It doesn’t work.” Perhaps a name change from the CFL to “Summer Slam” will work. It will bring in all those old grannies out there.

Without an injection, if Covid continues, the CFL will die.

I wish they would go back to the Corona Virus 24 vice Covid 19. Would that be cans or bottles? Coronus Virus 24 has a nice taste to it, don’t ya think?

Love this:

“It’s bad for both of us”: El Salvador president criticizes high level of immigration from Latin America to U.S.

“We have nobody to work the cocaine labs.” Boo Hoo.

Are we a fooked up society or what?

BREAKING: Former President of Drag Queen Story Hour Foundation and Children’s Court Judge Arrested on Seven Counts of Child Porn.

Roman’s was right.

Canada joins Britain, France in combatting cancel culture ‘coming from the United States’ Quebec is ticked off because it isn’t in French.

Y’know, Finland tried the Universal Basic Income Plan that all the socialists rave about, for 6 months but had to cancel it as they couldn’t find anyone to work the program.

Wonder how long this will last: David Foster 71 and new wife Katherine McPhee (I have lost count) welcome their new baby boy.

You know as we get older we lose patience and David you’re a grampy old man now. Give it a rest. I give this one less than a year. Foster’s alimony payments and child support payments are bigger than some country’s GDP.

America’s first couple:

a man wearing sunglasses and a hat: Instagram

You don’t say Beyonce: “I Just want to give a shout out to my child Blue Ivy.” She may have talent but Beyonce’s naming conventions suck. Poor kid.

There are two things that I love to do as they make me laugh out loud: reading the letters to the editor and watching the Grammy’s.

French dance duo Justice have sent a cease-and-desist notice to Justin Bieber over the singer’s upcoming album Justice and what they claim is its use of Justice’s trademarked “cross” logo.

There is no mention that the album sucks.

And finally this, from my: “This Is News Why?” file comes this latest bit of fluff.

Kim Kardashian Just Gushed Over This Candy That Fits Into Her Diet.

I think I will start a new file called: Who Gives A Flying F^%K File.

Speaking of sugar:

https://youtu.be/JywK_5bT8z0

Did ya know that Andy Kim – from Montreal, sings this?

SJ…………….Out

M and Ms

79 more days until Maldives is historeeeeee, says the UN:

Image result for pics maldivesMaldives today

 

It is getting  really bad out there:  The Toronto District School Board is completing a phase-out of the word “chief” from job titles, out of respect for Indigenous people. Titles such as chief financial officer, chief academic officer and chief communications officer will see the word “chief” removed and replaced with “manager” or something similar. The changes include 12 chief positions in the professional support services department where the word manager is now used. “The work began a few years ago and is now concluding,” TDSB spokesman Ryan Bird said. The real scandal here folks is that it took them a few years to come up with this decision. A FEW YEARS? How much did that cost?

I guess the word “How” is next!

My question. What about the military. No More Chief Petty Officer, Chief Warrant Officer? Commander in Chief? No more “hey Chief, what’s up today. Hey Manager” just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Or “Hey Mang or Hey Manage”…Geesh. While were at it let’s get rid of the name Indigenous, or First Nations,or Aboriginals, or Indians, or the Redman and call everyone………..Canadian, without any hyphens. Hey how about calling them the “Big Kahunas” or “Shit Disturbers”

Weinstein. Love this:

 

Weinstein and Holly’s Woody in the Morning was built to keep the silence. Weinstein brought Holly’s Woody in the Morning to a whole new level.

Weinstein off to Europe for sex addiction rehab. Where Sweden? Germany’s Reeperbahn? Amsterdam’s Canal Street? Sex addiction rehab? Sounds oxymoronic to me. How’s that going to stack up? It’s like taking coal to Newcastle. Forget about us deplorables, eh Weinstein?

“I started a petition for the restaurant to remove seal meat from the menu because it is sourced by the commercial hunt and not the indigenous hunt.” A dead animal — albeit a delicious one — is still a dead animal, and it’s no more righteously dead depending on the race of the person who killed it. Hey where’s the Chief Cook here? I’m sure the seal knew that as well. The restaurant is named Ku-Kum Kitchen for a reason. After all of this mayhem they are going to change the name to Sku-Kum!

SJWs are always so concerned about paternalism and colonialism, but here they are with their animal rights colonialism trying to tell an aboriginal entrepreneur what to do with his own business. Do Black Olives come with that seal steak? You know Black Olives Matter to all SJWs.

 

Image result for pics of trudeau and pipelines

I have a dream. That the world will be rid of pipelines. That baristas and joints will be the order of the day and on every street corner. In the villages, in the towns, in our cities, across our great land. Yes…I have a dream. That the grass will always better in BC. I had a dream….and it was sooo cool….man!

Trudeau’s war on oil and gas is hitting BC hard 0- 60B and counting. Only one more to seal (see above) the deal. Cancel Kinder Morgan. Yeees I had that dream too…and it was a nightmare!

 

Why is Lake Superior’s water level so high? We’ve gotten a lot of rain and snow in recent years. But the Strib hints at a darker possibility:

“Is it climate change? Or is it just a cyclical thing?” Buck wondered aloud. “What can we do? What can we expect?”

But wait! Just a few short years ago, we were told that Lake Superior was drying up, as water levels were, for a while, below average. What caused the level of the Great Lakes to fall? Climate change, of course. And low levels, like high levels, are bad.

“It’s the Goldilocks Syndrome I tells ya,” some hick from rural Wisconsin touted.

 

California’s climate change alarmist Governor Jerry Brown is thrilled at more laws in the state being passed with the ultimate goal of phasing out vehicles that run on fossil fuels:




California power              Image result for pic of hamster on a treadmill

Utility Company

is on the go!

Yeah, that’ll work in the Moonbat State.

 

Bitcoin, Climate Change and now Shit-coin: all crypto currencies or the currency of the damned!

Eminem: In what is perhaps the fiercest and the most exhaustive attack against Donald Trump in hip-hop, Eminem “came to stomp” Tuesday night, calling the President everything from “Donald the b—-” to a “racist grandpa” in an explosive 4.5-minute freestyle rap. “That’s how he gets his rocks off and he is orange….”say what.

This from a guy who hails from that mecca of urban righteousness and renewal….Detroit! Or the guy(Slim Shady) who presents a video showing a woman taking a dump and wiping her ass. Yeah, that’s real visual art man…..shitty!

Oh Lord hear my prayer. Please give us back Hendrix and we’ll give you Eminem.

And here, all this time, I thought they were referring to candy called            Em – n –  Ems. I like the yellow ones best!

 

 

SJ……Out….Have a great weekend.

 

Life’s Tough

…”Dad’s orders. Sorry, I can’t get in or let you in until I get this done.”

No way!  I was beginning to feel really small.  This cannot be happening to me. It was and it was beginning to look futile to just give in.

Have you ever been in a situation where you feel you have put in way too much time or effort or sweat equity into something to just let it go nilly willy, or is it willy nilly?  Like waiting at a bus stop for an eternity, wondering to yourself:

“Should I just walk the extra mile or should I continue to wait here for the bus.”

Of course you know what will happen.  Just as soon as you decide to take the hike that bus will be seen barrelling over the horizon.  Of course you will now find yourself just a wee bit too far away to make it back.  Never fails.  Happens every time.  I believe they call this phenomenon in psychological circles, Escalation Theory and its corollary: Determinants of Commitment.  Yet, if I had just lit a cigarette at the bus stop instead of striking out on my own accord the same outcome would have occurred.  Of course, who smokes in public when they are 10 years old!

I was committed and determined to see this damn thing through.  My blood was beginning to boil, temperature rising, escalating to new highs, but what could I do?

Gerard was incessantly confident that all was right with the world.   I knew I was duped by his mischievous charm and his roguish aura of playfulness.  One way or another I had to see this through.

I looked at the pile of newspapers, felt a chill and looked about.  Kicking the snow and, as if by proxy, kicking myself in the ass.  You idiot, I thought.  This cannot be happening to me.

Then Gerard threw me a couple of caramels. “Just in” he announced. “Fresh as a new day’s snow.”

Wow. I was taken aback.  My interest in this endeavour was piqued, again. This must be true I thought.  I popped one of the caramels into my mouth. Sensationally savoury!

“Okay Gerard.  Let’s get these done before it gets too dark here.”

I was back in!

He snipped the lashings off the stacks, sorted the papers into two equal piles, placed them both onto a toboggan and more or less directed me to take hold of one of them lines.

“You just do as I tell you.” He said.

“I have to pull you as well?” I objectively stammered.

“Yes, better this way.  I can sort them while you pull me and the whole lot.  Believe me, it is the best method of getting these papers done.”

I surrendered.  Off we went.

Good thing he lived on a street that was one part of a two part Crescent: each Crescent forming a half circle. I was surely the circle jerk in this operation. We got the route done.  Or should I say, I got her done as Gerard never left his perch on that toboggan. I pulled, I carried, I ran and I delivered every single one of those newspapers. He just sat there and directed traffic.

Finally done, back at his house out of breath and somewhat tired.

“Okay Gerard.  No more fooling around.  How about those caramels?”

It was getting late, for us at least.  Almost dark.

“They are in the basement,” he piped. “We will have to go in quietly by the back door. C’mon.”

I followed him and in we went: down the back stairs and into the dark, damp, dank confines of his basement.  It seemed to be one big room, but full of boxes. Floor to ceiling high with stuff, junk. The smell of staleness and mould was overwhelming to the senses.

“Turn on the lights,” I asked of him.

“There are none.” he said, “But I know where the caramels are stored and I’ll direct you to them.”

My suspicious mind was beginning to get the better of me.

“Over here” he touted. “By the big work bench. Now, you’ll have to get down on the floor.”

Boxes everywhere.  Funny that as they all seemed to be so light as to be empty.

Not to worry he reassured me. The caramels are in similar sized boxes, stacked at the back of the wall at one end of the workbench.

By this time I was down on all fours scrum-aging around underneath a massive workbench trying to come to grips with the situation.  Gerard just sat there by the back stairs directing me here and there. The boxes of caramels were beginning to be somewhat illusive. A spectre perhaps, a spectre of confectionarianism.  As unreal as a caramel reality could get.

Just then all hell seemed to break loose at my expense. Gerard began to laugh, slowly at first then uncontrollable bursts and guffaws right from the gut.  As if on cue his older brother Art was there as well: laughing, laughing, and laughing. Their faces red with humourous glee. In between bursts:

“Thank you Gilly” he laughed

“You are welcome.”  I was not laughing.

“Thank you for walking me home.” he laughed again

“You are welcome.” I was humiliated

“Thank you for shovelling the driveway.” he continued to laugh

“You are welcome.”  to my stupidity

“Thank you for delivering my papers” he laughed, uncontrollably. His eyeballs were so huge as if they seemed to be popping out with ridicule.

“You are welcome.” for my naïveté

And to further put salt in the wound I knew what was coming next!

“Hey Gilly” they could hardly contain themselves at this point.

“You want a caramel?” Art and Gerard just kept hammering away at me relentlessly, in between their gut wrenching guffaws, their bellies shaking as if in hysterical convulsion, and I deserved every salvo I got.

“Don’t feel bad Gilly.” he relented. “You are not the first.  Last month it was Oh Henry’s.”

I got out of there just as fast as I could: with my tail between my legs no doubt, metaphorically speaking of course.

I ran home: disgusted, embarrassed, humiliated and stupid.  Stupid to fall for something that in hindsight was truly ridiculous. The Great Caramel Caper of Our Lady of Peace.  I felt so small, so vulnerable: useless and not a good day for my self esteem or self worth, and definitely not wanting to show my face at school tomorrow.  Gerard would be merciless in his cat calls and ribbing.   I knew then that I would just have to take it all in stride and ignore him and his friends and attempt to deflect the onslaught of ridicule and mockery that was sure to come my way.  That’s about all one can do.

I got home. It was dark and very cold outside.  But inside, the warmth, the kind hearted glow of yellow tinged light and the comfort of familiarity greeted me. I was safe and sound.

“How did it go at Gerard’s?” my Mom asked.

“Fine” I lied. “His train set was awesome.”

“I am glad to hear you had a good time.”

And in the same breath, as mothers always do.

“You are just in time for dinner. And, I have a big surprise for you for dessert.”

“Oh yeah?”  I suddenly became very interested in this train of thought.

“One of your favourites – Jell-O pudding.” she volunteered.

“Oh yeah?”

“What flavour?” I cringed, for telepathically, almost knowingly, I seemed to be fairly confident in my feeble mind as to be able to predict with some authority the answer to that question

“Butterscotch CARAMEL!”

Oh nooo! The torture continues!

Note to self. I will never, ever, ever have another caramel in my entire life.

And I didn’t!

I thought, you know: “Life is tough, but when you’re stupid it’s horrendous!”…

Secret Caramel Consignment

…Of we went: me chattering away at nothing and Gerard becoming increasingly irritated and impatient with my bantering.  Finally, for what seemed an interminable amount of time, we reached his street.  Gerard’s family also lived in one of those two story, really one and a half storied, houses that they built in the years following World War Two. The long slanted roof in the front with a dormer hanging off the back. Basement? Yes, but unlike today’s show homes these basements were designed for utility and functionality, not showiness or pretentiousness.

Finally, I thought.  Get the caramels and get the hell out of here and get home. It was getting colder and the afternoon sunlight growing weaker with every passing minute.

“Okay Gerard, what now?” I stammered

“Don’t worry, it’s coming all right.” he said  “The caramels are here but before I can show you where they are I have to get the driveway clear of snow.  My dad will not let us in until that job is done.”

What? I just about cried to myself. What is this all about? Here I walked home from school with Gerard, miles out of my way carrying his school stuff and now this. Okay, let us get the shovels and get this done.  “Are you sure about the caramels Gerard?” 

With shovel in hand I began clearing the drive.  From his garage back to the street we shovelled.  Gerard then proceeded to tell me that he had to go inside to talk with his pop about my share of the caramels.  “Just carry on with your work and I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Is there is a problem,” I asked nervously, “with my share of the caramels?”

“Well, Gilly, you see, these are very special caramels. Not just for anyone.  These caramels were made and delivered for the O’Neill family.  So, you see, I cannot just give you a box or two without permission.  But don’t worry, it will be fine. You’ll see. 

I was somewhat perplexed by all of this. Secret caramels? Special delivery. Marked for the “O’Neill’s Mouth’s Only.”  What on earth gives here?  Have I been taken for a fool?  Don’t answer that I thought to myself. Okay, let’s get on with clearing this driveway. At least they had proper shovels here at the O’Neill’s abode.

I say this because at my house my Dad, in his wisdom, thought it would build character if I shovelled our driveway with a garden spade.  I am not kidding.  Our driveway was very long with a double wide width as one approached our double garage. Interestingly, but we were the only house in the area with a two car garage. Of course we were.

On I went. That shovel was in perpetual motion, snow flying everywhere as if I was blowing it off to the sides. I could feel my whole frame loosen up with sweat beginning to brew from every pore of my body.  And before one could say “Frosty” I was nearing the end of the driveway by the roadway. Yet no sign of Gerard.  What gives I thought. Just then a truck pulled up and dumped off what appeared to me to be a mountain of newspapers. Hundreds it seemed.  No thousands. The city’s afternoon edition, no doubt. For what it’s worth, at least the way I was feeling right about now, it appeared to me that there was one for every soul on the planet.

Just as I was throwing, pushing the last bit of snow into the drainage ditch, Gerard came out of the house, very, very excited.

“You’ll never guess what happened?” he reported

Before I could get an answer out of my feebleness mouth he continued. 

“It’s in the bag Gilly, no, sorry, box.  A special consignment of caramels just came in last night from my uncle. Turns out, there were too many boxes and we were told that we could do what we wanted with the extra lot.”  As he said this, his eyes seem to bulge out somewhat, Feldman like, with, what seemed to me a wicked smile from ear to ear, not unlike the “Joker,” open though, showing a mouth full of caramel coloured teeth.

“You know what that means Gilly?” He shook my arm enthusiastically.

“No what?” I didn’t know what, or squat, for that matter.

“More for you.  All you can carry.  But first and foremost and before I can let you into the house to get your full share I have to get these papers delivered.”

“WHAT?”…

Big Kahuna

…It was cold.  I shivered somewhat, got my bearings and proceeded into the playground. Gerard was already outside, leaning against the white wooden picket fence that led out to freedom.

“Hey Gilly, over here.”

I gave up.

“Hey Gerard” 

“Ready to go,” he asked assuredly.

“You bet”

“Here take these will ya.”  He then handed me off a bunch of notepads. “I cannot carry them because my right arm hurts.”

What about your left arm I thought, but did not dare to ask. I did not want to jeopardize my upcoming windfall.  I took the notepads. 

We got on our way.  Gerard lived at northern border of our school district. It was the polar opposite to where I lived. No matter. The payoff will be worth the trouble.  On we went. I didn’t talk too much, just listened to Gerard’s ramblings.  And what about the caramels I interrupted? Where did you get them? How did you get them? Are there enough there for both of us? Are they old? New? Fresh? Stale? Packaged? In ones? Two’s? Or three’s? What Gerard? Tell me. Are they in boxes? Big boxes? Small boxes? Wrapped up? In singles? What? How many? Enough for both of us? Your family? Your brother Art?  The others? Nooo, you don’t really have any caramels do ya?

Yes, yes, don’t worry, of course, yes, yes, sure are, and more yeses.  I was beginning to sound a bit weird.  My bubba-like questions were beginning to become ingratiating and pedantic. I stopped with my stupid interrogation. Perhaps I was growing suspicious. I needed reassurance. Of course he ranted about how important his uncle is in the Kraft hierarchy. Chief Caramel Kahuna, he bragged. The big Caramel Kahuna, or the Big Cheese. The Big Cheese I queried.  Er, No, no, no, no, my mistake Gerard said.  Make that the big caramel. Kraft also made cheese.  Cheddar I think: slices and Cheese Whiz. And of course that famous staple known to all single, male, intellectually challenged young men the world over – Kraft Dinner or KD for short.  No matter. Vice President of caramel production, his uncle was good enough for me…