Statistics Canada says economy added 230,700 jobs in June. “Fantastic news.” says Trudeau. Macdonald’s and Burger King couldn’t be reached for comment.I am fully vaccinated but…but…we’re still required to provide proof of a negative COVID-19 PCR test before returning to Canada and must take a second test upon arrival, which could cost hundreds of dollars.Some vacation destinations, such as the United States, Jamaica and Saint Lucia, also require travelers to provide proof of a negative test upon entry — including those who are vaccinated. So Canadians heading to such destinations must also pay to get a test before departing, which can cost upward of $100.Follow da money. In the end a little jab won’t do ya. We are still being screwed, not jabbed.
Warning: Liberal speak in bound:
Liberal MP William Amos says he appeared naked on camera twice due to ‘hyperactive multitasking’
“I just couldn’t pull it off.” He remarked. “I tried and tried but no reaction. It just wouldn’t come up.”
Hey, the Olympics are coming. Can’t wait:
Should be exciting. Especially watching the trans woman’s weightlifting competition…Not me.
Lauren (nee Laurel) Hubbard
Poor real women. They haven’t got a chance.
It’s a crazy world huh Laurel?
What’s not to like? As a country we are in debt up to our collective eyeballs. We will never be free of it yet the government keeps on spending like there is no tomorrow. It has to end and it will and it will not be pretty. Of course the government will demand that we the taxpayer make undue sacrifices to bail them out….so they can do it again and again.
The US is warning countries to stay clear of Huawei.
Of course Canada being so smug and so righteous about that evil doom slayer Trump that they welcome Huawei into their companies and homes. “Oh we know better so bring in your poor, your downtrodden, your dispossessed, your filthy rich bastards and we will welcome Huawei with open arms because that dastardly Trump is bad, bad, baaaad, I tells ya. He is evil… eeevil the weevil!
Don’t know about you but would you trust any high tech company whose name you cannot pronounce? Or a Chinese company that promotes “Gutter Oil,” China’s big oil conglomerate?:
Asian fusion “Gutter Oil.” Sweet and sour. Your choice. Straight out of the Chinese gutter. Also known as sewer shyte in North America. Tasty!
As the name suggests their high tech cooking oil:
Taking gutter oil well, out of the gutter. From the gutter straight on to your plate:
Mmmm, yummy. I’ll never eat Chinese again.
Yeah this is more like it. From England…Fatburgers:
Would you like fries with that. Looks and feels like my arteries
From the world has gone mad file comes this:
Actress Kate Hudson is raising her daughter as genderless. She has decided to name “it” Eunice. She is hoping that her next “it” will be a genderless “it with a dik” whose name will be Eunick, the “it dik” brother to his “it dickless” sister (I can’t make this up).
Woman’s humiliating job interview goes viral. Say what? She is pissed off that she got the job. “I was humiliated I tells ya. I dearly wanted to become a victim and that ass hole of an employer had the gonads to actually hire me. I feel, I feel…oh I don’t know…I feel…well..employed, violated. I guess that would be the right word here. It is a terrible feeling.”
“MoiAussie,” the French “MeToo” organization nodded their heads in agreement.
Duchess Meghan saved from a major fashion mishap. Headline? Why? Was she caught outside wearing clothes?
I can’t believe this is news!
US cities as cold as the Arctic. An Australian inferno. The UK covered in snow. Oh the horror of it all.
It’s only one month into 2019 and meteorologists are already talking in superlatives as extreme weather patterns have brought cities and towns across the globe to a standstill.
My superlative? Great!
Again, lets scare the beejeezus out of everybody. It is called winter in the Northern Hemisphere and summer in the Southern Hemisphere.
So fear not. It is only weather.
Insurance companies are purposely spreading doom and gloom and scary pictures of weather Armageddon. Why? So they can charge exorbitant rates for house insurance. It is a global scam…er… business now. And if the big (insert catastrophic event here) occurs they, the insurance companies, can immediately declare bankruptcy so that the average Joe and Josephine are hooped yet again. “Just takin care of business is all” a genderless spokes- prick was heard to comment.
“Where is my yellow vest honey? And my shotgun!”
This guys kills me:
Singh can’t sing.
I do not know about you but do you see the similarity here? A twin maybe?
And speaking of employment, another great song from a great Canadian band.
….That particular trip to the wet coast was a bust. Don’t really know why I went. We stayed with Timmy at Mrs Redfern for a while but I soon left, never to return to that abode ever again. I do know that I decided to drive back by myself, late September. O’Grunts stayed out there for a short while returning on his own at a later date. It was raining hard, of course. The rain then turned into snow, which morphed into a blizzard just as I was heading into the mountain passes. Surviving on nicotine I drove for hours through that blinding blizzard. Finally, after what seemed an eternity I could take no more. I had to stop so I parked the car outside of a flop house on the main drag of a small mountain town where I stayed the night. In the morning I couldn’t find my car as it was under about 6 feet of snow. Finding it then digging out, I headed east through the foothills and into the western prairie landscape where my car broke down just outside of a small prairie town due to a faulty voltage regulator. It was about 20 below zero. First week of October! Yikes.
It took about five days to fix that car as they had to order the part from back east. On my way again I picked up a hitchhiker on the outskirts of another prairie town who I had hoped would be able to share in the driving. That was fine except he didn’t quite grasp the finer points of driving, no licence per se, as I found out the hard way in a multi-circular spinout while he was driving that almost killed us. Shaken and stirred but recovering from the shock I drove the rest of the way dropping this lad off somewhere in the northern expanses of the wilderness at a highway crossroad. It was in the same area of trees and lakes, and trees and lakes with more trees and more lakes. Finally, I arrived home and back to the normal grind of a normal living with a normal career and a resume worthy job cleaning out subway cars in the subway yard at night, which was located just down the road from a local Subway sandwich shop. Serendipity do dah!
We cleaned these cars at night, 11 pm till 7am. Four cars from top to bottom. Four, as it took almost the entire shift for two of us to make these cars shine. Four per day, 20 per week, 80 plus cars per month. Funny what goes through one’s mind when employed in such a mind numbing career enhancing occupation such as this. But the pay was good for the time.
My partner in this endeavour was a young man from India. He was probably in his mid to late twenties, and considered himself upper class within the stringency of the Indian caste system. Why he stooped so low as to work here, or live here, was beyond my comprehension given his arrogance and holier than thou attitude and superiority complex. Yet he conveyed to me a disclosure that I would not soon forget. In my mindless Catholic indoctrinated but naive mind I perceived India, Pakistan, Bangladesh as extreme poverty stricken nations. They needed our help, our financial largess and our compassion. Yes, he agreed, they had their social ills and problems that were for the most part insurmountable. But he and his kind couldn’t have cared less. The Indian aristocracy, middle classes, governing cadre, the caste system couldn’t give a rat’s ass as to the societal plight of the majority of their countrymen. The peasants were just that, peasants; peons who were lower than the lowest on their social ladder. They were for the most part dirt, vermin, scum, societal scabs, the great Indian unwashed, to be avoided at all costs.
Worse than the Catholics in this shit city of ours? I thought to myself
I was shocked at this admission. But he just laughed it off and told me that western countries such as mine and other western nations were being duped by the rhetoric of the United Nations. For the most part they were ill informed, idiotic, and delusional to think that our collective good will was being directed to where it was needed the most. All of that money and foreign aid coming into the country to help the poor was being siphoned off for other things. It had to be that way because the biggest threat to the survival and longevity of the Indian, Pakistani, Bangladesh caste system was compassion.
“Yeah, but what about that lady on TV?” I asked him. “You know the one wearing the brown army uniform, Unitarian Church of Canada I believe, asking, no pleading, for donations to alleviate the wretchedness of the slums in Calcutta”
“A huge scam.” he said “But keep on giving because we sure as hell won’t! In fact our government doesn’t have to do anything but keep the illusion alive in countries such as yours.” It’s a business this poverty thing.
That was that. Wow. All that talk about the poor over in India! Just talk? Or the starving people of Bangladesh? Just talk? Was I growing up or was I being conned by this disgruntled immigrant of Indian migration? Was this the beginning of my indoctrination to adulthood, real life and all the cynicism that goes with it? Or was this the slow but steadfast erosion of my innocence? The end of my sunny ways? Don’t know but a scary, uncomfortable feeling nevertheless.
…With Scotty gone a new tenant appeared. He was young, brash and a few years older than Timmy and I. He was also a drug user and an abuser of alcohol. Consequently he was often sick and soiled himself many, many times along with the second floor hallway carpet and a great deal of the washroom itself. Â He always missed his mark. For me it was getting a bit too much and would soon be time to leave.
What of Timmy and I? Well, our window cleaning business really took off. I could not believe how successful we became in a very short period of time. Perhaps it was because nobody like us had ever canvassed this neighbourhood up until now, given its propensity for rain and heights. Or perhaps other purveyors of our trade felt that there was really no point. When we began canvassing and cold calling potential clients they seemed to come out of the woodwork on our behalf. Then again, perhaps there was something about these homes that was didn’t quite grasp.
Timmy was good with the gab so I left him to chat things up with potential clients, that being the housewives. When we won over a customer it was my job to look at the place and provide an estimate. Normally I was way under. Inexperience perhaps. On some occasions I estimated a job just by looking at the front of what appeared to be a one floor bungalow or a rancher only to find out later that the house went down three levels at the back. All glass with a cedar beam for separation at all levels. No wonder these people were so anxious for us to take on these jobs. Then again it wouldn’t have taken a rocket scientist to ascertain how these houses were built on the side of a mountain for heaven’s sake. I must admit there were many times where I took my life into my hands, hanging there on the top rung of the ladder, holding against all hope that the ladder would not give way. I operated like some circus performer, acrobat and contortionist all rolled up into one. Often I had to balance myself on the top rung, holding on for dear life on the one side while attempting to wash down, squeegee and dry each of the window frames with my free hand. How on earth I didn’t fall was beyond me. I survived. But my life was only worth about ten bucks!…
…Timmy and I went below and took note of our new digs. A very large room in the basement, half completed and just off of an area where our landlady’s washer and dryer area were plus the furnace room and what appeared to be a cluttered workshop: mouldy and dusty, the air would choke an asthmatic horse. We did have a large bed and there were two dressers for our clothes. Comfortable enough. There was even a spot for my “Heath Kit” stereo system and my records, which we brought out with us from the East. Not much in the way of clothes mind you but definitely my tunes. We set all of this up then decided to leave, find a restaurant, and over coffee and smokes discuss our way ahead from here.
Timmy and I decided to go into business for ourselves: a window cleaning business. As we were discussing this fact I couldn’t help but look outside at the continuous rain, mist and greyness of the place. Well, the sun must come out eventually I thought. No matter. Cleaning windows would have very low overhead. We already had a car, and a few bucks to tide us over for a month. Buckets, squeegees and sponges wouldn’t cost too much and we had all of the water one could possibly have. It was decided then. We also had to purchase a ladder: a 20 foot extension would fit the bill.
We left and went out to purchase our inventory from a local hardware store. All in all I do believe the total cost came to about 20 bucks, the ladder being the most expensive item on our list. Ready to rock and roll, but where do we go from here. We hardly knew our area. We’ll start tomorrow. Let’s explore our surroundings now, which we did that afternoon, bearing in mind that we had to be back at our digs for the 530 chow call.
We decided to focus all of our attention to the residential properties of this coastal city. The northern burbs would be our best chance of success as they had views to die for: panoramic vistas over the city, the English sounding bay, the straits and the gulf islands that were in situ haphazardly to the west and southwest of the city’s core. Added to that was the beautiful green suspension bridge that bridged the gap from the city’s main core and large green canopy of a park of old growth trees then over the city’s harbour approaches and narrows to the northern burbs. These burbs, located to the west and north of the city centre and separated by the extension bridge, skirted along the city’s northern harbour limits. In fact one had to be a mountain goat to navigate the streets of these burbs as they meandered uphill from the lower reaches of the harbours quays and wharves and bay. The area also appeared to be an affluent area of homes with small business strip malls. Although this area presented a considerable drive from our lodgings it was ripe for the pickings.
When we arrived back at our digs a very strange and weird occurrence greeted us. As we came into the house from the back alleyway we could hear a high pitched screaming, clamouring, yelling, wailing and shouting coming from the area of the drawing room. Then silence, for a few seconds followed again by a cacophony of rants and curses. What on earth we thought as we looked at one another in shocked disbelief. Added to that, as we came into the house, the kitchen was a disarray of blazing, boiling and steaming pots and pans of varying sizes and shape strewn about on the counters, on the stove and by the old fashioned farmers sink. But there was no one there looking out and over this disorganized mess!
We called out. “Mrs Redfern, Mrs Redfern. Are you there? Is everything okay?”
Silence, then more screaming. Silence, then hammering of her fists down on the carpet it would appear.
We tip toed through the kitchen into the hallway that led to the front door and the entrance to the drawing room. We peered into the room itself. In disbelief we saw a very small, frail Mrs Redfern on her hands and knees peering into the magnified screen of the television set, about two feet away: screaming at the top of her lungs at the inanimate characters emanating from the screen into her living room. It was late afternoon wrestling, early evening back east where the show originated. And there, in full physical dynamism, was the famous and legendary Whipper Billy Watson fighting and wrastling some unknown opponent. Or perhaps it was the Sheik, or Gorgeous George or even Bulldog Brower taking on this giant of a man. Regardless, I got the impression watching this bizarre scene unfold that Mrs Redfern was rooting for the underdog as Watson was the star attraction in those days and, what appeared to us, was annihilating his opponent.
Timmy and I just stood there watching, incredulous as what was going on. It was just too weird a scene to laugh at out loud. There she was, Mrs Redfern, our landlady, down on all fours yelling and cursing at every move and at every blow from the Whipper onto his opponent. Her high pitchiness of a voice hurt the ears while her language would make a sailor blush. I am sure they could hear her back east. Yet here she was, our frail and demur landlady, suddenly transformed into a lioness of fury at some indiscretion, misconception of wrestling insanity. Added to that she held that same butcher knife in her left hand that we saw when we first met her, at the ready, to disembowel any threat to her sense of wrestling fairness and sportsmanship. Timmy and I retreated ever so slowly so as not to disturb this disturbing scene. We would come to learn that this was a weekly afternoon occurrence in Mrs Redfern’s House of Horrors…
Asian fusion “Gutter Oil.” Sweet and sour. Your choice. Straight out of the Chinese gutter. Also known as sewer shyte in North America. Tasty!
Taking gutter oil well, out of the gutter. From the gutter straight on to your plate:
I’ll never eat Chinese again.
Would you like fries with that. Looks and feels like my arteries
Singh can’t sing.