A word before I begin. The first of each month is a theme day for City Daily Photo, and this month involves Movement. Click on my photo kitty there to the right to see my contribution, plus a link to others.
Now then, I had started putting together some of these memes after the last of these; then along came the news that the drug addled twit who thinks he's the mayor of Toronto had cancer. I paused for a moment, wondering if I could proceed. After all, as much as I despise the man and think he's an awful person, at least one can feel sympathy about a person having cancer, right? I wouldn't wish cancer on anyone. Well, maybe my idiot ex-brother-in-law, but considering his smoking habits, lung cancer's just a matter of time.
Anyway, I thought for a day or two that it might be the end of the road for these day in the life of the guy blogs. Sure, Mayor von Drunkenstein wasn't running for Mayor anymore, but for some reason was going back to run for his old council seat, while big brother Dougie was going to take his place in running for mayor. This, mere months after Doug said he'd never run for office again.
That not being sure if I'd do another one of these ended a couple of days later when the Gruesome Twosome started using cancer as a sympathy ploy to get votes. They're using cancer as a political gambit. And they keep doing it.
Well, I've lost a mother, a brother, and a nephew to cancer. It felt like a slap in the face to anyone who's ever had the disease or lost someone to it.
These two buffoons, just when you think they can't go any lower, they lower the bar. So, any trace of sympathy I could feel for this total and complete fucking scumbag is now gone. I have no problem at all carrying on with this series. To hell with him and his toxic waste dump of a family. The gloves come off.
Back into his voice now. The election is October 27th. It can't come soon enough. I'm looking forward to the drug addled jackass blaming his health for losing the election.
10:50 AM. Waking up. Got a headache. Somebody’s gotta come up with a cure for hangovers, because one of these days, I wanna wake up without one. Oh, sure, some ****s might think it’s a good idea to not drink in the first ****in’ place, but what’s the fun of that?
11:15 AM. Havin’ my first vodka of the day. Stupid ****in’ doctors tell me not to take that stuff with **** chemo, but what the **** does a lame brain doc know about anything?
11:20 AM. Listenin’ to my favourite firebrands on talk radio admonishing people for being less than sympathetic. Whatever the **** sympathetic means, that’s beside the point. Stupid ****ers who don’t like me shouldn’t be criticizing me and Dougie just because we’re usin’ cancer to get political points. I mean come on! The ideal election is one that’s rigged in favour of Rob and Dougie Ford. Ford More Years!
11:55 AM. Dougie turns up, off the campaign trail. Hey, brother, good to see you. Want some vodka?
12:10 PM. Dougie and me are havin’ a war room talk. Because when this election is over and we’ve won, we’re goin’ to ****in’ war with every ****er who ever spoke bad of us. The media maggots and the cops and city council and the libraries and the pinkos and the gays and those minorities and the Pope and the Queen and Margaret Atwood. Man, they’re all gonna pay, big-time, brother!
12: 15 PM. Dougie and I talk about our masterstroke strategy. Yeah, man, you takin’ over the mayorship bid and me movin’ back over to my council seat is a masterpiece of elections, brother. To be followed, of course, by you resigning after a few months and appointin’ me mayor in your place. They’ll be talkin’ ‘bout how smart we are for centuries to come. And all it took was havin’ that little **** nephew of ours be a placeholder candidate for a few weeks. Speakin’ of which, where is that measly little ****?
12:34 PM. Talkin’ about the polls, which have us down. Dougie, who gives a **** about polls? The only people who care about polls are dogs and strippers. Speakin’ of which, why don’t we go down to the strip club and drool over all the strippers?
12:45 PM. Goin’ over Dougie’s debate points. Listen, what you gotta do is make sure plenty of Ford Nation hooligans make it inside to disrupt everything. You know the right mouthy ****ers as well as I do. Get ‘em down there. And keep rammin’ home the same ****in’ talkin’ points over and over and over again. Carryin’ on to get the job we started done. Gravy train. Subway. One hundred percent guaranteed, folks. And don’t forget to mention my cancer and pretend to have tears in your eyes. Hell, while we’re at it, just say, “if you don’t vote for the Fords in the election, that means you must love cancer.” Dougie, that’s a great line. Think we can print it up on a banner?
1:05 PM. Talkin’ with Dougie about ways to prove John Tory and Olivia Chow cause cancer. We manage to make enough stupid ****in’ Ford Nation ****ers believe it, we get to seize back the momentum of the ****in’ election! Ford More Years, brother!
1:30 PM. On the phone with a radio host who likes us. I tell the stupid ****er that I’m doin’ fine, and gettin’ good and by the way, vote Ford if you don’t like cancer. Yeah, it’s gonna be good to see all the sympathy comin’ my way and all the people pullin’ for ol’ Robbie to get better so me and Dougie can destroy every single one of those ****ers on city council who didn’t do everything we told ‘em to. And after that, we’re gonna go bulldoze every single one of those ****ers who don’t wanna vote for us. Wait a minute.... did I say that out loud? I mean, with all the drugs and booze in my system, I can’t keep track of what’s happenin’ from minute to minute, and why was I on the phone again?
2:05 PM. Dougie comes back to the house. Tells me I was on the phone givin’ an interview and makin’ death threats to city council and anyone who’s not Ford Nation. Dougie, I’m hopped up on so much medication and drugs right now, you expect me to know what my left hand is doin’ to my right hand, or however that expression goes?
2:45 PM. Smokin’ crack with Dougie. Too bad Sandro can’t be here smokin’ crack but until he gets off on all those charges against him, we can’t make contact. At least until after the election when we can unleash Operation Ford Domination, declare martial law, and demand that all ****in’ citizens build a giant pair of golden statues of us taller than the ****in’ CN Tower.
3:35 PM. Doc shows up. Stupid ****er starts lecturin’ me on drinkin’ and doin’ drugs while on chemo. Hey, *******, if I gave a **** what you think, I’d tell you what to say. **** off! Me and Dougie fall about laughing.
3:38 PM. Stupid ****er keeps blathering on about how I’m puttin’ my health at risk, or some kinda crap like that. I don’t really pay much attention. I’m too busy thinkin’ of my next bottle of vodka.
3:40 PM. Doc leaves after warning me that I’m carrying on with no end of self destructive decisions. Thinks he knows everything, just because he went to med school. Cry me a ****in’ river, you ****er.
5:25 PM. Walkin’ round one of the neighbourhoods with Dougie and our little ****er nephew Mikey, doin’ the door to door thing, shakin’ hands, wavin’ to people, tellin’ them to vote Ford unless you love cancer. In fact, vote twice for Ford! Ford More Years!
5:42 PM. Things don’t go quite our way when a home owner tells us all that she finds us repugnant and a disgrace to the entire country, says to *** off, go to hell, and slams the door on us. Mikey? Take a note. We’re gonna have this ****er’s house demolished the day after the election. Nobody talks to Robbie and Dougie Ford that way and gets away with it!
5:57 PM. Reporters show up. Stupid mother****ers. Hate the whole lot of them. One of them starts askin’ why a man undergoing chemotherapy should be out and about instead of resting, let alone runnin’ for office. I roll my eyes and ask why he feels he has to criticize the guy with cancer. Have you no shame? By the way, vote Ford!
6:35 PM. Crashing a cancer fundraiser with Dougie. What’s the worst that can happen?
6:48 PM. Thrown out of cancer fundraiser after shoving speaker away from the podium. Turns out the speaker has cancer too. For some reason he thinks my cancer’s not as important to him as his is. Well, **** that! My cancer counts for more than everyone else’s cancer times combined! You heard me! That’s my kind of math, just like two plus two equals vodka!
10:40 PM. Back at the house in the back yard with Dougie. We’re smokin’ crack, drinkin’ vodka, and talkin’ about how the day went. Well, look at it this way, Dougie, we got plenty of time before the election to turn this ****in’ thing around. Just twenty seven more days. As long as I don’t go shovin’ around another cancer patient, because that’s gonna cost us big in the polls.
Maybe I should invite that little **** Warmington in to do a puff piece on me for the Sun? That little **** will do whatever I say, no matter how many times I abuse him.
11:02 PM. Turns out there were news cameras at that fundraiser. Me shovin’ that cancer patient to the floor of the stage is front and center on the news. Well, **** that. It’s not like Ford Nation watches the news, after all, am I right, Dougie? Ford More Years!