Wednesday, October 1, 2014

A Day In The Life Of A Cancer Ridden Oaf Mayor

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!

Monday, September 29, 2014

A Day In The Life Of A Toronto Maple Leafs Fan

I have a couple of links before I get started today. Yesterday was a Sunday, so check out our joint blog for our Snippet Sunday post. And check out Eve's poem.

Today I have something different. Longtime readers may remember when I took on the point of view of those deluded fools otherwise known as Chicago Cubs fans. Now I turn my attention to this side of the border with something similar, with the point of view of  a member of that pack of demented hooligans we call Leaf Nation. Strangely enough, writing his voice, it occurred to me that this unpleasant oaf was sounding an awful lot like my idiot-ex-brother-in-law, the hapless buffoon sometimes known as Cro-Magnon Mike.

If I happen to end up meeting a bad end, consider each and every Leaf fan a suspect.

10:45 AM. At home. Big day ahead. Hockey game tonight. Whistlin’ Hockey Night In Canada theme. Eating late breakfast of Canadian bacon dipped in maple syrup with a bottle of beer to top it off. At least it says maple syrup on the bottle, but I bought it at the grocery store, and my neighbour says it’s better to buy the pure stuff. What does he know? The stupid **** thinks the mayor and his family are a disgrace. Stupid ****er.

11:25 AM. Time to get myself started with my game day routine. Damned glad this is a weekend, otherwise my bosses would be raggin’ on me to get back to work. Stupid bosses, think they know everything.

11:27 AM. Watchin’ Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Seventeen, with my guru and life advisor Don Cherry hostin’. Yeah, man, this guy’s a genius. Pure genius. He thinks just like me. Smart guys like us, we gotta stick apart, right? No, wait, stick together. That’s the way it goes. Damn. Gotta stop drinkin’ so much booze, gets my brain all ****ed up. Wait a minute... stop drinkin’ so much booze? Am I crazy?

1:40 PM. Finished watchin’ over two hours of guys hittin’ each other and checkin’ hard on the ice. Yeah! This is sports as it’s supposed to be! And with Don the genius providin’ colour commentary! Yeah!

2:05 PM. Next stage of the game day prep. Gotta put some of the blue and white war paint on. Leafs Nation, baby!

2:10 PM. Takin’ a look in the mirror. Yeah, I look like a Habs fan’s worst nightmare. Pissed off Leafs fan wearing blue and white war paint. That’s good, because we’re gonna kick their team’s asses tonight and send those stupid ****ers back home to Montreal cryin’ in their Quebec beer.

2:25 PM. Puttin’ on the game sweater, the blue and white, the sacred Leafs jersey. I got this one signed by Wendell Clark and Tie Domi. Both guys salt of the earth, both of ‘em robbed of the chance to win a Stanley Cup. Stupid other teams refusin’ to just admit the Leafs are the greatest team in the history of the universe times infinity plus one. 

4:05 PM. Down outside the Air Canada Centre. Still three hours to game time, but that don’t mean we can’t have fun. Hey, there’s Jack and Harry! Hey, guys! Ready to watch the Habs get massacred tonight? Let’s go to one of the bars, get ourselves loaded before the game.

6:40 PM. Downing my latest bottle of beer. How many is that now? Don’t know, don’t care. Not like I got anyone to rag on me since my ex broke up with me. What the **** was her problem anyway? Suddenly I’m not a catch any woman would want? Speakin’ of which, hey there, babe, wanna score a hat trick with me or what? 

Oh, fine, be that way!

6:55 PM. Back down at the ACC. Headin’ inside the arena, scarfin’ down some hot dogs and burgers. Lots of Leafs fans out tonight, screamin’ for the blood of those stupid Habs. Yeah, man! I’m in my element! Harry, one of these days, the Leafs scouts are gonna see me playin’ in my bar league team and they’re gonna sign me! Mark my words!

Whaddya mean my knees are shot and I’m closin’ in on fifty? Why should that matter?

7:20 PM. Our boys and those stupid Habs are on the ice. National anthem bein’ sung in a moment. Too bad they can’t bring out Dougie or Rob to sing the anthem, am I right, Jack? Ford Nation! Leaf Nation! All the way, baby! Wooooo!!!!!!!!

7:22 PM. Anthem finished. Yeah! We stand on guard for me, baby! Or somethin’ like that. Hell, I mumble the words most of the time anyway. Let’s go Leafs! C’mon, baby!

7:28 PM. The puck is dropped. The ACC goes nuts. Yeah! This is our year, man! Stanley Cup, here we come!! Nothin’ can stop us now!!!!

7:29 PM. What the ****? How the **** did Subban get the puck past our guy? Ref! He ****in’ cheated! Disallow that goal, ref!  Bernier, keep your head in the game, man, we’re only thirty seconds into this thing!

7:40 PM. Harry? You wanna explain to me how Montreal can already be up four goals on our boys this early?

8:05 PM. In between periods. Wolfin’ down some hot dogs. Six goals unanswered by our boys? What the **** is this about? We’re supposed to be maulin’ those stupid ****s. Harry and Jack and me, we don’t like this one bit.

8:40 PM. Another two goals inside of thirty seconds? Come on, Bernier, my grandmother could be doin’ better goaltendin’ than that!

9:15 PM. What the ****???? Two periods down and our boys are behind fifteen to zero. Coach pulled out Bernier and put Reimer in the goal. The boys didn’t look good leavin’ the ice. Harry says one more goal and the Habs are gonna tie the record for most goals scored by one team in an NHL game ever. One more after that, and the record’s theirs. What makes it all the more insufferable is that it was their record already, goin’ back to the Twenties. Look, guys, lots of things can happen in the last period. Twenty minutes of play, boys, and our guys can come back from a fifteen to zero deficit, right? Leafs Nation, baby! Yeah!

9:25 PM. Subban just scored again! Now those stupid ****s tied the record! Hey! Somebody get the prospect from the farm team up here to goaltend! Bernier and Reimer both suck tonight!

9:29 PM. What the ****??? Parenteau scored on our net? Record broken???? What the **** is this? There’s a conspiracy, man, out to rob the Leafs of the Cup and wins and all the glory! And they’re all in on it! The League and the refs and the officials and every last one of ‘em! **** ‘em!

9:40 PM. This is a disaster. This is a calamity. Down twenty five goals to zero with thirty seconds left on the clock. Yeah, this is a cataclysm for the ages.

9:41 PM. Buzzer for the end of the game. Twenty six to zero. Habs on the ice celebratin’ and rubbin’ it in. You ****ers just had to do that. It’s like rubbin’ salt on an open wound, you ****ers. But do you ****ers care? No, you’re too busy gloatin’! Harry, Jack.... I gotta get boozed up. Anything to dull the pain of losin’ this ****in’ bad.

10:20 PM. Back in the bar with lots of Leafs fans. People cryin’. Like they lost their best friend. Like they just heard Don Cherry died. We’re busy gettin’ hammered. How the **** do we get back from a night like this?

11:15 PM. Buncha guys talkin’ bout how we’ve been screwed over since 1967. Somebody’s behind it, man. I mean, a bad luck streak can’t go on this ****in’ long, can it?

12:47 AM. Totally hammered. Me and Jack and Harry shrug this whole night off. **** it, it’s just one ****in’ game, man. Our boys come back next time and smack around whoever the **** we’re playin’ next. Yeah! Leafs Nation, baby! This is gonna be our year! Stanley Cup comin’ home

2:40 AM. Finally drag myself into the house. Gonna have a bad ass hangover in the mornin’, man. Collapse on the couch. Too tired to make it to bed. Geez, hope I don’t throw up on myself in my sleep.