Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Monday, May 20, 2024

A Day In The Life Of A Dog

It is time once again for the perspective of the dog and the cat. As always, the dog gets the first word in on these things, since he has a really short attention span.

7:03 AM. Waking up at home. Big yawn and a stretch. Slept very well. Dreamed of chasing squirrels.

7:06 AM. Looking outside. Lots of birds pecking around on the grass. No sign of a squirrel. Otherwise I'd be barking by now.

7:10 AM. Waiting on the human to get downstairs and see to my breakfast. After all, I can't open cupboards, what with not having opposable thumbs.

7:19 AM. The human comes downstairs. I thump my tail vigorously against the floor. Good morning, human! Fine day, isn't it? Say, it'd be swell if we got to my breakfast, wouldn't you think?

7:22 AM. Watching as the human pours me a big bowl of kibbles.

Oh boy oh boy oh boy....

7:23 AM. Licking my chops after finishing off breakfast just three seconds short of my all time fastest record of finishing breakfast.

7:28 AM. Making inquiries with the human as to if she'll let me out for a run.

7:29 AM. Out the door and on my way. See you later, human!

7:32 AM. Running through the back fields, barking my head off, as happy as I can be. Life is good!

7:48 AM. Stopping in to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Hey, Spike!

7:50 AM. After the customary doggie greetings, Spike and I get down to discussing essential matters. The movement of the enemy squirrels. What the mailman does on weekends. 

7:54 AM. Spike and I discuss expectations for the coming days. Supposedly some rain is in the forecast.

Well, that's good. Rain is good to splash around in.

7:57 AM. Parting ways with Spike to begin the journey home. See you later, Spike.

8:07 AM. Passing through the woods, as happy as I can be.

8:12 AM. Passing by the property where that cranky cat lives. Hey.... there she is on the grass. With her focus up a tree.

I should go say hello.

8:14 AM. Advancing quietly towards the cat, who still doesn't know I'm here. I think I'll surprise her.

8:15 AM. Within three meters. Okay, close enough. Now then, be ready to run at a moment's notice once I start barking....

8:16 AM. Sprinting back to the woods, thoroughly pleased with myself after making that cat jump for the heavens. Sure, she's chasing me, but it was worth it.

8:18 AM. Still hearing the howls of rage coming from back where that cat lives, and various feline curse words. Boy, is she mad.

Oh, well, time to get home.

8:31 AM. The human lets me in when I get home. Human? For the record, don't believe anything if that cranky cat calls and makes accusations.

10:28 AM. The human is having coffee. I have mooched a cookie from her.

12:15 PM. Lunch with the human. She's been kind enough to provide me with a ham and cheese sandwich.

6:28 PM. The human is having dinner. She's cut up some bacon and apple pancakes for me.

11:48 PM. The human is off to bed. Good night, human. Sleep well. 

I'll be down here guarding the house. In between well earned naps.

Monday, May 13, 2024

The Place Where Dreams Go To Die

Leafs Nation In Collective Mourning; Rest Of World Shrugs And Moves On

Toronto (CP) It's been a few days since the Boston Bruins beat the Toronto Maple Leafs in Round One of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, sending the Leafs packing early yet again. A game 7 finale which went to overtime saw the Cup drought in Toronto extend now to 57 years. There is much wailing and gnashing of teeth, questions being asked, blame being laid in Leafs Nation. Bars are doing a brisk business soothing the pain of the fans. Leafs management and players are wondering who among them will take the fall this time.

The game in Boston saw the Bruins win in overtime and advance to the next round. Thousands of fans gathered in Maple Leaf Square in Toronto watched and had their hearts dashed to pieces yet again as their Leafs blew it. Again. Generations of fans saying, 'next year' will continue unabated, though perhaps a few might take the hint and realize that next year will never come. Their team is cursed, and the curse is not getting lifted anytime soon.

"For lack of a better term, it's a collective delusion," sports psychologist Warren Alliston told this reporter. "People conditioned for decades, by their parents and grandparents, into believing that this year could be their year. That the Leafs would rise to the occasion. Instead of dealing with reality, which is that the Leafs suck."

When asked if that was a professional opinion, Alliston shrugged. "Not at all. I'm an Edmonton fan."

Wreaths have been placed around Maple Leaf Square, along with hats, t-shirts, and even jerseys in a state of mourning. People in familiar blue and white attire have been seen crying and holding each other for support in the downtown streets near the arena. Some of the more bitter have been seen burning a  Leafs jersey and vowing that they've had enough- though in fact they did the same last year, and will be replacing that jersey over the summer and giving their boys one more chance.

Head coach Sheldon Keefe was fired in recent days, part of the fallout of yet another broken season. "These things happen," he told reporters with a dismayed shrug afterwards. "It's part of the game. Nobody lasts forever in one team. I'll move on, do other things.... say, is anyone hiring?"

Team president Brendan Shanahan, who's been part of the Leafs for a decade with little to show for it, is under pressure from Leafs Nation to do something. "I know it's hard for the fans to have hope, but things will get better," Shanahan told reporters after the Keefe firing. "We're going to get the guys out on the ice next year and they'll play better and everything will be just as you dreamed of all those years when this team was floundering. I promise."

The fact that he's been saying pretty much the same thing in post-season press conferences for years is another matter entirely.

"We're doing great business," bar owner Ted Davis said from his downtown watering hole, The Penalty Shot. "Yeah, folks are feeling down about the guys losing like that, but that's what alcohol is for. It soothes the pain you're feeling in your heart and tells you that everything is going to get better. It's the best thing for you."

"Are you taking money from the liquor companies for saying that?" this reporter inquired.

"How did you know that?" Davis asked, heading back inside to feed the misery of a horde of Leafs fans.

"It's not fair!" one fan told this reporter afterwards, in the company of two friends. "That Cup belongs to us! It belongs to our boys! And we keep getting robbed of it. There's this great big ****in' conspiracy to keep the Stanley Cup out of the hands of the Leafs. And that ****er Bettman is right at the heart of it. He ****in' hates Toronto. Me and Harry and Jack, we're the biggest fans of the Leafs. Ever. And it breaks our hearts every year seein' this happen. Again and again and again. Our boys deserve this win. They deserve it! Am I right, boys?"

Harry and Jack nodded. This reporter inquired if they had considered that it might be time to give up on the team. "**** that! And what, root for the Jets?" 

It seems there is no reasoning with Leafs Nation. The grieving process continues. Some have channeled their pain in healthier ways and have moved on to root for the Blue Jays, since their season is just getting underway. But the pain for many continues to be drowned by alcohol, and punctuated by denial and bargaining. They continue to feed themselves the lie- that next year will be a better year, that all of this will be forgotten. And come October, they'll be back, crowding the Scotiabank Arena, earning their reputation as the most hated fans in the NHL all over again.

The last word goes to a man who seems to be the very definition of a Canadian. A legendary Mountie who's among the most formidable, dangerous, and grumpy people walking the earth today. RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich was found by reporters at his detachment in the foothills of the Rockies in Alberta. The Inspector, whose low opinion of entertainment reporters is well known, was reassured that they were well aware that he was not the other Lars Ulrich. This seemed to lighten his mood. He was asked how he felt about the entire matter.

"I find it amusing. I'm an Oilers fan myself," Ulrich admitted. "And watching a bunch of Leafs fans tie themselves into knots of agony every year... well, it's hilarious."  

"Lars! Lars!" a voice called out from the back of the crowd. Reporters turned and saw a fresh faced entertainment reporter coming along, followed by a camera. "Lars, good to see you. Brad Bradley, Entertainment Tonight. What everyone wants to know, Lars, is why Metallica didn't attend the Met Gala. Any comment on that?"

The real reporters backed off to give the Inspector plenty of room. Ulrich glared at Bradley. "I am not that Lars Ulrich."

Bradley laughed. "Oh, such a kidder, Lars!"

What followed next was one left hook from the Inspector that sent Bradley flying forty meters. Ulrich was already pursuing him before Bradley even hit the ground. Bradley got up, with the Inspector hot on his heels in what became an epic chase all the way to Cemetery River. It ended with Bradley in a body cast in hospital, groaning incomprehensibly. 

This is what happens when you insult the world's grouchiest lawman.

Monday, May 6, 2024

The Bitcoin Cybersecurity Spammer

Despite our ridiculing them, ignoring them, or treating them with contempt or derision, they can't take a hint and just go away. Of course I speak of the vile rabble otherwise known as homo sapiens spammeritis annoyingus, aka internet scammers. They infest our blogs with spam comments hoping we might bite- usually a post that's old, which is why it's a good idea to have comments requiring moderation beyond a certain date. They send us spam emails hoping someone will be dumb enough to believe what they have to say.

The following came from one Amelia Hemsworth (yeah, sure, that's a believable name) in my blog comments recently, for a post that had been made quite some time ago.

Spyhost Cyber Security Company , in fact, never disappoint. Few weeks ago, I did invest $320,000 in bitcoin with a phony company. A few days after I made the investment, I was shocked to discover on my dashboard that it had climbed to almost $420,000. Never knew my happiness was about to diminish as I attempted to withdraw the money and was turned down. I repeatedly emailed help, but they never got back to me. I decided not to let that get away from me and started thinking of methods to get back what was properly mine. On social media, I came across folks who had also been duped by a similar investment fraud and had successfully retrieved their money via Spyhost Cyber Security Company . The experts at Spyhost Cyber Security Company are excellent and their top notch hacking prowess was proven of which I am now a living testimony because all my invested funds were recovered within 48 hours. If you want to recover money/ lost digital assets from con artists, consider using Spyhost Cyber Security Company. For additional information about their services, reach out to them through the contact means below;

The email address, which I'm not going to include, features as part of it cyberdude. Yeah, that's right. Cyberdude. Because that sounds all serious. 

This bit of nonsense reads in some respects a lot like your standard spellcaster spam comment, except instead of the sob story about the unfaithful lover and the miraculous totally fake doctor, we get the story about investing money in bitcoin (yeah, there's your first mistake) and then having a totally fake cybersecurity company hack their way into getting your money back. 

Ah, phishing. Not the boring kind, that's fishing, and besides, who wants to eat fish? No, phishing, the bane of existence of many of us in this day and age. I've lost track of how many emails at work I've marked as phishing. I once chatted with a fellow in IT at work about the compulsion to reply back with a "go fuck yourself" reply, which he could relate to, but he added that doing so gives them an in to plant all sorts of crap in the system. Best to just mark them as phishing, and there they disappear.

In this email, we get the standard format of the spammer, promising things will go your way if only you contact these people for help in this problem you've got (the actual problem starts if you contact them). They reassure that this is all legitimate (yeah, right), that everything is above board. Meanwhile, if you answer that, you're screwed.

Besides which, they tell the story about bitcoin, that form of cryptocurrency that has its ups and downs. More downs, really. I'm not really business savvy, but I've heard enough bad things about bitcoin that I wouldn't ever want to get near it. It's just asking for trouble. Just like believing that nonsense comment is asking for trouble. Because it's a verbatim comment seen in multiple blogs and posts the last couple of years, which I found when I started entering some key terms. And verbatim comments or emails are the hallmark of the spammer and scammer.

So no, no thank you.

Nice try, ace. Really. I get it. You've probably never even thought of finding an honest line of work. Maybe you're the low rung of an organized crime ring and they've got you by the fine hairs. To which I say, that's a you problem. Stop making it my problem. 

I suggest the following. Put yourself in cryosleep for the next three hundred years, and wake up in a dystopian world with these guys around. See how long you last.

Monday, April 29, 2024

Behold, The Inept Spellcaster Spam

They will never take a hint and just stop. They will never decide to just go find an honest way to make a living. No, their default setting is to annoy the rest of the world with their tactics and techniques. I speak, of course, of the vile, reprehensible lot known as homo sapiens spammeritis irritatingus, otherwise known as internet scammers and spammers. They infest our blog comments with spam for crap we don't care about. They send random emails with a too good to be true proposal (because it's not true). The following came through as spam for my blog recently, the old reliable spellcaster spam.

Hello, I want to testify to the general public how my relationship was restored back by the great powers of Dr. Able after three months of loneliness, my ex-lover called me after my contact with Dr Able that he wants us to come back and start a good home, now we are happily married. All thanks to Dr. Able for his wonderful spiritual help. You can contact him for any relationship challenges or any solution you may need, Good Luck. 

That's actually shorter than the usual spellcaster spam comment. These usually go into great detail and personal agony about the cheating spouse and the endless nights of tears and despair. Not quite in this case. Short and to the point. But still, some of the usual signs of spellcaster spam telltales. Like "testify to the general public", which honestly, we don't care about, as this isn't a trial. Though the people sending this crap on behalf of the totally fake Doctor Able should be put on trial. The sentence structure that doesn't sound genuine.  And capitalizing words that don't need it. In short, pure spam. 

It might be my fault. I write posts about spellcaster spam, and I'm going to get spam responses to it. But that doesn't excuse these idiots from sending this crap. And that's what it is. Crap. And it should be treated as such.

Dear spammer, it's about this point where I suggest awful punishments and ways to die for you. It's not as if you contribute anything to society, and nobody's going to miss you.

I would suggest that what you deserve is to be buried alive.

Yeah, that's it. The sort of situation that has you screaming before you run out of air, and going out of your mind. 

Monday, April 22, 2024

Taking The Express Bronco To Hell

The following is my response to the recent death of someone who really, really, really had it long overdue.

Deceased And Disgraced Former Football Player and Actor Reported To Be Complaining About His Place In Hell

Los Angeles (AP). It is a truth universally acknowledged that some people only do the world any good by no longer being in it. Perhaps that's the way Jane Austen might put it these days. Earlier this month, O.J. Simpson, the former football player turned ad pitchman turned occasional actor turned murder suspect turned general dirtbag, died of cancer at the age of 76. The world is now left with him gone- which is not a bad thing.

Simpson earned notoriety in the wake of the murder of his ex-wife Nicole and her friend Ron Goldman, ending up arrested (after a slow Bronco police chase that captivated millions) for murder and put on trial in what was billed as the Trial of the Century, which would a surprise to anyone who participated in the Nuremberg Trials, which would actually qualify for that title. 

What became a months-long ordeal of constant coverage, grandstanding by everyone involved, and general nonsense ended with Simpson acquitted, but later found responsible in a civil case. Simpson's life afterwards was chaotic, including prison time for a botched robbery and kidnapping, years of being shunned by society, and regular outbursts at multiple people, including this reporter.

Simpson was cremated, with no apparent plans for a public memorial or burial, despite rumours. In the wake of his death, there wasn't a lot of sympathy for the man, considering the general state of disregard he was held in. In fact, comedians and editorial cartoonists skewered him, while members of the public made a point of ridiculing him through memes on social media. This is the sort of thing that happens to you when you've done the sort of things he's done.

This reporter has previous history with Simpson, having had been dispatched to multiple Super Bowls down through the years, and even back in the day when Simpson was in prison. Simpson made repeated violent death threats towards this reporter, losing his temper just at the sight of this reporter. This reporter is not required to be objective, as this reporter is, at this point, more of a columnist, and besides which, the readers like this reporter.

And so this reporter freely says the following: rot in hell, O.J., rot in Hell.

Speaking of which- this reporter heard from the fellow in charge in that particular place. Satan, aka the Prince of Darkness, has occasionally spoken remotely to reporters about subjects like the state of Bill Belichicks' soul. This week, Satan advised reporters that Simpson was not having a pleasant time in Hell. "Yes, we've got him stretched out on a table every morning and chopped up into pieces by a cranky demon with a rusty knife. I thought that fitting. The pieces gradually reassemble in the afternoon. It's very painful. Anyway, that's going to continue each day for the next six million years. Then we'll make it more painful."

The Devil paused before continuing. "He broke in the first five minutes. Full confession to everything.  Complaining constantly about how he's being treated down here. For a guy who tried to play the tough guy, he's really a gutless wonder. Very gutless by ten AM, in more than one way."

In the opinion of this reporter, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving person.