A Day In The Life Of A Former Mayor

Some links before getting started. Parsnip had some photos from around the property. Cheryl had some pics of replica ships for Columbus at her blog. And Lorelei had some covers at her blog.

Now then, today I return to the voice of a repugnant excuse for a human being, someone who hasn't been seen in these pages for awhile. Rob Ford, the crack smoking former mayor of Toronto, remains a city councilor (the people in the ward that elected him back in at the last moment are complete and utter morons), and is busy plotting his next run at the mayorship in 2018 (assuming he manages to live that long), while doing all he can to undermine the actual mayor. His remaining fans still think he's the mayor. And they wonder why we think they're buffoons. Anyway, one of his drinking buddies, personal drivers, and another waste of space, a dolt by the name of Sandro Lisi, is currently standing trial.

9:15 AM. Wakin’ up at home. Hung over. ****in’ big ****in’ headache, man. Gotta get some booze in me. That’ll take care of the ****in’ hangover, man.

10:03 AM. Two bottles of vodka emptied. Feelin’ better. Big day today, man. Gotta be in ****in’ court. Those ****in’ lawyers got me turnin’ up for Sandro’s ****in’ trial. **** ‘em. I’m Rob ****in’ Ford, man, and I’ll say what I want to ****in’ say. Nobody tells me what to ****in’ do.

10:22 AM. Call from Sandro's lawyer. Asks where I am. Well I’m at home, mother****er, which you already know since you got me here. What the **** is your problem anyway?

10:23 AM. The lawyer tells me I’m overdue for testimony. Yeah, well, **** that, I’ll come down when I’m ready. Don’t call me back here, or I’ll get one of those gangbanger mother****ers to break your legs.

10:35 AM. Smokin’ some crack. Knock at the door. Glance outside. Oh, ****!!!! It’s the cops! Gotta hide my crack!

10:37 AM. Open the door. Face the ****in’ cops. What the **** do you want? You know who I am? I’m Rob ****in’ Ford, and in the next election, I’m gonna be mayor again, and you ****ers are gonna be lickin’ my ****in’ boots. **** you!

10:38 AM. The cops say the judge wants me in court, and hustle me out to a waiting car. Hey! I’m good to drive! **** you!

11:05 AM. Hauled into court. Judge looks pissed at me. Sandro’s sittin’ with his lawyers. Hey, Sandro! How’s about we get wasted later?

11:06 AM. Judge lecturin’ me over my bein’ late. Roll my eyes, nod my head. Make up some kinda excuse about bein’ busy with city council business. Hey, you know I’m still a city councillor? You want a Rob Ford For Mayor 2018 button? We got plenty of them.

11:08 AM. Swearin’ in to testify. Yeah, yeah, whatever the **** you say, just as long as I don’t incriminate myself or anythin’. I mean, I got a reputation to uphold, and I got my own lawyers workin’ overtime to keep me outta jail.

11:10 AM. Defense attorney askin’ me about Sandro’s character. Hey, the guy’s swell. Takes a beat down like he enjoys it, don’t mind me screamin’ at him for no reason. He’s great for findin’ new places to party and knows all the right crack smokin’ people. I mean, did I say that out loud or did I think it? Geez, I gotta think before I speak. Dammit, Robbie, we got the next election to think about, and I gotta make sure I don’t **** up. At least in public.

11:24 AM. In the middle of a rant about how Sandro’s been railroaded. Yeah, man, it’s all one big conspiracy. The leftists and the media and the granola eatin’ hippies from the Beaches and the Pope and the Queen and the saucer people and the liberals and the cops and the dogs and the cats, they’re all in on it. They’re jealous of what Ford Nation is, man, and they want to bring us down. Ford Nation, baby! Yeah! So they go after my friends. They go after a stand-up kinda guy like Sandro like the ****in’ cowards they are.... oh, right, sorry, Your Goner, I’m not supposed to swear in court. What? Whaddya mean I just called you Your Goner? I’m pretty sure you’re ****in’ wrong about that. Hey! I’m just expressin’ myself as best as I can! **** you!

1:15 PM. Sittin’ in a jail cell ****in’ contempt of court, my ass! I’ll show him ****in’ contempt of court! Dougie shows up. Hey, brother! Got any crack or booze? I could use some.

1:17 PM. Dougie tells me he’s assembling all available Ford Nation followers to demand my immediate release. Hell yeah, Dougie! Those stupid ****ers will do whatever we ****in’ say! Remember when we told them to go on a riot spree?

3:10 PM. Back in court. Dougie’s sittin’ in the gallery. Judge asks if I’ve cooled off. Look, I know I’ve got a temper, but these things happen, I get a bit carried away with myself. Can we just get on with this already?

3:23 PM. Under cross examination by that stupid ****in’ crown attorney. ****in’ prosecutors are ****in’ scum, man. Asks me questions about crack videos and extortion. Okay, man, this is it. This is the moment I’ve been practicing for.

3:24 PM. I shrug and say something about that time of my life havin’ a lot of drunken stupors, and sure, I mighta smoked some crack and threatened some people and done some stuff, but the point is, who gives a **** about that? Ford Nation doesn’t, and you know what? Ford Nation worships me. Yeah, man, they worship me, and you ****in’ lawyers wish you were me. Now why don’t you just drop those charges against my buddy Sandro? Because if you don’t, I’m gonna make sure when I’m mayor again that you’ll never practice law in this country again. Hey! Don’t you roll your eyes at me!!!  No one does that to Robbie Ford and lives!

5:53 PM. Back in the jail cell. Contempt of ****in’ court, my ass. I swear, I’m gonna have some gang bangers pay that judge a visit. ****, yeah, that’ll put the fear of Robbie Ford into him!

7:05 PM. Dougie comes with my attorney. Hey, mother****er, you do your job already and got me released?  ****in’ lawyer says somethin’ about bail and behavin’ myself, and that sorta ****in’ crap that I won’t bother takin’ seriously anyway. Come on, Dougie! I got some drinkin’ to get done!

7:26 PM. Comin’ outta the courthouse with Dougie. Ford Nation is here. Kinda small crowd, actually. Hey, Dougie, where’s the rest of them?  This can’t be all that turned up. We’ve got thousands of Ford Nation supporters just waitin’ for the signal for Operation Ford Domination, right? Well, whatever, maybe they’re all occupied, or at a Leafs game, or in court on charges. Ford Nation! It is I, your Prophet! It is I, your king! It is I, your master and overlord! I am Rob ****in’ Ford! Hear me roar!

Ford Nation-those who are here- goes wild. Yeah, man.... Ford Nation, baby!

10:45 PM. Back at home. Sittin’ out in the backyard with Dougie. Gettin’ drunk. Yeah, so this whole court appearance thing kinda screwed things up. Who gives a **** anyway? In four years Ford Nation will have forgotten anyway, and we’ll have ourselves set up as the saviours of this city. In the meantime, man, I’m gonna keep screwin’ up every city council meetin’ I can, votin’ against everything, and makin’ life a livin’ hell for all those other city council mother****ers. Yeah, they’re gonna pay, man, every last one of those ****ers are gonna pay. And when we have the Ford Revolution, man, they’re gonna pay again. Scorched earth! It’s war, brother! And may the best men win. And that’s us. Top of the line, best of the best, the ****in’ Ford brothers.

How’s about we smoke some more crack and drink a few more bottles of vodka before callin’ it a night?

It Was Mrs. Peacock With The Explosives

It's been awhile since I've featured this raging egomaniac. Enjoy!

Self Absorbed Director Announces Latest Film Project, Annoys Gallery Of Reporters

Los Angeles (AP) Reporters were summoned to the offices of Digital Domain, the special effects headquarters of vastly overrated explosion porn aficionado director Michael Bay yesterday, for the latest announcement by the self absorbed twit who brought the world Armageddon, The Rock, and Pearl Harbor. This reporter was doomed to be among them, for his editor makes it his personal mission in life to be as much of a pain in the butt as he can… (editor: do I need to remind you of the fact that you laughed when my kid flubbed his lines during the school play? You will do what I tell you to do, damn you!).

Anyway, before that interruption by the aforementioned editor (question:  why on Earth do you keep demanding my presence at these things? You and I hate each other!) this reporter had been summoned to the lair of the Self-Absorbed Blowhard that is Michael Bay. There were a number of actual reporters present, as well as the inevitable horde of brain deprived entertainment reporters. This reporter has no respect, none at all, for the pestilence that are entertainment reporters.

The spokesperson came out on stage before the assembled group of journalists and fake reporters belonging to such wastes of airtime Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood. She thanked everyone for coming; this reporter sighed in dismay and wondered how long he’d have to wait before he could slip away. Then she announced her employer.

Michael Bay came out on stage, dressed in his usual fashion: jeans, denim shirt, and blazer. As always, there were a couple of days worth of stubble on his face, and his hair was in that usual windswept slightly disheveled look that he seemed to favour. A large mirror was waiting for him beside the podium, and he took a moment to admire himself. This reporter expected he had gone thirty seconds since the last time he looked at himself in the mirror. Bay smiled in his usual vacant way, winked at himself, and looked out at the reporters, waving and grinning in his usual addled way.

“Hello and welcome!” he said, laughing as if at some imagined joke. “Welcome to Digital Domain! Of course you all wanted to come and see what the greatest director of all time was up to, didn’t you?” This reporter looked around, wondering if Alfred Hitchcock or Michael Curtiz might have managed to rise from the grave. Of course not. The self-asbsorbed blowhard was talking about himself. (editor: do I need to remind you your job doesn’t involve personal editorials or slants?) This reporter, admonished by the Editor Demon (editor: hey! I am not a demon!), nonetheless rested assured that while the Editor Demon could send him on pointless stories like this, the Editor Demon could not fire him (editor: I am so slashing your tires for this).

Back to the story at hand. Bay was going on and on about himself and how busy he was with his many projects, but there was something else that he had in development. “You know, I keep thinking about that film a couple of years ago based on a boardgame. Battleship! Yes, that was a real classic.” The real reporters collectively groaned in dismay at the mention of a film that was so ridiculously awful that it could have been directed by Michael Bay, even though it wasn’t. Bay seemed to not hear that groan of dismay. “You know, I wish I’d directed that one. Lots of action, babes, explosions, aliens being all Big Bad for no reason whatsoever. Well, for some reason that film didn’t do as well as it could have, but no matter. It gave me an idea. Why not go back and do a film about another classic board game?” He grinned in a way that suggested a doctor had failed to finish a lobotomy on him. “Ladies and gentlemen, coming as soon as I can film it… the big screen epic murder mystery Clue!”

Another groan of dismay mixed with outrage filled the auditorium. That particular board game had been adapted into a film years ago, one that had been considered a flop.  There have been odd rumours through the years of follow-up films or television miniseries, but nothing has yet become of it. And now Michael “Blow It Up Good” Bay of all people wanted to adapt the boardgame into a movie?

“Are you out of your mind?” a Reuters correspondent asked.

“Why do people keep asking me that?” Bay replied, puzzled.

“That was already made into a movie starring Tim Curry. A bad one,” this reporter told the egomaniac.

“Years ago!” Bay said with yet another dimwitted grin. “Everyone’s forgotten that. And my version will be different. It’ll be bigger. It’ll be grander. It’ll be more explosive. We’ll have suspects and red herrings and plot devices and countdowns and hidden bombs in a secluded New England mansion. We’ll have hot babes waxing cars and Aerosmith doing a theme song. I’ve already got them working on it. I really have to keep the band stocked up with whiskey while they write music, let me tell you… those guys could drink Russians under the table.”

Bay smiled as he paused, looking at the crowd. “Let’s start bringing out our cast. Playing our hero, Mr. Green, I give you one of my favourite actors in the whole wide world, put your hands together to welcome the one, the only… Shia LaBeouf!”

A collective groan of dismay rose up from the real reporters. LaBeouf, the waste of oxygen given to speaking of himself in the third person actor, walked out on stage. As usual, he was dressed in a sloppy way. “It is good to see you have come to pay homage to Shia!” he called out. “Shia is much pleased!” He took his place by Bay.

Bay nodded and continued. “And as Miss Scarlet, how could I ever pass up a chance to cast her? Ladies and gentlemen, Megan Fox!”

The real reporters groaned in displeasure. Fox came out on stage in a low-cut dress that showed off her assets. She smiled in her customary vacant way. “Hi there! I’m going to have so much fun playing the bad girl with a heart of gold. Though am I the killer or not, Michael?”

Bay laughed. “Spoilers, Megan, spoilers! We can’t let the cat out of the bag yet. Playing a role that is sure to win him another Oscar, ladies and gentlemen, as the ethically challenged Professor Plum, may I present… Nicolas Cage!”

Cage came out on stage, looking bleary eyed and smoking a cigar lit by a hundred dollar bill. “Hello, everyone, don’t mind me, this is just how I smoke. No worries, I’m not going to run myself out of money again…” He joined his fellow cast mates.

Bay smiled again. “I had to think long and hard for this next one, but I think it’s an inspired choice. As the mysterious Mrs. Peacock, someone I haven’t worked with before, but someone who I think will be ideal for my films, Sarah Jessica Parker!”

Parker came out on stage. The real reporters gasped in another dismayed tone. She waved and joined the others. “I keep waiting for someone to greenlight Sex And The City 3: Carrie’s Mid-Life Crisis, but until then, this ought to be fun, right?”

Bay nodded. “You know, I think I could be an ideal director for that kind of project. We’ll talk backstage. Anyway, carrying on, we come to the character Mrs. White. She’s also a mystery, a widow with a whole lot of secrets. Blackmail kind of secrets. Which is why I wanted to work with this actress. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, may I present…” Bay turned to look at himself in the mirror once again, while this reporter wondered if the flesh eating virus might be more appealing than this assignment (editor: keep it up and I’ll give you the flesh eating virus). Then he looked at the crowd again, and announced, “Say hello to Kathy Griffin!”

The real reporters howled in outrage. The infuriatingly annoying red headed comedienne came out on stage, waving enthusiastically. “Take that, Sarah Silverman!” she bellowed and displayed both middle fingers. “Bite me, you ******!”

“And the last member of our cast, at least the last one to be announced for now, is our Colonel Mustard. I say for now, because we have to have a touchstone character guiding the suspects through the story. And while I do have that actor cast…. I’m not going to announce who that is. It’s going to be a surprise left for the film itself. So you’ll just have to wait and see who it is. Ladies and gentlemen, as our Colonel Mustard, give it up for… Mr. Eddie Murphy!”

The real reporters sighed yet again. Murphy came out on stage. “Look, I’m sorry, I know I should know better. I just haven’t done much in the last couple of years, and I’m running out of money.”

Cage smiled and clapped Murphy on his back. “Hey, let me introduce you to my accountant. You’ll  never be in money trouble again.”

Bay laughed. “Oh, they kid, they kid. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the cast of Clue: Murder In The Mansion. It’s going to be big. It’s going to be explosive. We’re gonna have a blowout murder spree for the ages. Too bad we couldn’t have Columbo solve the case, but raising the dead isn’t possible, and no one will ever let us get away with recasting the role. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure there are studio rights involved…”

He shrugged.  “Well, that doesn’t matter. This is going to be a big film, and everyone’s going to love it, and it’s going to get a whole mess of Oscars. Be here, be there, be ready for us, because we’re coming!”

With that, Bay left the stage with his cast. This reporter felt like going to get a stiff drink. And this reporter also felt that he was being abused by his tyrant of an editor who wouldn’t know good taste if he saw it (editor: I hate you with every fiber of my being).

Fine, Editor Demon. Next time you subject yourself to a Michael Bay press conference.

Captain Solo And The Emergency Landing

Some links before I get started today. Norma had a post on gadgets. Yesterday having had been a Friday, Parsnip had a Square Dog Friday post. Eve had spring poetry. Krisztina had a recipe. And Mark had a proposed cover for an upcoming ebook.

Now then, today I have another in my occasional series of assorted oddball memes and pics. Enjoy!