ROBBLOG #310

Sunday night I thought I was going to die! 

About 7 in the evening I started feeling strange.

Stranger than normal I mean!

I went to bed.

The next four hours was plain awful. I had a headache that felt like the top of my head was being ripped off and my eyes were going to explode. 

I was hot.

Then cold.

Then hot again.

I shook. I moaned and I sobbed.

The pain was terrific.

I even thought that Jack Layton was calling me up yonder! 

"Rob. Rob!"- Jack kept calling to me from a misty place over my sick bed.

"C’mon up the weather’s fine!"

"No Jack. No!"- I answered. "I’m not ready to leave just yet!" 

He smiled with blue eyes sparkling.

Then turned and faded away...into the Mystic...

As he did, I heard him say-

"I’ll catch you later then Rob." 

Oh great! In the midst of my pain I was hallucinating too!

Nurse Tom kept asking me if I wanted to go to emergency.

I kept saying no.

Finally after some “release” about 11ish, I started to feel better and was able to drift off to sleep. 

Food Poisoning?

I dunno. I hadn’t eaten since morning.

I did have a piece or two of a chocolate bar in the afternoon and a half bottle of water.

The chocolate bar I had been eating over the past couple of days.

So that wasn’t it.

It didn’t make me sick the day before Sunday. 

After talking to a neighbour the next day, I suddenly realized the bottled water was the culprit. The bottle was in the back of the fridge behind the mayonnaise jar. Before we walked the dogs Sunday afternoon, I grabbed the bottle.

“Hmmm. Half Full. That’ll do for a short walk.”- I remember thinking.

However, the bottle had been in the van for a day or so and I had taken it out and placed it in the fridge. With the heat in the van it was likely bristling with bacteria.

I drank it.

I got sick. 

So, I have to re-think these plastic bottles and the habit I have of re-filling them for a few days without proper sterilization and of course, letting them sit in the van. 

Another friend said the plastic is loaded with crap that can be cancer-causing and I shouldn’t be using the plastic bottles at all. Even those big bottles that we bought at one time for our water cooler- before the new fridge that now supplies reverse osmosis water at the touch of a finger, can be bad. This is especially so if the bottle is stored in a warm area of the house or garage.

Yikes! 

So I am still re-thinking how to get around this drinking from plastic bottles. I use them all the time. On walks. In the van. On bike rides. I'll buy a metal bottle.

I will be more careful because I don’t really want to be ill like that again- anytime soon. 

IN OTHER NEWS 

Here it is the end of the Month of August and yesterday I received the application for the 2011 Orillia Santa Claus Parade in the mail. If the Swissshmobile is in the Parade this year, that will mark the 5^th Anniversary. I’d like to do something different this year.

Go Big or go home!

I have almost 3 months to think about it. 

More importantly and more immediately, I have to think about learning some dialogue for a fund-raising evening at St. James the second Friday in September.

Hello Autumn! 

Have a good one.

ROBBLOG # 309

It is one hell of a world we live in sometimes- isn’t it? 

Well, isn’t it? Life can be grand.

Yes, it can be downright wonderful but it can be a “real bugger” too! 

Floods wipe out towns and villages.

Bridges get washed away.

Water and food in short supply.

People and family pets- missing. 

Tornadoes playing havoc with beautiful places like Goderich.

Hurricanes causing mass destruction and death.

Cancer wiping out important lives.

People and countries fighting for freedom and a release from oppression.

Uganda imprisoning and executing people just because they are Gay and Lesbian.

Landlords in Vancouver refusing to lease apartment to Gay men and single mums.

I’ll bet that many of you believe we live in an inclusive and generous country. A country that cares for every last one of us.

Social Democracy?

You may have heard those two words in the past week.

Two words that leave Conservatives uncomfortable in their private spaces. They wiggle and squirm and fold their arms defiantly across their chests when someone speaks of Social Democracy. I am no political expert but I believe Conservatives fear that someone will take their money and give it to someone else whom they believe doesn’t deserve it. 

Social Democracy.

A true Liberal will still choke on those two words. Democracy is just peachy-keen as long as it’s in within the Liberal definition of democracy. Just don’t throw in the word Social. 

Doesn’t it seem- at times, that the Liberals and the New Democrats are quite similar?

I mean look at Bob Rae.

He was the NDP Premier of this province of Ontario and now, he’s the Leader of the Federal Liberals.

Whuck?

How does that work?

I also don’t understand how it works that Conservative John Baird can be both Gay and Conservative. He’s like Harper’s right-hand Man (I know that sounds dirty!) and even escorts Laureen to Social Events. 

Many would have you believe that Socialism keeps strange bedfellows with communism. When the CCF was born in Western Canada during the depression, there was a tad of the old communist manifesto within the party ranks. Eventually, there was a split and a full-blown Communist member of Parliament was elected from the new Communist Party of Canada.

I know.

Yikes!

It happened right here in Canada!

The want for food and a paycheque can do strange stuff to a person- even a Canadian. 

In the years after he was elected, the Honourable Member was considered a spy and soon left the country. His citizenship was removed in the late 1950’s. 

Tommy Douglas came along in later decades and eventually the New Democratic Party

was born. It thrives today in Canada. It’s the official opposition in Her Majesty’s Government in the House of Commons. Where would Canada be today without the NDP?  They are considered responsible for the creation of universal health care, pensions and a human rights code.

I bet you thought the Liberals did all that and gave us a national flag too.

They did give us the Red Maple Leaf. 

Now, on the eve of a new fall sitting of House of Commons, the NDP has had the wind taken from their orange sails with Jack Layton’s passing.

We can all dream of a wonderful world where we leave no one behind but a dream has to last longer than a lifetime.

Jack Layton said that. 

Having a dream is a forever thing.

We need to dream…it’s just a sad fact that we happen to be living through the nightmare part right now and that can be the “real bugger”.

ROBBLOG #308

In Memorium

Jack Layton

1950-2011

Jack Layton's Casket rests onstage at Roy Thompson Hall 

Like many other Canadians, this has been a difficult week for me.

I mourn the passing of Jack Layton.

Jack was my hope for the future of this land.

He was a man and the head of a party that would keep parliament in check.

Now, that hope has been dashed.

What wil the future hold?

Who knows... 

I have decided not to write a blog for the rest of this week. Instead, my ROBBLOG will be this tribute to NDP Leader and Leader of the Opposition Jack Layton. 

Jack passed at 4:45 a.m. Monday morning.

Cancer stole Jack away from his Family and his country.
My husband Tom and I met Jack.

It was two years ago at Toronto Pride. We seached him out. He was at the NDP booth busily chatting to those who passed by.

We introuced ourselves and told him we had been together for 25 years- at that time, and married 5 years before.

He hugged us heartly and called Olivia over. As it turned out, our anniversaries were just days apart.

We chatted. Laughed and smiled.

He acknowledged that more work had to be done in Simcoe North.

I will never forget that day.

I will never forget the sparkle in his eyes and the gladness he left in our hearts. Both he and Olivia treated us like family.

It was wonderful.

One regret.

We forgot to take pictures.

It's a sad time for this country indeed.

Mr. Layton's letter to Canadians says it all.

You'll find the final paragraph at the end of this blog.

Mr. Layton laid in State this week at the entrance to the House of Commons, in the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa- our Nation's Capital.

Now he's back in Toronto.

He lies in repose at Toronto City Hall.

His memorial service- a celebration of his life, will be at Roy Thompson Hall in Toronto on Saturday afternoon at 2PM

Olivia Chow standing by her husband's casket at The Parliament Buildings
picture by THE CANADIAN PRESS/Fred Chartrand

May Angels fly you- gently, to your rest!

Although knowing you Mr. Layton, you'll be keeping an eye on things.

On Saturday August 21 Jack wrote a letter to all Canadians. Here are the final words he wrote:

...consider that we can be a better, fairer, more equal country by working together.

Don’t let them tell you it can’t be done.

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”

All my very best,

Jack Layton.

RobBlog #307

In Memorium

Jack Layton

1950-2011

Jack Layton, NDP Leader, Leader of Her Majesty's Official Opposition and the only Canadian who should be leading this country, passed at 4:45 a.m. Monday morning.

Cancer stole Jack away from us- and his Family.

Two years ago at Toronto Pride, Tom and I met Jack. We told him we had been together for 25 years- at that time. He hugged us and called Olivia over. Turned out, our anniversaries were just days apart.

It's a sad day for this country.

Mr. Layton will lay in State at the entrance to the House of Commons, in the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa- our Nation's Capital. His funeral service- a celebration of his life, will be at Roy Thompson Hall in Toronto on Saturday.

May Angels fly you- gently, to your rest in eternity!

Although knowing your Mr. Layton, you'll still be keeping things hopping wherever you go!

On Saturday August 21 Jack wrote a letter to all Canadians. Here are the final words he wrote:

...consider that we can be a better, fairer, more equal country by working together.

Don’t let them tell you it can’t be done.

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”

All my very best,

Jack Layton.

ROBBLOG # 306

Jack Layton- You will be missed

Jack Layton passed at 45 a.m. Monday morning. Two years ago at Toronto Pride, Tom and I met Jack. We told him we had been together for 25 years- at that time. He hugged us and called Olivia over. Turned out, our anniversaries were just days apart. It's a sad day for this country. May Angels fly you- gently, to eternity!

Final Words written by Jack Layton to all Canadians on Saturday August 21, 2100:

“…consider that we can be a better, fairer, more equal country by working together.

Don’t let them tell you it can’t be done.

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”

All my very best,

Jack Layton.

They like me!

They really, really like me! 

Why am I so jubilant? Perhaps jubilant is too strong a word. Surprized maybe. Happy, yes.
Pleased- more so. I am so jubilant because I received a little message from BlogSpot telling me that this little ole Blog is heavily read.

What?

It’s true.

I was even told that I should place some ads on the blog to reap some financial kickback.

Don’t worry
I haven’t said yes- yet. 

These are still heady days for me what with my first “payout” from Canada Pension coming towards the end of this month.

Zowee!

Anyway, I will have a think about the ads. If I make a few shekels for my time, would that be asking too much?

Hardly.

So I’ll see.

Now, back to being jubilant.

I haven’t checked the “stats” for my blog in several months. So after receiving the notice that my Blog was well-read, I took a peek myself.

Holy typewriter Batman!

July brought close to 1300 page views- I would expect that most viewers read the blog or part of it at least. Then in August there were days when up to 100 people read the blog on one day alone. Most days I am above 50. That’s pretty good considering in the past year since I began to write I notice number like 4, 5 or even a heady 7 just not many double-digits.
That’s good.

I guess I can consider myself  “popular”. I mean, just multiply that 50 or 60 per day- low-balling here, times 7 and well- you see what I mean. 

The stats even tell me- since I began writing all the way back at RobBlog number one, I have had over 12,000 page views.

Neat, eh?

The stats also tell me from whence my readers come:

Google.ca

Google India.

Google dot com.

The Swisssh website.

Google search and many, many more. 

So, I am excited that I have an audience, many who return day after day. The disclaimer still stands as you can see on the Swisssh Website- “contains content that may only be suitable for adults. In fact I could place that “warning” on the Blogsite too just so those entering will see the warning of adult material and will have to click on a window to enter. I just don’t see the need for that.

Like- it’s not a porn site or anything.

Geesh.

It’s just words.

Sometimes, bad words. Sometimes there are thoughts and ideas here with which you don’t, necessarily, agree.

That’s OK.

Last week, I received an e-mail from someone who felt bad about what had happened to me in a story I told in a recent blog. This person actually sent me a whole page of funny stuff hoping to make me feel better.

Thanks.

They also added they sincerely hoped they would never be considered a “good person”- in the sort of way intimated in the Blog.

Look. It’s my RobBlog.

If you don’t like what you read here, start your own blog or don't read it. Just please don’t send stuff to my personal “inbox” that offends me like that narrow minded, gun-toting, cloaked in religion kind of mentality. Religion or guns- for the most part, have never done this planet of ours anything but harm. I say “for the most part” because I still think that the Christmas Story is still one of the best and sweetest fables- ever. Of course guns have...ummm... 

So, here’s what I say to readers who send me negative, right-leaning crap to my e-mail-

“I don’t send the Blog out to your inboxes, you actually have to type in the address or click a link to enter Rob Reid Online and my RobBlog. So, don’t e-mail me your “stuff” because it’s not my choice to read it…but thanks for choosing to read mine just the same. 

Have a good one.

P.S. Dame Clare has sent along a new Column. You find it by clicking Dame Clare Voyant in the titles along the top of my Rob Blog.

ROBBLOG #305 W E E K E N D Edition

As a kid growing up in Orillia, summer vacation not only meant time off school, it was also the chance to ride my bicycle night and day. I would explore the neighbourhood where we lived for blocks around- all with two wheels, a bum and a bell.

Sometimes during those carefree vacation days, borders were imposed by the Mum and Dad "don't go there” border police.

I heard: Don't go to the train station where those ”hobos” are living. Don't go hanging around the White Rose Gas Station. Don't go over to your Grandma's, she's not feeling well today with this heat and she's lying down.

One of the biggest "invisible borders" erected every summer was the border surrounding the Traveling Gospel Tent. The Preaching Extravaganza under canvas and lights was usually set up on a huge field at the foot of West Street, South where number 12 Highway slices the South Ward in half.

The huge tent spilled out from the center of the freshly mown field all the way to the marsh on the north to the corner of Regent Street and West Street to the south.

“Don't let me catch you going down there to that Gospel Tent, you and young David. I want you to stay away from there. Do you hear me?” David was a neighbourhood friend. David passed from cancer a couple of summers ago. 

“But Mum…”

I barely got the plea for a border pass to the tip of my tongue when I heard the same old answer.

“No Buts. Just stay away.”-said Mum as she sat down on the front porch clutching a hot cup of tea.

“But why Mum?

"Don't `why Mum me', just do what you're told. Don't ask why. And don't bother to ask your father either. He's having a lay-down after supper. Anyways, why would you want to go over to that dirty old tent to watch the sinners congregate?”

I shrugged my shoulders- "Why Not?”

Mum just shook her haed and took a sip of tea.

Of course in the whole scheme of things I'm sure Mum knew that Davey and I would go anyhow. It was just her way of saying-be careful and watch out for the cars. 

So, off we'd peddle our bums the few blocks away to the big Tent in the middle of the field on West Street South-near Highway 12.

As we peddled up to the field, we could see the flaps on the sides of the tent were pulled back. This happened on especially hot and humid evenings. There must have been a distinct lack of air inside that Holy Tent. That didn't seem to stop the “sinners” from showing up though. Strings of clear light bulbs were strung back and forth around and above the huge poles supporting the blanket of dirty, white canvas. Up at one end of the tent there was a crude raised platform made with crates covered with sheets of plywood. About a dozen chairs were placed in two rows of 6 each along the front edge, closest to the audience. A big brown upright piano anchored the back of the stage with a Red Ensign flag draped across the canvas at the rear of the platform.

A man and several women-perhaps some of the sinners Mum warned me about, were placing little red books on row after row of folding chairs throughout the entire tent. Every now and then the man would pull a white handkerchief from his back pocket and wipe his brow and the back of his neck.

“Let's take our bikes and sit over there”, I said to Davey as I pointed to a

big old tree stump a few yards from the open flap. As we kicked our bike stands into place, the first of a dozen or so cars entered the field in a processional row and parked near the tent. Suddenly “That Old Rugged Cross”- one of my Grandma's favoutite hymns, was being pounded out on the piano by one of the ladies who had been helping the man place the books-hymn books I guessed, on the folding chairs.

“Look Davey, Sinners. Just like my Mum said!”

Davey nodded in agreement.

In the next several minutes more and more cars with headlights blazing drove across the field and parked in neat “sinner-type” rows. Song after song was played from the stage. A choir dressed in purple robes took their place in front of the twelve chairs as the last of the sinners took their seats and began thumbing through the little red books raising their voices in song.

From the rear of the tent a big ,tall, black man in a glowing white robe approached the makeshift stage with his arms in the air and salvation in his heart. I once heard my Grandma talk about Salvation in the Heart, so I guessed that was exactly what he was doing flinging his long arms skyward to reach salvation. The singing reached a fevered pitch and when that ended, the big man looked out over what he referred to as his “flock” and began preaching to the sinners. We heard words like “hell-fire” and “damnation”. 

“The only way to walk the path to glory was through the Lord Jesus!” he cried.

Shouts of “Hallelujah” and “Praise Be” echoed from the assembled multitude of sinners. Davey and I could feel the earth tremble beneath our running shoes as the crowd stomped and sang and clapped their way towards the Gates of Heaven. It was easy to get swept up in the excitement. Davey and I marveled at the site of all these poor sinners being saved in that old, hot, canvas tent in the middle of that field on West Street South at Highway 12.

After an hour or so of watching the proceedings Davey turneds to me and said:

“So Whaddahyawanna do now?”.

“Dunno”-I said, “Go back to my house I guess.”

“Let's go get a big bag of chips at the White Rose on the way”-added Davey with a huge smile!

“Okay, but I get to shake the vinegar into the bag this time, Okay?”

“Cool” said Davey as we crossed the grassy field to the sidewalk and rode back home.

ROBBLOG # 304

There is something very comforting about having your mate around all the time.

You see, getting my head around turning 60 years of age last month is one thing. Now Tom-my husband, has returned to work after being on vacation since the last week in July. I miss him already and yes sometimes we piss each other off.

But not for long.

I suppose with those extended days off, I have been wondering what it would be like to have him around- all the time.

As in “retirement”.

Hey look! We can afford it.

I start getting my C.P.P come August 29^th. It’s not a lot. I know the value now but hell, it’s better than a slap in the face from Joan Crawford!

I look forward to Tom’s retirement. I have been mucking around in that murky pond of retirement for 5 years already. Yes, I do operate Swisssh Radio and the Radio’s Website www.swisssh.ca

Yes, I do write a lot- including shows.

Yes, I actually perform in some shows too and yes, that brings in some cash- even if it’s just a honourarium.
Once again, better than a kick up my “Gay” ass!

Some days, when Tom’s on an extended vacation period, we do our own thing from time to time but mostly we’re still attached at the hip after 26 years. I am sure there are those who wonder about that but when it’s your true “soul mate” it’s not that hard to understand. Look, we stay close because there’s a need to keep our Homosexual Wagons in a circle. You never can tell when those “terrible Tories” will attack and slap you up the right side of your face before you even see it coming!

This is Eric from "True Blood". Nothing to do with this blog but- ain't he pretty?

It’s hard these days to understand the voting public’s penchant for all things Conservative. It`s like chowing down on a hunk of deep fried butter at the CNE I guess. Initially you like it- but 20 minutes after you`ve eaten it you want to puke!

If we’re not careful they’ll be shoving all us “Gays and Lesbians” back in the closet Brothers and Sisters! I mean many of them can’t wrap their heads around one being Gay. Yes Brue Stanton waves and smiles at us from parades. Garfield Dunlop came on our Hank show last year- all true.

However when you talk openly to some, there`s an aura of “homosexual dirtiness” about it all so let’s change the subject. Some believe it to be “unclean”- like Elizabeth May’s sandals after she’s slipped around in some environmentally friendly dog poo in Stanley Park. At least that’s how I feel sometimes.

Shitty.

Case in point is that hurtful, offensive message- that some deemed “cute” that came from some “good people” a couple of weeks ago. It was in a blog

I’ve tried to let it go but I can’t.

It’s stuck in my gut like a piece of undercooked liver. I can’t tell you how many people also thought the whole thing was quite inappropriate and offensive. I’m trying to let it drip through the coffee filter of my life.

On a lighter note,

I even asked Jesus what he thought about the whole thing.

Yes, I have occasional chats with famous people!

Hugh Jackman. Jack Layton. Jesus.

Why not?

I asked Jesus about these people hinting that we should stay in the closet and just keep our “fruitfulness” to ourselves. Stay quiet, like a good gun-toting, “kissing the ass of Christ ”, Tory would have us do.

Are you shocked?

Jesus doesn’t mind us using his name like that. He told me that any publicity in this day of age is good publicity. He referred me to Stephen Harper’s shenanigans.

Now see here, if you don’t believe I have a few bits of conversation back and forth with God-Almighty who are you to judge?

I have faith I do.

Millions upon millions of Catholics believe they are members of the only real religion on earth- and that goes for the Jews and Baptists too, believing their top guy is Christ’s Disciple on earth. His main man!

What a crock eh?

With all the shit that that religion- or any religion, has piled onto the hearts and moinds of the general populace over the centuries, they should be downright embarrassed to even hint that they are even one part holy.

Holy. In the “hole” of the toe of their nylon hose…maybe.

Good Lord. Give me a blog and I write a book.

Oh well.

It keeps me occupied until my Hunnie comes through that door again, smiling his smile,

wearing his uniform and stinking his stink- like a Boeing 767 Lavatory in economy class!

Gotta love him!

And I do.

ROBBLOG # 303

Here we go again.

I was spending a quiet, reflective afternoon beside my pool. The sun was hot but a refreshing breeze came up and over the lattice fence every now and then. It felt just right.

Our pool boy was gently applying sunblock to my shoulders as Micahel Buble’s latest CD played in the background. The “boy”- Eduardo was his name, had strong, tanned hands. He gently kneaded the cool and creamy lotion deep into the pores of my shoulder blades. I could feel is hot breath and smell his musky underarm odour as he moved slowly over me.

Then the phone rang.

Damn, why does it always ring when I am deep in the middle of my pool boy fantasy?

My MacLeans Magazine slid to the verandah floor as I stood up to reach the phone.

“Hello?”- I said

“Shay, is that you Robbie old buddy?”

“Shit!” I said out loud. It was the most familiar of voices. It was Hank.

“Whashts the matter?”- he asked

“Nothing. Nothing.”-I said. “I um, just knocked my shin on the table leg. That’s all

“Better be more carefull. Geesh. You could really hurt yourshelf and then you wouldn’t be able to do thoshe high kicksh when you dance the rhumba.” He laughed.

“Hank!” I yelled into the phone. “I can’t dance the rhumda!”

He didn’t miss a beat- “But jusht imagine if you could!”

“Very funny.” I continued. “So, what’s up Hank?”

“Oh nothing musch. I was just sitting her wondering and schtinking. Do you think you could write a Christmas Schow for me again thish year?”

“Hank!” I was quick to raise my voice. “It’s only bloody August!!”

“Yesh. I know. Doesn’t the schummer fly bye. So what do you think?”

With that, I have been sitting at the keyboard in front of my computer- getting my own drinks- since the pool boy was an apparent illusion, jotting down some fast ideas and even typing some lines of dialogue for Hank’s Holiday Show this December. I could hardly say no.

He pays well.

He’s great to work with and very generous.

Did I mention he has deep pockets too?

Well you have to in show business- don’t you?

If you want to perform anyway.

It’s not cheap to lease a theatre’s stage for a bit of the old knee slap and tickle!

So it’s on again. Third year in a row. A Christmas Tradition?

It’s beginning to look that way. Mary Lou will be pleased.

As long as the ideas are new, why not?

Hank suggested a talent show of sorts this year.

Some famous and not-so-famous folks will hopefully be a part of the talent pool.

I hope that many of the same characters will be back on stage.

Hank is just working out contract obligations now, so I am unable to release too many details.

You might well ask if Mayor Orsi or even Garfield Dunlop will return.

Perhaps.

Tom and I ran into Garf at the park a week ago.

“Gee that was fun with Hank last year!”- he quipped. Maybe he even hinted. Of course Hank hadn’t called me a week ago, so I didn’t say anything to him. Last time I was in Garf’s office- back in July, the 8x10, full colour of Hank that he presented to Garf and all his guests last year, sat proudly on top of the filing cabinet. I told Hank it was there and he was quite impressed.

Mayor Orsi has his own kettle of fish to fry what with politics in Orillia, so he might not want to be on the show this year. If he were asked, maybe he’d consent to break a brick or a block of wood with his bare hands. Isn’t that what green belts do?

So the race is one. I have to put a bunch of words to paper in the next month. Hank tells me I can mention that Jo Anne Debreczeni will be back for set design and costumes and maybe even an onstage appearance too. Jo Anne’s soprano voice is legendary! She is also one of the nicest and most sincere people on earth.

I have been told that Mrs. Whitchurch has consented as well. Her piano playing- although not exactly legendary, was certainly tackled whole-heartedly and if anything, it put us all in a glorious holiday mood. For me, I think Mrs. Whitchurch’s selection of accessories for last year’s show, remain one of the hi-lites of the Holiday Season!

It might be a good idea at this point to tell you to take some time to brush up on your joke-telling skills and your singing and dancing, as Hank might just be holding some auditions in advance of his Holiday Ho Ho Show.

Have a good one….and Happy Holidays!