ROBBLOG #424

Well, Lah-Dee Freekin’-Dah…

Nearly half of us take exception to the Harperites and how they are wielding their power. Nearly half of us from Sea to Sea have a certain dis-like for the head honcho- Mr. Harper. This is according to the results of another poll from a research company based in our Nation’s Capital.

The company- Abacus, gets down to the nitty-gritty, saying that this latest poll shows  49% of us disapprove of the Federal Government, while another 49% are left with a less-than-favourable impression of Dear Mr. Harper. Some of that may be the same 49%.

I mean on the bright side, 35% still “like” him and another 24% “still sort-of-like” his party. Those are all the folks- like Toronto’s less-than-Mayor Rob Ford, who wouldn’t be caught dead or at the very least “naked” at Toronto’s Pride Celebrations this weekend but wouldn’t have a problem keeping a few guns around the old homestead- just in case.

Keep in mind that 60% of us never wanted Harper and his cronies in the first place.

More of us voted for the other guys or didn’t bother to vote at all.

Here in Simcoe North, the Liberals and Greens and NDP have been getting real cozy as they consider shoving just one candidate forward to stand in the next election to outsmart and outvote and dis-lodge that Tory pain-in-the-ass Bruce Stanton.

That man’s never had a thought of his own unless of course he running low on gas and

is able- through a difficult thought process, to turn into the local Pioneer Gas Bar. What comes out of Harper’s mouth lodges in Mr. Bruce’s resulting in the same rhetoric and same Conservative values gushing forth. When Harper goes down the tubes- and he will, Stanton will follow.

It’s just a shame we have to wait another 3 years.

Hell, we hardly recognize our country by then.

However, by that time we may recognize a huge part of Canadian Values being replaced by American Values and political agenda, lodged deep within our culture and country.

One thing for sure- you never see a Conservative Politician anywhere in the Pride Parade.

No Sir!

No blue and white signs.

Afraid they’ll catch koodies?

Oh, much worse.

Maybe it’s the fear of catching the flash of a Lesbian titty or two. Those things come in pairs you know.

Maybe the fear of using a toilet seat and turning Gay a month later is still out there.

People believe that you know.

Okay.

Those people live in tarpaper shacks in the back woods but all the same…

Now, I am not saying everyone has to attend Pride. Personally, the last couple of years there have been a few too many straight guys ambling along Church Street, oogling the aforementioned Lesbian Boobies and smirking at boys holding hands to say nothing of getting their pictures taken with the Drag Queens.

A Faggot hasn’t got a chance!

Even the “straight gals” make a nuisance of themselves by taking pictures of their girlfriends with the mostly naked and terribly muscle bound Trojan Condom boys or even the athletic TD Bank Boys at the “Cool Mist” tent.

I tell you, it’s getting to be a real circus and the star performers are the heterosexuals.

Don’t you folks see naked muscles and tanned titties in your culture?

For Cripe’s Sake, it seems like some of these straight fellas have never seen uncovered breasts in their life.

It’s like a God Damned free “Peep Show”!

Anyway, straight folks you find at Pride.

Conservatives- not so much.

Not that they wouldn’t be welcome and look if you want to come don’t feel you have to clothe yourself in Liberal “red” or NDP “orange” to hide from us. We can pick you out pretty quickly.

Case in point:

“Hmmm…. Look at that Joyce. That fellah over there has one of his balls hanging right out of his denim shorts. Have you ever??!!

“Disgusting Jean. Ummm…. I thought they were supposed to have two of those things? You know, I believe this is exactly the reason Stephen Harper and Mr. Ford stay clear of this public display of nakedness and frivolity. Things floppin’ in the breeze all over the streets…”

“What things Joyce?”

“Ball things!”

“Oh yes. Well. Maybe it’s a Gay thing and one of ‘em is strapped up inside. You know the same way they just wear an earring in one ear.”

“Listen Joyce, that don’t mean nothing! My Grandson Bruce wears a smart little ¼ carat stud in his left ear and he is far from being Gay!”

“But Jean. He’s never been married- has he?”

“No. Hasn’t found the right girl…that’s all!”

“But he’s 36 years old and he hangs around a lot with that Tommy Rafferty fella.”

“Joyce! Dey is just friends- and that’s it! Get it Joyce?”

“Oh yes. Yes. I believe I do…”

“Now then, let’s see if …”

“Jean! Look there’s your Grandson and that Tommy boy standing right over there having their picture took with those nude gladiators!”

“Probably just friends of theirs. That’s all. C’mon Joyce let’s go get a sausage in a bun!”

ROBBLOG #423

A Todd Fiord Minute

Press Aide: Ladies and Gentlemen, Mayor Todd Fiord.

~swisssh, glug, shuffle, roll, phart~

Fiord: Ah yes. I am here to raise the flag for National Deep Fryer week. A week near and dear to my heart. In fact, all my vital arteries. Hah! Hah!

Citizen # 1: But Mayor a week for deep fried fat? Isn’t that unhealthy?

Fiord: What the fracus do you fudge-eating folks want from me? I’m here for your stupid flag raisin’ ain’t I? What does a fellow have to do to please you creeps- turn Gay or something? Wait. To Aide: Strike that from the record.

~ phart, roll, jiggle~

Aide: Mr. Mayor there is no record. We aren’t keeping an official copy of what you’re saying here.

Fiord: And why the Hell should you? To the Citizens: You’re nothing but a bunch of commie left wingers who care nothing for me, your city or even this country- for that matter. Why don’t you all pack up and head back to China where you belong.

Citizen #2: But Mr. Mayor, none of us are Asians here!

Fiord: I can’t tell anymore. Everyone in this City looks Chinese to me. I ride the subway and I have to have two orders of chicken balls and a side of fried rice when I get off at my stop.

Citizen # 1: Mayor, isn’t that a little bit racist?

Fiord: Racist? Never heard of the word! Now let me raise this Fryer Flag so I can go and get an order of Chicken Balls. You’ve made me hungry now!

Citizen #2: Mr. Mayor, on that subject…

Fiord: Shit. Here comes a bunch of idiotic questions from the homosexual sympathizers. What the nelly old hell do you people want? I am a very busy Mayor you know. You’re going to upset my stomach with your Homosexual platitudes.  You might even make me cry. My family hates it when you make me cry.

Citizen # 2: Mr. Mayor Do you plan to be at the Gay Pride Flag Raising.

~pause~

Mayor aside to Aide: Why the fudge didn’t you tell me that crap is about to start. Cripes,

can’t they send those sissies and Dykes back to Lesbos where they belong?

~ phart, roll, jiggle~

Aide: Mr. Mayor. It’s just a simple raising of a flag. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t mean you’re Gay or anything.

Fiord: I hope to Jesus it doesn’t. Look I don’t wanna be around those types. They make

my skin crawl leering and staring at me and this big, beefy body of mine. What if one of them made a pass at me or tried to kiss me?

Aide: Really Mr. Mayor, I don’t think that would ever…

Fiord: Ever what? Happen? You don’t think I could be attractive to the same sex?

Aide: No. No. It’s not that. It’s just…

Fiord: Never mind. I think I’m going to throw up!

Aide: So are you going to be at the Flag Raising or not?

Fiord: No Fucking Way! Tell them I have a dentist appointment or something. I am not about to spend my summer kissing a bunch of Fag’s asses when I could be sitting on mine drinking a beer and eating balls. Chicken balls I mean! Not “man balls”. So you better think of something to say or I’ll ram that flagpole up your ass!

~ phart, roll, jiggle, phart, Hah, Hah~

Aide: Mr. Mayor. Really? ~his hands are strategically placed on his hips~

Fiord: Really? What is this?

Aide: What?

Fiord: This way you’re standing with that pair of sissy hands on those pear-shaped things you call hips. Now shut the fuck up and say something to them!

Aide: ~Ahem~  In answer to your question regarding the Pride Flag Raising…ummm. Mayor Fiord is…or rather he is about to….he really feels…

Fiord: ~slaps him on the buttocks~ Get on with it little fellah! Now!

Aide: Umm. Well, Mayor Fiord has a previous engagement. This flag raising for Fryer Week is concluded. There will be no questions.

Citizen # 2: Well that figures, so we won’t see you in the Pride Parade either Mr. Mayor?

Fiord: The only thing you’ll see me at is a parade of your asses when I have you deported to Peurto Rico, where there are plenty of your types.

~ phart, roll, jiggle~

Citizen #2: But…I am not Gay.

Fiord: Right and Stephen Harper is a Catholic. Hah! Hah! Get away from me Nancy Boy!

Aide: Like I said that’s it for now folks!

ROBBLOG #422

You can’t make someone love you.

Truer words never spoken.

A wonderful friend said this to me recently and I love her for it.

She’s reached the age of maturity.

She’s wise.

She’s fun.She’s true.

She‘s battling what life has and is throwing her way and right now- she’s winning.

Most importantly she’s doing it with class. 

Love you Mrs. P. 

Funny old thing, this word love.

We love movies.

Love lemon pie.

Love summer and love special times in our lives.

What would life be without love?

Empty, I suppose.

Love can be given.

It can be taken away.

It can’t be controlled or taken lightly or unwisely. 

At times love can bite you square in the ass. You do what you think is right and good. You stand by someone. Love them and yet they forsake you and kick you out.

They have no time for you.

They are on a new journey.

You’re still on board the sinking ship looking for a rescue and they’ve sailed away in the lifeboat. 

Fuck ‘em!

That’s what I say!

They love you.

Respect you.

Appreciate you.

Give you some rope.

Some space.

Some time and then they turn around and don’t want you anymore- don’t love you anymore.

Why? 

Sometimes we just don’t know.

Times change.

Things change.

Life changes.

You believe you stay the same but in all probability, you change as well.

What can you do?

Not much.

You stay on the right path.

You walk along.

Maybe someday you’ll meet them at the crossroads of life.

Maybe not. 

I do know that our time on this earth is all too short and we need not spend the rest of our time worrying about it and wondering why.

Pull up your socks.

Bravely step forward- yes without the same love you had.

Love can be wonderful yet it can be cruel too.

It’s not love that’s cruel.

It’s the "someone" who gives it.

They forget how.

They forget why.

Their circuits go numb.

They only think about themselves. 

Love is funny that way.

ROBBLOG #421

I was sitting there minding my own business, waiting for my appointment.

The waiting room was quiet.

Very quiet.

In fact it had been extremely quiet since the moment I walked through the door.

It was as if everyone said “shusssh”!

Rob’s coming through the door.

Let’s all be quiet and freak him out just a little.

Personally, I thought my fly was open.

Nope.

Perhaps my ensemble wasn’t flattering.

No. I was matched head to toe.
Maybe I had broccoli stuck between my teeth.

Couldn’t be. I had only eaten a bagel for breakfast.

Just maybe I was the youngest person to walk through the door that afternoon.

Most of my fellow waiting room “friends” were much older.

I was staring at the floor beneath my feet, waiting for someone to break the silence.

Maybe someone would say-

“You’re such a young man Bubalah to be sitting here in an eye Doctor’s office.”

Nobody asked.

The silence continued for several minutes In fact I was beginning to wonder if any of them were breathing.

Maybe they were zombies waiting to have me for lunch.

A few more minutes passed when all of a sudden a petite older lady on my left threw out the first comment.

“So, that Bob Rae, eh?”

That’s all she said.

The woman with her said nothing. She just nodded in agreement.

A moment later a man two chairs away- on my right, piped up-

“So it looks like the MURF is done now.”

A lady on his right added-

“…after they spent all our money- which by the way could have been spent on something that would benefit the community.”

Yikes!

Tough crowd to be sure!

As she quieted down, a lady opposite blurts out:

“I hate that damned construction out on Memorial Avenue because the buses are all running late and are being detoured.”

That’s all she said.

The man who was accompanying her just flipped to another page in the magazine he was holding.

Hmmm. Maybe they were all Stepford Wives and their husbands.

Well…

Maybe.

Funny the things one hears when out and about. I guess they were all waiting for someone- anyone, to break the awkward waiting room silence.

Me?

I had heard enough.

I popped in an earpiece and tuned in Starlite Radio on my Samsung Smartphone,

effectively blocking out any more comments. After all I had heard everything I needed to hear. I was up to date:

Bob Rae says no to running for the Liberal Leadership.

The MURF- actually the recreation centre since the MURF was killed off a few years back, was a waste of money.

and-

Memorial Avenue is a mess and a good area to avoid it during the summer months until the road is widened to four lanes as it is from the Bypass to Front Street South.

Funny the stuff you hear in a waiting room once the conversation starts rolling.

ROBBLOG #420

Beware of the “wolf” in Sally Anne Clothing.

Orillia City Council granted the wish of a local chapter of the Salvation Army to put a mobile unit into a park in Orillia’s West End.

Why?

If you listen to the Sally Anne they would tell you they were there to offer cookies, milk and fruit along with support to those in need.

In the middle of middle/lower- upper class Orillia in West Ridge?

Don’t make me laugh.

The Army acknowledges they aren’t curbing world hunger with a bit of milk and a cookie but it sure sounds a heck of a lot like the 2 loaves and fishes that- as the story goes, was turned into something that resembles the dairy and bakery department today up at Wal*Mart.

Now, this week a local “youth pastor” will join the assault on West End Orillians.

Huh…

Funny.

In the articles I have read, this outreach has not been termed a ministry with a need to gather the souls of the poor and downtrodden for redemption.

However, that is exactly what it happens to be.

The Good Old Sally Anne isn’t dolling our food and drink out of the goodness of their hearts. They want your heart- and soul, in return.

It sounds nice doesn’t it? A fair trade at the very least.

This is organized religion after all, not a “good neighbour” group offering help to their community. At least if a “good neighbour” is offering milk and cookies that’s all you’d expect.

Milk and Cookies.

Maybe a smile as well.

No surprise pleas to “come and worship.”

A local “good neighbour” group is not something that requires a donation or a pledge of allegiance to a superior being.

Like those folks who shove copies of the Newest Testament into the hands of public school kids, Sally’s Army is really trolling for soles. Hmmm. Doesn’t that sound a lot like your friendly, neighbourhood hot water heater salesman? They’re out for profit too. Although,  if they tried to sell their “ideas” in a park, they would be told to move along. Now this Army under the command of  a “higher power”- although they don’t mention that fact in public, are pitching their tent in Morningstar Park at least once a week. The General of the local detachment is telling us there should be even more sinners showing up this week.

Oh goodie!!

Now I say “sinners”. The main man calls them “people”.

They are connecting with these people, this community. The more people they can rope into their deceit the more money in the collection box on Sunday.

What?

You are shocked?

C’mon. You don’t honestly believe the Army is doing this out of the goodness of their hearts? No, my Dear Readers. The bottom line is money.

It’s a “loss leader.”

Always has been and always will be.

Grab a sinner and thus grows the collection plate.

The Salvation Army has pulled some holy wool over the face of council.

I have no time for the Army because of who they are and what they believe. If they were just a community Army helping the less fortunate I’d be there to dish out cranberries onto poor folk’s plates every Christmas.

But they are not!

They deal in getting souls for their maker.

I also harbour a “distaste” for the Army because of their dealings with Gays and Lesbians. They are hard-hearted. Several years ago in Toronto at Nathan Phillips Square, one of the biggest “Sally Cheeses” rolled out un-Holy punches against Gays.

I haven’t dropped them a dime since.

I smile sweetly at the bell ringers at Christmas- yet I don’t deposit a dime. They rarely ask or solicit. Probably some law now that says they can’t ask for money.

I dunno.

Only once has someone ringing those bells asked me to deposit coin.

I said- No. I don’t agree with the stand the Army takes against the Gay Community.

I don’t remember getting a response.

All I heard was the sound of bells filling the crisp, winter air.

So, be sure about one thing.

It’s both the power and the glory and money too behind all these hidden ministries. They just don’t mention their Prophet’s name in public because it puts folks off. They would rather hover around and wait for a golden opportunity to use powerful words. They even slide their message in- if they get the chance, when your kid is munching on a cookie. Kids have to be carefully taught and sooner rather than later before they develop a mind of their own!

Ask friends who belong to organized religion just how much they pay for memberships every year. You know-

“You can’t get to Heaven without a Membership. Step right up and get yours today.”

I can’t agree with City Council allowing this to happen in Morningstar Park. What if a group of concerned citizens with milk and cookies to spare wanted to pull a van up to the park’s perimeter and serve up Milk and Mr. Christie’s- with no hidden agenda- could they?

Since the Sally Anne has been granted grazing rights, they should open up the park to every other Tom, Dick and Harriet who has an organization where they are “fishers of men, women, kids- or money!”

Aaaawhoooooo!

Another wolf!

ROBBLOG #419

Here's a little something I wrote recently. I don't know where the idea came from. Perhaps I saw a kid playing with a paddle ball and a bus rambled on by.

I don't know.

Enjoy. The story is called Herschel.

“Herschel, quite playing with your balls on the bus.”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“It’s irritating. Honestly, you could poke someone’s eye out with those things and that wood you’re holding, just leave it be!”

Mother seemed angered this morning. Herschel tried not to notice.

“Herschel!”

She was sounding a bit more gruff now.

“Herschel Lieberwitz!  Are you paying attention to me or not?”

Herschel now knew Mother meant business.

“Yes. I hear you.  Stop batting my balls and put my paddle away.”

Mother looked down at Herschel sitting beside her on the Southbound A-43 Bus. She was obviously a little puzzled by what she heard.

“What?”

“Paddle! I am putting my paddle away!”

“That’s a new one. Your Father- God rest his soul, nevah called it that but call it what you will Herschel, just put it away.”

Herschel did. He rammed it into his sack by mistake as the bus hit a bump. It hurt a bit. He had meant to put it in his backpack.

“Ouch!”

“What now Herschel?”

“Nothin’. I just rammed my wooden paddle into my private place. I meant to put it into my backpack!”

Mother looked more severe. Mrs. Ottoman was sitting opposite them on the Southbound A-43 Bus and she hoped to Heaven she hadn’t heard what this son of her’s just said.

“What kind of filthy remark is that? The words you use Herschel Leiberwitz. Sometimes I think I should was your mouth out with Oxydol.”

“Gee, my teeth would sure be white- wouldn’t they?”

“Very funny Herschel. Very funny. Now just sit up straight and be respectable.”

Herschel reached into his backpack and pulled out an all day sucker he had bought at Anderson’s Confectionary a couple of days before. He started to slurp and suck and slurp real hard.

“Now what?”

“Herschel didn’t know what to say so he said-

“What, what?”

“What is that sticking out of your mouth young man?”

“It’s my all day sucker.”

“A sucker? You are sucking on a sucker on the Southbound A-43? Hershel you are making so much noise somebody is gonna think you are sucking on something big! That’s what somebody is going to think. Slurping and smacking and slurping!”

“Maw, I can’t believe you said that. Mrs. Ottoman is starring right over here from across the aisle.”

Mrs. Ottoman was a bit red in the face but she was indeed starring.

Mother spoke.

“Whatszamattuh Flo, ain’t you nevuh seen a kid sucking on a big one before? Hershel! Stop sucking while I’m talking-do yuh hear me?... because I can hardly hear what I am saying to Mrs.Ottoman across the aisle here!”

He took one last big slurp just for good measure. Then, he stopped and stuck the sucker onto a piece of wax paper and shoved it roughly into his backpack.

Mother scowled.

“Just like your fucking father. I say no and he has to have one more slurp. That man was nevah satisfied. Do you hear me Herschel? Nevah. He was neveah satisfied!

“Allright. Allright. I heard you and now so has the entire Southbound A-43 including Mrs. Ottoman.”

“Why I oughta smack you right in your gezeldagoint. Try getting a girl to look at you twice with a swollen gezeldagoint! It won’t be easy Herschel!”

“Maw. Lower your voice. You’re getting upset over nothing. It was just a sucker. Nothing more!”

Mother folded her arms across her ample bosums.

“Well you were working that sucker like a pro. Let me tell you that much Herschel. Like a pro!”

“Maw, this is our stop. You still want to stop by Mr. Dressler’s Deli to buy those cow balls, don’t you?”

“Cowballs?”

Mother looked at Mrs. Ottoman.

“You try all you can to bring ‘em up proper like and this is what you get- A potty mouth!”

She turns to Herschel and cuffs him behind the ears.

“Owww Maw.What did ya do that for?”

“Herschel. Mr. Smartypants they are not balls they are referred to as sweatmeats and I’ll have you respect that young man. What are we doing here? Riding the gutter bus to Krackatoah East of Java? Get up!”

She turns to Mrs. Ottoman.

“Have a nice day Ida.”

She steps down from the bus into the glorious June sunshine. Herschel follows a few steps behind her with his hands down the front of his pants.

The doors close and the Southbound A-43 continues along.

ROBBLOG #418

28,763.

That’s the number of times that someone says “no” in one day-

in Orillia. Here are five of them…

“Mum- can I go to Billy’s place?”

“No. Billy is funny and I don’t want you around him.”

“Funny? How so, Mum? ”

“You know very well how so! Billy’s a little faggot and I don’t need him trying to sodomize you!”

“Mum!!!”

“No!!! and that’s final!”

“John, you know that you can’t have sex with your fiancé until you are married?

“Oh, come on now Father Peter!”

“The answer is no John. You and Miriam cannot have intercourse until you are married.”

“So you’re telling me I can only pleasure myself Father?”

“No. You can’t do that either John. You’ll burn in the fires of Hell if you touch that cock of yours!”

“That’s just Shit!”

“No. That’s a sin”

“I tried this on and it doesn’t fit. I would like to return it please.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No you cannot return this garment?”

“Why not?”

“Why not?? Because it’s underwear, sir. An undergarment cannot be returned.”

“What? That’s stupid. What about socks?”

“No!”

“Swimwear?”

“Perhaps, if the swimwear was tried on- with an undergarment.”

“How do you know when someone goes into that change room over there that they leave their underwear on or an even more dubious situation- if they take the Speedos home and try them on there- without underwear?”

“Sir, we have to believe that the customer wore the proper apparel beneath the swim suit.”

“Well then…I had underwear on when I wore this garment.”

“You. Did. Not. “

“How would you know?”

“There are skid marks on the crotch.”

“What??”

“Look. Skid marks on the crotch. You have worn this underwear Sir.”

‘Well, it seems it’s your word against mine.”

“Yes and my word is no! Now take your soiled undergarment and be gone. Good Day Sir!”

“Good day for you perhaps but not for me.”

“Stay for a hamburger, will you?”

“I appreciate the invitation but no. No thank you.”

“Oh.”

“Nothing personal. I’m a Vegan.”

“I thought you were Polish.”

“No, I am not Polish. I just don’t eat meat. I am a Vegan.”

“I see. I didn’t know that. Do you eat chicken?”

“No. Not even chicken.”

“Tofu?”

“Tofu is not meat but yes I do eat Tofu now and then. Do you?”

“Me? No! Never! I am a true meat-eater.”

“A personal choice?”

“No. I don’t think so. I just like meat.“

“I won’t force you to eat Tofu then.”

“That’s good.”

“No, things like food shouldn’t be forced on people. It should just be a personal decision. Like kids and religion, kids have to be carefully taught and if they are taught early enough they don’t have a chance to think any other way.”

“So, Vegans are religious?”

“Some are. Some are not.”

“You?”

“I have to go now. Bye.”

“Next time, I’ll have Tofu burgers.”

“Thanks.”

“Mommy, can I have an ice cream cone?

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’ll spoil your dinner.”