ROBBLOG #430

What a sad sight.

A racoon huddling in a corner of a long narrow cage.

All alone.

Frightened.

Eyes as big as pancakes.

He was being transported out of someone’s house and yard to a new home in the country.

It broke my heart.

His eyes were absolutely pleading with me.

He looked like he was about to cry- and so was I.

Why am I looking at a racoon in a cage?

Because we had to have TK Pest control come by the house to set a trap for another wild thing- a skunk. Twenty years at this house and we have never had a problem with skunk, racoon squirrel or chipmunk. The racoon had been trapped earlier in the afternoon, stripped of his animal freedom- for a while at least.

The skunk that has been haunting our property sprayed our Schnauzer on Sunday.

She brought the smell into the house and we can’t get rid of it. We have been down on our knees smelling carpets, floors and furniture for two days and can’t find the spot we missed where the odour de Pepe LePue is coming from.

We may have Pepe in a cage in the next few hours. Hopefully, alone. The nice man from TK said it could be a mother skunk about to give birth.

Imaginary superior being- help us!

Two years back, a next door neighbour had 9 skunks pulled from beneath a garden shed. The removal process was so expensive for our “Senior Neighbours”, my hubbie Tom went around the neighbourhood collecting money to help them offset the cost.

I believe the animals are just getting smarter and breeding more within City Limits. We are overrun. I hate being wakened to the smell of skunk at 315 a.m. You can taste the pungent odour on your tongue.

Feel it on your face.

It clings to fabrics and carpets.

So, we’ll see what transpires.

UPDATE

Yesterday we didn’t see a skunk but had 3 racoons in two cages. You see, the day before we moved our cage to the neighbours- that’s the neighbour who had 9 skunks a couple of years back. Another neighbour had their dog “skunked” at 1030 in the morning. They saw a mother skunk herding her 5 babies under the neighbour’s shed- the neighbour with the 9 skunks two years ago?

Are you following this?

Anyway, we concentrated our efforts there, hence 3 adorable baby racoons.

Frightened in cages.

We released them.

They had chowed down on two tins of Sardines.

We re-set the cages.

Now this morning the cages are empty.

Mrs. Skunk must have realized we humans were a big pain in the neck.

The racoons too looked for food in other places.

Maybe the big bins out the back door at McDonalds.

Good Gosh!

I thought Scientology and Jehovahisim was hard to get your head around.

I mean aliens within us?

Dragging old people to your front door to get them into Heaven- or at least rob them of their money.

Disgusting.

Look. We are immortal in a sense.

That I believe.

Nothing religious. Nothing Jesus-like.

It’s just simple.

We continue another “existence” after this earthly one.

Just makes sense.

Skunks and their odour?

Now that doesn’t make sense. I mean they are cute as a puddy tat but really, do something about your body odour kids!

ROBLOG #429

My Darling Readers. Here’s a little story of Pride. It gets a little descriptive so if you are a little old lady who wouldn’t say shit if your mouth were full of it… well, just be forewarned as opposed to foreskined.

That is all…

Rod- the Maître’ D, clad in tight black shorts, matching flip-flops and no shirt, seated us on the patio at Café Okanagan.

“Tony will be you in a just a second girls!”

He spun around and trolled back to the lineup at the front of the café.

It was sunny as only the Okanagan can be. Umbrella’s fluttering in the breeze making it quite comfortable. A pie-shaped bit of shade fell across one side of the table. We had a great view of the Pride Festival right in front of us on Church Street. Muscle-Gods, flags, Fags, Queens, Leather Boys, topless Lesbians and straight folk.

It’s the straight folk who come to gop and stare. Some of them were at the parade earlier in the afternoon but most come to the village in the early evening. Straight men grab on tight to their girlfriends- just in case they are perceived as being Gay- even for just a minute.

Across the way from the patio- outside Priape a Gay Store, blonde, straight girls in designer shades ogle the Priape Boy’s semi-naked bodies. Wearing just underwear, the boys allow the blondes to have their pictures taken with each of them. The gals push polished index fingers into muscular pectorals and giggle all the while. The boy’s tit’s flex and their stomach muscles undulate in the hot summer sun. To our left, across the way from Priape, even more straight gals vie for position with the half-naked, gloriously-muscled men of Trojan Condoms.

I mean a Fag hasn’t got a chance!

Honestly!

On the crowded street in front of the Café Okanagan, Italian men shove their wives aside so they can stare at bare-breasted Lesbians.

Why?

I don’t know.

We settle ourselves in and Tony comes by all smiles and flirty.

“Hello Boys! What’ll it be? Besides me- of course!!”

We all laugh.

“A Strawberry Daiquiri for me and an iced tea for him. I point to my husband on the opposite side of the table.”

“Back in a jiff!”- says Tony as he sashays away.

What a beautiful day,

What fun!

Then, it happened.

The two boys at the table next to us pull out their Players (Players? Who the fuck smokes players beside a hydro lineman or a fisherman at Peggy’s Cove?) and light up.

Shit!

I smiled across at the younger of the two.

“Happy Pride!”- I said sweetly enough.”

I paused. He smiled back and mumbled- “Hpyrd Pdiepe.”

Gee thanks. For the warm wishes.

A cloud of second-hand, nicotine-laced smoke drifts across my face.

I glance at the younger of the two and say-

“Dear, do you know that smoking those things favours your semen?”

“What?”

Nice comeback youngster.

I tried again. “Do you know when you smoke, your semen- your “gism” is flavoured with nicotine?”

He takes another puff. His “companion” turns to me as well- “what’s that?”

“I say, do you know your semen…oh what the hell…Your fucking cum tastes like an ashtray when you smoke those cancer sticks. Of course how would you know when you are both so addicted? Funny, neither of you look like addicts to me!”

“No way!” They reply, obviously not believing me – or not wanting to.

“Way!”

What else could I say?

“How do you know?” –he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Look cutie, just take it from me. Your “gism” is tainted. Even for female smokers. I knew of a gal once- a beefy kind of gal, who kept smoking through her pregnancy. After the child was born she was breast feeding one day when the baby took a break from her teat. The poor wee thing had to burp!

It smelled like cigarette smoke!”

Their mouths dropped.

“What? The fuck you say!”

“Yes!” I continued in copy-cat style, “The Fuck I do say!”

“That’s gross”- says the younger of the two men.

“I know!”- I added re-assuredly wanting to hug the younger of the two to my heaving bosom, while lightly patting his head telling him things would be just fine.

 “So why not fling those things away and cum clean- if you get my drift!”

“Oh! No worries.”

There was a pause.

“I only smoke during Pride.”

A passing Drag Queen overheard.

She stops, leans over the table and says- “Girlfriends, I only smoke after sex and I don’t mean on a cigarette!”

She throws her head back laughing loudly and teeters along on 7 inch heels.

“Byeee!- she says over a delicate, white shoulder.

I too paused for a moment and with a lovely Gay lilt to my voice, I turn to the boys and I say- “How nice for you. Well, you’re fine then. Never mind.”

I turn to my frosty, pink drink.

I take a long sip looking up to smile at my husband who had been listening intently.

“Nice try!”- He says.

ROBBLOG #428

A Spelling Lesson today.

S: Is for the smog that surrounds us on Hot, Humid Days.

U: Is for an umbrella, strategically placed over a bright, yellow Muskoka Chair.

M: Is for Mango Salad at the Thai Plate Restaurant on Memorial Avenue, in Orillia.

M: Is for Martinis, shaken not stirred.

E: Is for early evening strolls along the lake.

R: is for riding your bike along shaded paths.

T: Is for trips to Dairy Queen for a Peanut Buster Parfait.

Dairy Queen or Pride Parade Queen?

I: Is for isolated showers that cool us down and keep our lawns green and lush.

M: Is for music from the 60’s, thumping from the speakers of a 66 Chevy.

E: Is for the Exhibition- a summer highlight each and every year.

Put them all together they spell S U M M E R T I M E in Canada.

Does it get any better?

I don’t believe it does…

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.