ROBBLOG #535

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead…

 

So, Pauline has gone up, up, up in a puff of smoke and her party right along with her.

That’s Good!

The best news ever since the snow started to melt and the temperature crawled above plus one.

However, like all good losers, she just can’t bow out- or burn up, gracefully, she has to get in one more dig namely- “Quebec will be a country one way of the other ~ sob, cry, sob, sniff, sob~ because our language is our culture!”

 

Piffle and le poppycock.

 

Quebec is a sum of its parts and one of its biggest parts being the fact it is a province in a country called Canada.

You’re crying Crocodile tears Pauley Darling but it’s too late to buy you a single, soggy note. So enjoy your pension stuffed with all those terrific Canadian Dollars and fly off to Florida with a carton of Export A under one arm and a case of Pepsi under the other.

Pardon?

Quoi?

Isn’t that’s a terrible thing to say- vous dites?

Anti-Quebec you say?

Non.

It’s just part of Quebec “culture”- like the Quebecois language, as seen through the eyes of Canadians living outside Quebec.

Hmmm. Maybe what you really need is an image consultant both for yourself and the Province.

 

So, gather up the twigs.

Get some rope and a box of matches- figuratively speaking of course, while we strike one for the future of Quebec and Canada.

 

Next on the agenda is seeing Justin Trudeau – a Quebecer, back in the PM’s office in Centre Block and all will be right with the world. We will even be able to go on vacation knowing the country is in good hands. How we managed to endure the past eight or so years without going to hell in a hand basket is beyond me. I guess the checks and balances that are firmly in place have kept this wonderful country of ours on the straight and narrow.

 

Just ask Mike Duffy all about that…

ROBBLOG #534

 

This could be a Happy Story for Easter...or maybe not.

Flopsy, Mopsy and Florence were three of the cutest little bunnies you would ever want to lay your eyes upon- and they couldn’t be happier.

Happy?

Happy in what way- you ask?

Why “happy” that it was springtime of course.

They were happy too that the sun was shining brightly and it was very warm.

They were happy that the green grass was so lush and soft and tasty. 

“Hey!” says Florence-“ What do you two kids want to do today?”

“I know! I know!” says Mopsy “Why don’t we run down to the creek. The new marsh grass looks so sweet and tasty.

“Naw!”- Flopsy screamed, “Let’s go down to Farmer Brown’s barnyard and eat some fresh clover growing next to the big barn door.”

“That sounds good to me.”- chimed in Mopsy.

“Me too!” says Flopsy.

“That makes three!” laughs Florence.

 

 

By now all three bunnies were laughing and giggling and slapping one another playfully on the bunny bum.

“I’ll tell Mother we are going exploring” says Florence and off she ran to the Stump House where they lived, to tell Mother of their plans.

Flopsy and Mopsy rolled in the grass waiting for Florence to return. They giggled and laughed even more.

In a couple of minutes Florence returned.

“Mother says it’s okay as long as we’re not late for lunch!” 

More giggling ensued as off they ran over the rise near their Big Stump home in the big meadow. They rolled down the hill towards the stream and crossed its fast-running water by scurrying along the trunk of a fallen tree that took them safely to the other side. 

A few minutes later they arrived at Farmer Brown’s barnyard. The three bunnies peered through the wooden fence surrounding the yard.

“There! Over there! There’s the clover right next to the door of the big red barn!”-cried Florence.

“Yummy. I can taste it already!”- screamed Mopsy.

“What fun!”- added Flopsy.

The three bunnies wiggled through the slats of the fence and scampered straight to the fresh clover growing next to the barn wall just to the right of the big wooden door. 

The bunnies ate heartily and giggled in between munching on luscious clumps of green clover.

Meanwhile, inside the cozy barn, Farmer Brown had just finished harnessing Peggy- his prized Clydesdale. He led Peggy to the barn door flinging it wide open, allowing the bright, warm sunshine to flow inside. As the door swung open on it’s gigantic, iron hinges it slapped heavily and hard against the barn’s wall, right where Flopsy, Mopsy and Florence were nibbling away on the fresh green clover. 

S M U C K. 

Now, I know of three, cute little bunnies that will never be home in time for lunch today or any day from this day forward.

 

 

 

 

 

ROBBLOG #533

Just Another Day on Bleeker Street

 

It’s a sunny, spring afternoon. A Tuesday, just past 145PM

 

Jane: Blanche, will ya just look at this?

 

Blanche: What? What is it Jane Dear? You sound upset.

 

Jane: ~puff~ puff~ Just look at this big fellah here in the picture barring his ass to the Queen.

 

Blanche: Say what, Jane Dear?

 

Jane: Here. ~puff, drag~ Look here.

 

Blanche: ~shuffles paper~ Now, let me see.

 

(pause)

 

Blanche: Oh My yes! That Beefy young man is showing his…~ahem~… bare buttocks..

 

Jane: What the (^%^ are you talking about Blanche? He’s flashing his big, bare ass!

 

Blanche: Well..it…he’s…ummmm…

 

Jane: And showing his ass to the Queen. Where’s the $%#@& respect Blanche?

 

 

Blanche: Now, Jane Dear, if you look closer you’ll see it’s not the Queen. It’s Kate…

 

Jane: Kate smate. Look at that big, disgusting, hairy thing! Look there’s writing all over it too. Probably a code of some kind.

 

Blanche: Now just settle yourself down Jane. It’s Kate the Dutchess not Queen Elizabeth and yes his behind is bare but as you can see he has covered up his front bits. It’s a costume the Maoris wear in New Zealand. He was probably dancing for her and now is just saying hello.

 

Jane: ~puff, puff~ Huh! Well, what if he didn’t wash his hands after touching his stained ass or after shoving his great big manpaws down the front of that costume- as you call it, then goes and shakes her hand. It’s still %$#&*& disgusting.

 

Blanche: ~giggle~ Yes, I suppose it could happen but I am very sure officials would make sure something like that would never happen.

 

Jane: ~puff, puff~ Well Blanche, all the same it’s disgusting. (pause) Blanche?

 

Blanche: Yes Jane?

 

Jane: I’m hungry for a big ole slab of honey ham tonight for supper. What about you?

 

Blanche: Um…I think I’ll pass. How about we order in Chinese?

 

Jane: ~drag, puff~ whatever the &%$# you think Blanche. I’ll go look for the chopsticks!

 

 

ROBBLOG #532

We have a new addition at Pine Tree House- an 8 week and a few days old mini-Schnauzer.

 

We had a weak moment last Friday.

You see, the week before we had been seriously looking at a 7 year old yellow lab at the Orillia SPCA. We had walked him a few times and even introduced him to our 9 year old Schnauzer Missy. On St. Patrick’s Day, were in the process of taking him home for a visit to see if he meshed with our orange cats- Dickens and Doyle.

We had no prior history of the fellah. Someone had dumped him off in the middle of the night in a dog run behind the shelter. An old blanket had been thrown in to the enclosure for him to lay on.

Nice eh?

 

As I loaded him into the van, he whipped around and grabbed hold of my arm and he wouldn’t let go. He reminded me of Cujo, the Stephen King dog gone wrong. He held me for 15 or 20 seconds, biting through my leather coat, a sweater and right into my right wrist. He wasn’t about to let my arm go. Gathering my thoughts quickly, I talked to him quietly and re-assuredly and he soon released my arm. His tail began to wag again and his beautiful eyes twinkled once more.

Problem was, we couldn’t adopt him because we wouldn’t be able to trust him.

It was sad.

 

Move forward to Friday.

Previous breeders of Schnauzers had told us it was a joy to have two Schnauzers in a household. We had never been in a position to have two, since we had our yellow lab Kiki in residence. Our beautiful Kiki passed last August at 17 years of age. Remembering that, I looked online and found Schnauzer puppies were available approximately a 40 minute drive from our house. I called and made an appointment and a couple of hours later- after breakfast, Tom and I found ourselves laying on a chocolate-coloured hardwood floor with four Schnauzer puppies madly running circles around us.

 

We chose a silver-coloured young lady and by late afternoon we had her home with us introducing the rest of our family to her. It’s been a busy few days over the weekend but she is coming along nicely and already peeing and pooping- as puppies do, outside! We have named her Koko- the “double K’s” in memory of our sweet Kiki. We try to link new pet’s names to

Pets who have passed on,  keeping their memory alive.

 

 

 

So morning feedings are busy. Before I sat down to write this ROBBLOG this is the process I went through. I call it Morning Breakfast Prep at Pine Tree House.

 

Morning Breakfast Prep at Pine Tree House

 

Ingredients

 

1 Schnauzer- 9 yrs old- Missy by name 

2 cats- Dickens and Doyle 

3 plastic containers of assorted food 

4 bowls on counter

Additional ingredient- one new mini-schnauzer, Koko by name.

 

Take one new arrival- an 8 week old mini-schnauzer Koko.

Add 1/2 cup of puppy food to one bowl.

For cats, add measured amounts of soft cat food and hard kibble into two bowls.

Do not mix.

Take 4th bowl and add senior dog food to bowl. Snap vegetable treat in half and place on top

of food.

 

At serving time add 2 two bowls for H2O- Washed and re-filled with fresh Britta.

 

Place each bowl in separate, pre-determined locations throughout dining room,

kitchen and family room.

Serving suggestion: Place bowl for new schnauzer in kennel. Place puppy inside and close and latch door.

 

Sit back and have a well-deserved coffee.

 

ROBBLOG #531

Dear Province of Quebec and Pauline Marois- Dictator,

 

Look, I’ll keep this simple Pauly.

 

If you want to go- leave Canada I mean, just do it and be done with it.

Get the hell out!

 

Like many English Canadians I have had enough. I have listened to the whining from your province for decades and before that through the history books.

 

Keep your language and make your country. I prefer France anyway and your invite to have Canadians visit once you separate is the last thing either I or my fellow English Canadians would consider doing.

Ever.

That means for all time.

Get it?

 

Begone.

Get out.

Close the door and turn out the lights.

 

I don’t want to hear the whys, wherefores and poor, poor us/me and my/our French language and Culture.

Did I mention I would rather visit France- Paris in particular anyway?

 

Keep being the dictator Pauline. Have your language police continue to hunt down those conspiring English bastards who dare use English Language signs for decoration in their place of business or online on their Facebook Page.

I thumb my nose at you and spit in your general direction.

 

Yes, I am one of the “henglish people” you want to get away from.

You have my permission to go.

I used to support your individuality and Culture but not any more.

I am tired of it.

Every last bit of it.

 

If I could, I’d slice a knife down your provincial borders and fling you into the Atlantic.

I’d set you free.

Set you adrift.

Then I’d build a fence.

A big fence to keep you out.

 

So, go my French children for the rest of Canada doesn’t care anymore. We have bigger fish to fry.

I’m sure we can come up with something just as good as poutine.

 

Frig off.

Shut the Hell up and get out of here.

 

There.

I am done.

Can’t make it any clearer than that- can I?

 

Oh. A couple of small things before you close the border.

 

Hand in your passports.

Give us back our money. Print your own or use Monopoly cash- whatever.

I mean why would you want Liz – an English Queen, on your money anyway?

Let all the Henglish out first your Grande Dictatorship

and then if I haven’t been clear enough already and in the nicest possible, English Canadian way-

Shut the Fuck up!

 

Regards and the best of luck,

 

Rob

An Henglish purr-sun.

 

 

 

ROBBLOG #530

A little story not for the faint of heart, the prudish or the exceptionally young...

 

Jarrod awoke.

He yawned as he stretched his bulky frame across the bed. He had a huge grin on his face.

His junk was firm.

Jarrod loved mornings.

 

Jarrod knew he had just come out of a dream. In the dream he had been tied- shirtless to a tree, deep in a forest of tall palms. Strange creatures with long tongues and bulging eyes surrounded him, taunting him with wooden sticks. The strangers had poked tenderly at his chest and arms all the while keeping him strapped to the tree.

 

“Cripes. What a dream that was! Last time I eat chicken balls after nine.”- he thought, “However, I did look real good tied to that tree.”

He was proud of the musculature of his six foot body.

 

Jarrod glanced at the clock on his bedside table.

8:15.

 

He needed a coffee. Slipping into the track shorts he had thrown on the floor next to his bed, Jarrod lumbered to his kitchen. He measured the Arabica coffee and placed it into the filter of his coffee machine that sat on the kitchen counter beneath the cupboards that held a vast assortment of coffee cups. The cups came from many of the places where he had travelled to over the years.

 

Turning towards the kitchen door, he opened it and let the warm morning air filter through the screen. He would take his coffee out onto the deck as he usually did and have a think about life.

Grabbing a special cup he had bought two years ago in Tahiti, Jarrod poured in some fresh, homogenized milk and filled the cup to the brim with hot coffee. Taking a sip he spoke out loud

“Ahhh. The first sip of the first cup is the best of the day. Damn that’s good!”

Jarrod pushed through the screen door to the patio, flopping his lanky frame down onto his favourite lounger.

 

The morning sun stroked his buff skin. It felt warm and safe. His golden chest hair glimmered in the lightness. He took another sip and looked out across the ocean in front of him. He had always wanted a spot right on the ocean with a beach literally a stone’s throw away. Winning the lottery a short year ago enabled him to do just that.

Life was indeed grand.

He was comfortable both in his skin and in his world.

 

“Morning Mr. J.”

It was Pablo the gardener and all round handyman. Jarrod hired Pablo about a half year ago when looking after the huge beachfront property himself became a daunting job. Pablo was a great guy and Jarrod knew he was lucky to have him in his employ.

 

“Morning Pab. How’s it shakin’ today?”

 

“Oh, real fine Mr. J. Beautiful morning, eh?”

 

“Sure is. Hey, there’s coffee in the kitchen. Fresh just 5 minutes ago. Help yourself as usual.”

 

“Thanks Mr. J- I will.”

 

Pablo crossed the patio and disappeared into the kitchen.

 

“Muffins are on the table in the red tin! Come on back and sit with me. This is just too nice a morning to waste!”

 

“I see ‘em Mr. J. Thanks!”

 

Jarrod settled back down to his warm morning thoughts and coffee.

He could smell the ocean.

 

As he lie there, eyes gently closed, he felt something tighten around his ankles and across his broad chest. Opening his eyes he could see two shapes standing at his feet, silhouetted against the sun. He also saw a rope had been lashed across his chest as well as around both ankles.

A third shape grabbed him from behind and threw him over broad shoulders. His coffee cup flew across the yard landing next to a yucca plant in the far corner.

 

Jarrod was transported by these three strange shapes across his property and down the dirt road behind his house.

They never spoke.

Suddenly he felt a sharp zap to his right shoulder and he was out.

 

When he awoke, Jarrod found himself tied to a tree in the midst of a tall forest of tropical pines being poked by a dozen or more shapes with long tongues and bulging eyes. Each held a wooden stick firmly in their grasp. The tree bark felt rough against his skin. Ropes were tied securely around his upper body.

 

“Oh. My God! Like in my dream! This can’t be! Who are you people? What are you?”

The shapes did not speak, although they snorted- just a little.

 

He was being poked.

Jarrod looked around him.  A dozen or so shapes stood a few feet away from him, holding wooden sticks. Some long. Some, much shorter.

A few shapes poked sticks at his chest. One shoved and prodded a large stick at his bare feet and legs. Another jabbed a wooden stick- gently, at his stomach. Still, two others with longer, larger Y-shaped sticks, jabbed and poked at his privates.

 

 

For the most part, the shapes were silent- except for the occasional snort, as they jabbed and prodded every inch of his firm, tanned body. Their tongues hung loosely from the edges of their salivating mouths. Big eyes darted back and forth as they poked and prodded Jarrod some more.

The shapes seemed happy and content. They also seemed harmless.

 

Jarrod tried to relax, yet the more he tried the more he stiffened.

“No! Not now! Not here!”- he shouted out loud but it was too late.

 

 

Jarrod had to admit all this prodding and poking felt rather good although he couldn’t understand why the shapes were doing this to him.

What seemed like an hour later,  the poking still continued.

 

Meanwhile back at the house Pablo called out to Jarrod through the door screen-

“Be there in just a second Mr. J, I’m warming my muffin in the microwave.”

 

The morning sun sparkled on the ocean as the surf gently caressed the sandy shore.

 

 

 

 

ROBBLOG #529

Recently, I was asked if I would return to the Terrestrial airwaves if I had the chance.

 

My answer.

It would depend.

No weekends.

Middays would be best and of course I would have to enjoy the music I am playing.

 

Hey, I am not asking for much.

It would be fun being at an FM station again but it would also take away a lot of freedom I currently enjoy both with my free time and with my own online stations Swisssh and Starlite. I would also expect that a Terrestrial company wouldn’t be too happy with me operating two stations- even though my stations are technically quite different from AM/FM stations, as well as the fact they reach a world-wide audience.

 

 

 

It would be something to think about.

Of course, I would have to have a bunch of fun too.

That goes without saying.

However, I don’t see that day arriving or me even being asked to return to FM Radio.

For one thing, I think I am past my date of expiration.

I wouldn’t get paid enough. Probably just minimum wage and I could find myself filling in for vacationing full-timers.

Been there.

Done that.

 

Again, it would be something to think about.

 

Radio Broadcasting has changed so much. Consultants and greedy managers have done that. Few stations care about the listener anymore- although they would say they still do. Consultants- for the big Broadcasting Companies tell stations what audiences want and in turn tell a station what to play and how to go about it. Sure, there are still small stations in small markets that do the job that radio started doing decades ago. Today that seems to be the domain of community stations.

We could use a community station here in Central Ontario- Orillia specifically.

The Holier-than-Thou CRTC up in Ottawa usually grants Community operations licences when everything on the application is in order- or so I’ve heard. An online operation in Huntsville was recently granted a spot on the FM dial. They hope to be on-air come the spring.

 

 

A friend of mine- Don Andrews, does a morning radio show from his home studio in Scarborough Monday through Friday mornings and it is currently picked up by two stations- no not Swisssh or Starlite. He had hoped to have a network of stations pick up his show but that hasn’t happened- yet. Don’s on air from 9 to noon (ET) and his programme on “Studio B” (Google Studio B) is very entertaining- even though he currently gears it towards an American audience since the station in California that picks his show up has a larger audience that it’s Canadian Counterpart.

Why?

I don’t know but maybe it's because Canadians lag behind both the UK and the US when it comes to listening to Online Radio stations. As well, there are thousands to choose from. Maybe that’s a problem- too much choice.

I did a survey recently. One of the questions asked if Data plan usage was a concern. The Radio Survey found that data plans are not a Canadian concern.

 

I guess I’d also like to know why and how a broadcaster such as John Tesh gets his mediocre radio show on so many stations both here in Canada and abroad. A team of writers script his breaks- which for the most part are all survey-based. It’s true, bringing in this red-blooded American to pretend he’s actually a part of a Canadian radio station is cost-effective however, Don Andrews and his Studio B would present a better radio programme and live too- not voice tracked (meaning  previously recorded), like Mr. Tesh. Don’s mid-morning show is competitively priced too meaning he won’t get rich soon- unless he has thousand stations picking up the Studio B feed. I’m sure he’d do an evening feed- if the money was right.

 

If you’re a radio person reading this, please consider Mr. Andrews and his show. It’s an eclectic mix of tunes strung together with Don’s engaging, down to earth, on-air personality.

Maybe too, one fine day Don will be able to be a Broadcaster who can speak of world-wide events instead of pandering to the Yanks who- we are told, get confused if topics are “off American” and of little concern to the day to day lives of Americans. That being said, I can tell you right now Swisssh Radio has more Americans listening that any other country in the world and I don’t change Swisssh- or Starlite to sound more American. Listeners tell me they just like the sound of a radio station providing music and entertainment to its listeners.

 

I have never had an e-mail from a listener south of the border asking for Swisssh to be more American. I’ve never had a German listener asking Swisssh to be more German either. Swisssh and Starlite are an entity onto themselves and I for one applaud them for that wholeheartedly.

 

And that Dear Readers is what it’s all about.