Heidi now lives a life of glory with Rachelle’s parents about an hour north of Toronto. Today I have given the Blog over to her:

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2016 very big year for Heidi.

Heidi no cat, so Heidi tell you the truth.

Heidi think she was depressed last year. Just lay around in old den with SHITTIEST PACK IN THE WORLD feeling angry. Heidi not in a good place. You know story about frog and pot of water? If frog put in boiling water it jump out. If frog placed in warm water it happy. Frog swim about! Then water slowly get hotter and hotter until frog boil to death! Change was so gradual, little frog didn’t even notice it was dying!! Heidi was that frog.

Big time.

In Heidi new, amazing life, Heidi have boat. Heidi lookout, always barking at enemies of boat! Heidi have all sorts of parties on boat, too—so much fun!! Heidi supermodel on billionaire yacht! Heidi have lots of sex. Country sex WAY better than city sex!!

Heidi also go on adventure in woods. One day Heidi see owl swoop from sky and take mouse! So terrible, yet so beautiful! Heidi run at night on cool wet grass, smell moonlight. Heidi wise now. Also lose two pounds and look AMAZING. Now have 2 million followers on Instagram! All the colours in the Heidi rainbow now shine!

How Heidi escape path of death and move to palace of glory? It so easy! Heidi simply bite baby in face!! That Heidi first and last rule for success.

BITE.
BABY.
FACE.

Sometimes Heidi think about old pack. Follows them on social media to watch as they spiral into hopelessness. Old, smell clothes in background of every picture. Look so tired and sick. They frogs in boiling water! Sad.

2016 also see Donald Trump rise to power. So what if Trump can’t read, Heidi can’t read either, and Heidi super fantastic!

Progressive elite know-nothings. Live in concrete boxes. Put sweaters on dogs. Keep dogs on LEASHES. Don’t understand how real world works. Heidi say build wall around them and their identity politics, then drop big bombs until all dead frogs!!!

Heidi sad about a few things in 2016 though.

Muhammed Ali die.

He float like a butterfly.

David Bowie die.

He was diamond dog.

Carrie Fisher die.

Princess Leia drown in moonlight and become constellation.

Rob Ford die.

He big dawg.

Leonard Cohen die.

He bird on a wire.

Heidi like to bark at bird on a wire, but sometimes Heidi feel like one, too.

Heidi advice for new year?

Bite baby face.

Know you want to.

Just do it. Good things will happen.

His pitches were comets from distant and never imagined galaxies. They were rockets, they were bombs, they were terrifying, curving flourishes that made you think you were watching the astonishing dazzle of an alien technology. It was a new kind of physics, one that allowed him to perform stunning feats that lifted us from our lousy, mortal shells,.

He was a blazing fire, a goddamned Demi-God.

Fernandez died in a boating accident on Sunday at the age of 24.

( This is a photograph of Dee Gordon, Jose Fernandez’s teammate. Gordon is known for his speed, not his power, and he is so thin and little that he truly looks like a child out there amongst the gigantic professional athletes. On the first game back after his friend’s death, in his first at bat, he hit a home run, and as he circled the bases he wept like a boy. As he said later in an interview, “I ain’t never hit a ball that far, even in batting practice. I told the boys, ‘If you all don’t believe in God, you better start.’ For that to happen today, we had some help.”)

Three times, Jose attempted to defect from Cuba to the US unsuccessfully, and after each failed attempt he was put in prison where, still a boy, he shared space with hard and dangerous men. In 2007, at the age of 15, he made the crossing successfully, but not before somebody on his boat was washed overboard. Fernandez, operating on the pure instinct of a boy that age, when right and wrong seem clear, and your body, your entire life, is still radiant and unlimited, dove into the night waters to save the person. He had no idea who had been swept into the ocean, and with each stroke he took, an eight-foot wave grabbed him, lifting him up into the shifting darkness above, before splashing down and submerging him again. The person, somewhere before him, bobbing in and out of sight, was his mother. He got to her, told her to hold tight to his left shoulder, asked her not to push down, and slowly swam her back to the boat.

Imagine that.

Imagine doing something so great with your life.

His baseball career was short and beautiful and joyous. It was something to behold, each start an event I got excited for, anticipating it the same way some other people might anticipate a new Game of Thrones episode or a Bruce Springsteen concert.

He was, in a word, awesome, and his death was a tragedy for the communities he lived amongst, and even beyond, even to a 50 year-old white guy living in Toronto who found himself trying to explain to his wife why he’s crying about the death of some pitcher on his fantasy baseball team.

The boat Fernandez was on the night of his death was traveling around 55-60 mph. He was with two of his friends, both around his age, and it was late. It would have been dark, black even– nothing but the feel of water beneath and sky above. Everything beautiful, the wind and spray and stars in his face, infinity spreading out in all directions…And Jose Fernandez, soon to be a father, moving into the future with such velocity, confidence and hard earned momentum… And then the boat hit a rock jetty and all three of the men died on impact.

Just like that.

They would not have known what had happened.

Our lives are so brief.

We’re all speeding through the dark, the beautiful and the damned, alike, each one of us luckier and more vulnerable than we could ever imagine.

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Rachelle: Pickle, I’m afraid we’re going to have to make some sacrifices in order to afford some help looking after Jones.

Rachelle: Well, I’ll be going back to work in the fall, and unless you think you can look after Jones on your own, we’re going to need somebody to help.

Rachelle: No.

Rachelle: No, I’m positive.

Rachelle: I can’t take Jones in to work with me.

Rachelle: For a million fucking reasons, okay?

Rachelle: Look, I’ve crunched some numbers and you’re going to have to get rid of your subscription to the Baseball Channel

and stop ordering lunch from Uber Eats each day.

Rachelle: Sigh.

Rachelle: I am not “busting your balls.”

Rachelle: Yes, you probably will starve.

Rachelle: It will be tragic, especially after all you’ve gone through, but at least there will be Jones to carry on.

Rachelle: I’ll make sure he knows of his father’s sacrifice, how you stopped watching baseball 8 hours a day and eating restaurant lunches so that you could afford to pay somebody else to look after him.

Rachelle: Look, I’m not harsh, just a truth teller. You knew that when you married me.

Rachelle: I don’t understand.

Rachelle: What’s a “side hustle?”

Rachelle: Oh, so it’s like a job, but it’s usually illegal, and you only do it when you want?

Rachelle: Why yes, that does sound like a perfect solution to our problems! What will your side hustle be?

Rachelle: Ikea Furniture Builder???

Rachelle: So, you would go to homes and personally assemble their furniture??

Rachelle: That is my favourite thing ever.

Rachelle: Yes, it’s even better than naming a ship Boaty McBoat Face.

Rachelle: So, just curious, how would you get to these homes?

Rachelle: Uber, of course.

Rachelle: Imagine, if you had a driver’s license you could actually be an Uber driver!

Rachelle: Yes, if you passed the security screening.

Rachelle: I know you have a “past,” ran with a tough crowd in junior high. It’s that edge I love, Pickle.

Rachelle: But let’s get back to your side hustle. Once you get to your “client,” how would you assemble the furniture?

Rachelle: Yes, I’m sure you would figure it out. Lots of evidence to support that.

Rachelle: You have a very good mind for all things mechanical.

Rachelle: You did a beautiful job on the crib, for instance.

Rachelle: Yes, it was as much a sculpture as anything else. As you say, Living Art.

Rachelle: But look, you could just get a job, a job could be your “side-hustle.”

Rachelle: You could work in a food court or maybe a discount shoe store.

Rachelle: The Bulk Barn, maybe? You might get a deal on nuts, that would be a bonus!

Rachelle: I don’t think Blockbuster exists anymore, dear.

Rachelle: I know those were good times for you at “The Block.”
Rachelle: Everybody came for the Pickle Picks, I know. You were practically a star!

Rachelle: Yes my love, times have changed.

Your Highness:

You ever have one of those days?

I was very nervous about meeting you, because I’ve never met anybody who was a direct descendent of God. That must be so cool. I come from a long line of sheep thieves who have always fled debt, not Gods. At any rate, I really wanted you (A GOD!!!) to like me, and in spite of taking an Ativan and drinking two glasses of wine before going to bed, I had trouble sleeping. When this happens I often listen to a calming CD of rainstorms,

which is what I did, and to make a long story short I ended up sleeping through my alarm and missing my opportunity to meet you. I had my blue suit laid-out on my bed and everything.

I had studied you in a completely non-invasive and totally not creepy way, and was going to make some pretty dazzling conversation, I think. I honestly do believe that we would have become best friends, likely participating in the same fantasy sport’s pools, attending Illuminati meetings together, texting one another about Game of Thrones and partying on boats with supermodels.

The One percent rules!

Do people make a lot of Hamlet jokes to you?

I bet that they do.

People are stupid.

Ninety-nine percent of people, in fact.

The rich are not stupid–especially not the rich who are descended from Gods.

I see from Wikipedia that you married a commoner, run marathons, are an expert sailor, have been on expeditions to Mongolia and Greenland, have extensive military training and care about the environment. It’s pretty amazing how much we have in common, as I also care about the environment. I really can’t stand that every summer is getting more and more humid, and I have to say, if it weren’t for my AC, well, it would be pretty tough slogging.

Look, Your Highness, I really hope you can find it in your gracious heart to forgive me for sleeping in this morning and that we can still become the friends that God wants us to become. By means of apology, I would like to invite you and your commoner wife over for Game’s Night on Thursday. We play a Star Trek version of the Settler’s of Catan and it’s an awful lot of fun– some people even dress in character for it!

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Michael Murray

1. The Smiling Poncho (All staff must wear a poncho, and the chef will wear a sombrero with little, hooked fish hanging off the brim. It will be fun!)

2. Fish and Ships (You will sell ship knickknacks as an alternate revenue stream at the front desk.)

3. Clamorama (Deep-fried clams will be a specialty.)

4. Blood In The Water (This Risto will have a shark-attack themed décor. It will really stand out from the crowd and when you order the signature plate of paella, the theme music to Jaws will play as the serving staff brings it out. We will be a destination for birthday and bachelor parties, so if legal, we will have all serving staff working in bikinis and speedos. GAY FRIENDLY.)

4. Los Peces Sexy (Obviously, this means The Sexy Fish in Spanish. Consider Tango dance lessons in the evening?)

5. Scales And Males (This would be a gay restaurant)

6. Scales And Tails and Males (This would be a more flamboyant and risque gay restaurant)

7. Something Fishy. (This is cute, and I think that each night you should stage a marine-themed murder mystery production as entertainment for the dining guests.)

8. Crabbies (Part of the appeal of this incarnation would be the gruff, sailor-like atmosphere and service.)

9. Fishing for a compliment? (Could become popular with people on first dates!)

10. The Fishcotheque (On the weekends it a disco and fine seafood restaurant.)

Yes, I’m alive.

????

No, nobody is eating my face.

You don’t believe me?

You think the killer has my iPhone?

Of course.

If I was a face-eating killer I think I’d stop to text with the victim’s husband.

It’s only polite.

You want me to prove I’m myself?

Ok.

How would you like me to proceed?

My favourite animal?

OK.

Satan.

Yes, he is.

How do you know Satan isn’t an animal?

They call him the Beast and in pictures he has horns.

Is 2.

Is 2.

Another animal?

I like baby sloths.

Your remind me of a baby sloth.

Ok.

I’m glad you believe it’s me.

Why r u so spooked?

Yes, the news is scary right now.

Lots of weird murders.

That Magnotta is a bad man.

It is like the world is ending!

Really?

You think our downstairs neighbours are face-eaters?

What do you think a face tastes like?

If it tasted like chocolate, I might eat one.

No!

No!

I am not going to eat your face!

Or tear out your still beating heart.

I don’t have the zombie disease.

Alright, you devise your escape plans.

I hope it involves a speedy boat!

And maybe a giant bird.

I’m not making fun of u.

But be realistic.

U don’t have a driver’s license.

How r u going to escape the zombie apocalypse?

Honestly, u’d be the first they ate.

I know you used to be good at sports.

But that was a long time ago, honey.

Zombies won’t know about your “reputation.”

They just want to eat your face.

You just bought a boat on-line?

An inflatable raft?

Yes, I’m sure it was a good price.

And that you will float to safety when the apocalypse comes.

Can zombies swim?

Well, maybe you should look into that.

Yep.

Yes, I bet they would post the video of your face being eaten on-line.

No, not as an example.

Just so they could admire their work.

They’d savor you, I bet.

Well, they’d probably come up from the basement where they’ve been living.

Through the open window where you have the AC.

Is the AC on now?

It’s not even hot.

Jesus.

You are a money waster!

You’re wasting money and making yourself vulnerable to zombie attack!

Yes, they’ll come through the open window!

And you won’t even hear them because of the AC racket!

And then your face will be gone!

Yeah.

The dog probably licks your face just to clean it for the zombie attack.

Gotta go now!

C u soon.

Just finishing a beer with the girls.

Please cancel your boat order.

xox