Doug Ford, the Conservative Premier of Ontario, is known for many things.

He is the brother of Toronto’s late, fun-loving mayor Rob Ford, is the canny businessman who led Deco Labels, Flexible Packaging and Cannabis Dispensary to a top 12 business ranking in the greater Etobicoke region for three of the last five years, and is an avid hockey fan who coaches a Peewee team in Etobicoke. What follows is the speech Ford gave to his players between periods during a recent game:

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“Great moments are born from great opportunity. And that’s what we have here, today, boys. This game sits before us like an undervalued property waiting to be bought and turned into condos by an alpha businessman! Do we have the necessary capital to make the purchase? You’re damn right we do! Do we have our mortgage rate advantageously negotiated?

I can’t hear you!

I still can’t hear you!!

I. SAID. DO! WE! HAVE! OUR! MORTGAGE! RATE! ADVANTAGEOUSLY! NEGOTIATED!

That’s better.

You’re damn right we do!!

We have the best flipping mortgage rate in the entire city!

We have all the talent and all the character we need to take this game from the Tornadoes, we just need to stop playing like a bunch of goddamn Midwives out there! You’re were playing like little girl witches out there in the first period. Sweeping your sticks about like ladies with brooms instead of chopping with them like they were axes. It’s like we’ve been cleaning up after the Tornadoes, not dominating them, and the Deco Labels, Flexible Packaging and Cannabis Dispensary Devils don’t clean up after nobody!!

Jesus H. Christ.

Defranco, please tell me I did not hear you interrupting me with a stupid question asking what a Midwife was. I will bench your skinny ass. Don’t think I won’t. I would welcome the opportunity. You just try me, Defranco. I dare you.

Yeah.

That’s what I thought.

Not so tough now, are you, you pitiful little puck bunny.

Okay, now that Midwife Defranco got his question out of his system, we can get back to strategy. Boys, I want you to think of the Tornadoes as a greenbelt that we are going to raze in order to develop. We are going to chop those little bastards down. We are going to throw their nests from their trees and shit in their brooks. We are going to show them what it feels like to be developed by the Etobicoke Deco Labels, Flexible Packaging and Cannabis Dispensary Devils! We are going to bring the full might of the free market down upon their socialist heads!

ARE WE OPEN FOR BUSINESS?

YES!

YES, WE ARE GODDAMN WELL OPEN FOR BUSINESS, NOW LET LOOSE THE HOUNDS OF WAR, BOYS, AND TAKE THIS MOMENT AND MAKE IT YOURS!!!

I recently started a business in which I provide sexual misconduct apology letters for a wide variety of clients. If you need a sexual misconduct apology letter, please consider my affordable and highly effective services. Here are some excerpts of work I have done for various clients:

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1. It is with great anguish that I heard of that lady’s recollection about our night together in 1991. While her memory of that evening is very different from mine, it is now clear to me that her feelings of fear and intimidation are real. After all, I am a powerful Alpha male with many yachts and yes-men. However, in spite of this I have never been unusually violent, although I have been thoughtless and insensitive in some of my relationships over my many decades of sexual activity, and I sincerely and humbly apologize for accepting any blowjobs that were given out of ambition rather than love.

I am an ally to women everywhere.

2. Recently, there has been a little bit of coverage about some of my past behaviour in the “news.” I have made many mistakes and I am so very sorry that I have disappointed my friends, family, fans and beautiful team. My behaviour was wrong and there are no excuses. Although it is very difficult at the top, I take full responsibility for whatever my actions were, because that’s what a leader and Master Chef does.

Sharing the joys of Italian food with all of you each week is an honour and privilege. Without the support of all of you—my fans—I would never have a forum in which to combat the scourge that is sexual misconduct, so I want to thank you for giving me an opportunity to advance the cause for women all over the world. And in case you’re searching for a holiday-inspired breakfast, especially the mother’s out there, this link to Pizza Dough Cinnamon Rolls are a fan favourite!

3. As a college student on staff at a church in Texas more than 20 years ago, I regretfully had a sexual incident with a female high school senior in the church. At the time I thought ******’s form fitting sweater was a sign that my sexual gratification was God’s will. I see now that this wasn’t true, and that her sweater and strawberry lip gloss were in fact the devil’s beguiling handiwork. I sinned, Holy Spirit, I sinned, and I humbly ask if you would take this prayer and touch ******’s heart in the way that only you can and heal her of the pain that was caused from this sin 20 years ago. #Metoo #Timesup #IBelieveEve

4. Some of what is being said about me is untrue or mischaracterized, but there is enough truth in these stories to make me feel embarrassed and ashamed. Repairing the damage will take a lot of time and soul searching and I’m committed to beginning that effort. I have hired three lovely assistants to coach me in this endeavour, and have quit kite surfing in Barbados in order to better focus my energies on the important task at hand. The last two days have forced me to take a very hard look at all of my surviving sex tapes, and I see now that I was not acting the way a leading ally to women should have acted. I am very sorry, and ask all of those feeling pain to please apply this coupon code for a 15% discount on your next Cineplex experience!

As it turns out, fortunes are being made reviewing consumer products on-line, and with that in mind I have launched a site ( The Sanitarium) which I hope will dominate the Hand Sanitizer Review landscape and make my family obscene amounts of money.

This is my first review:

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Welcome to The Sanitarium!

How do you think you’re going to die?

Terrorism?

Sex accident?

Wasting disease?

Climate catastrophe?

The truth is it’s possible you might die from any one, or any combination, of the threats listed above, but according to science we are most likely to perish from some super bacteria that will come like a thief in the night and kill all of us who had not been properly eliminating infectious agents from our hands.

It’s no stretch of the imagination to say that not only is choosing the right hand sanitizer a matter of national security, but it’s also a matter of life or death.

Choose carefully, my friends!

Sanzer Hand Gel

Wow!

The first thing I noticed about this hand sanitizer was just how amazing the ad is! It’s almost as if Sanzer isn’t promoting good hygiene at all, but is instead offering serial killers some great and fresh tips on how to dismember and store victim parts. It really makes you wonder what it would feel like to chop off somebody’s fingers and put them on display, you know? No matter, regardless of intent, Sanzer sure knows how to get your attention, but still, I had to find out, is the product as good as the ad?

Experiment:

Remove the raccoon that is trapped in the garbage bin in the alley with my bare hands, apply Sanzer hand gel, and then wait 48 hours to see if I get sick.

Notes:

1. Sanzer Hand Gel really stings when it comes in contact with any open wounds.
2. Sanzer Hand Gel does not remove the choking stench of raccoon and blood from your hands, clothes, hair, memory or glasses.
3. Sanzer is flammable, and if squirted while holding a lit barbecue ignitor directly in front of it, will work as a kind of flame thrower. Unfortunately, fire is of little use in deterring raccoons, so Sanzer’s effectiveness as a weapon is not universal. ( This product may not meet your Apocalypse Bunker Hand Sanitizer needs)
4. Fourty-eight hours after the application of Sanzer Hand Gel, my hands and arms were still swollen and oozy, but my fever was under control and the violent and dark thoughts had begun to subside, thus earning the product a solid 7 out of 10.

Sitting on the sidewalk between the mailbox and garbage can was a man selling pens. He wore a red ‘Fly Emirates’ hat, had a distended tongue that protruded through his mouth, a tracheotomy tube sticking out of his throat and loosely bandaged hands. He was so low to the ground and positioned in such a way that it was difficult to tell if he had legs or not, and he gave the appearance of some wax creation melting into the grey concrete.

A chopper sounded unseen in the sky above, likely landing on the roof of the Children’s Hospital right around the corner. Somebody, all sorts of people even, were in the midst of the worst, most unimaginable day of their lives.

A handsome business man with an immaculately trimmed beard strode by as if on a catwalk. Standing about 6’3, he was resplendent in a perfectly fitted suit that he’d accented with a pair of beautiful Italian shoes and a pocket square. He spoke calmly into his phone as if he was in control and absolutely  everything  was  going  exactly  as  planned.

Walking toward him was a blonde woman who was just as thin as a blade. She was concentrating so hard on looking unattainable she seemed angry, like she was off to eliminate an enemy. Dressed expensively, she was so deeply articulated by fashion that it was hard to imagine anything existing beyond exterior.  Behind sunglasses and confident on high heels, as inky as a shadow she smoked–an image to be captured rather than a person to be spoken to.

It seemed that these two people, these two vectors of power and beauty, had been moving their entire lives toward this moment of collision, but they passed without incident or plot, and the man selling pens on the street beneath their indifferent gazes cast such a stark contrast as to feel like a biblical thunderbolt. 

Moving his mouth to no effect, he held out a pen to everybody who passed, but nobody stopped or even noticed him. Not a single person. He was beneath their sight line, both figuratively and literally, and may as well have been living in a completely different world.

A woman on crutches was standing near him. You could tell that she wasn’t sick– that she’d just had a minor accident and was still living in one world and not the other. But still, she was angry. She might have been angry about a lot of things. She was limping about very dramatically, exaggerating, exasperated that that the cab stand was 20 meters away. The beggar, wordless and unseen, waved a car over for her, and as one materialized, she limped furiously past, never noticing the blessings of the saint kneeling before her.

Last year there was a play-off game between the Texas Rangers and the Toronto Blue Jays that was perhaps, one of the weirdest, most entertaining, anarchic ball games in the history of the known universe.

Part ayahuasca trip, the game culminated when Blue Jay superstar Jose Bautista absolutely crushed a three-run homer that for all intents and purposes, ended the game, time and the universe.

It was that epic.

The Rangers were ruined.

You could see the post-traumatic stress disorder forming in their glassy eyes. You could see the days of boozing and aimless driving. You could see that recovery was going to be impossible.

And if that wasn’t enough, Bautista performed a now legendary bat flip that saw him standing motionless at home plate, like a statute of a Greek God, as he watched the ball sail to glory,

before dropping the mic by tossing the bat, as if it was now something repellent to him, about a mile away.

This got under the skin of the broken Rangers, and it stayed there.

Jose Bautista has big, rat-like ears, the physical rectitude of a matador and a self-confidence that radiates from him like some sort of X-Man power. He is arrogant, this man, and although he’s an intelligent and astounding baseball player, he’s still a prick. I mean, he thinks of himself as a corporation and acts accordingly. He knows how great he is, and if for some reason you forget it, his body language will surely remind you, and if that doesn’t, well, he’ll tell you. You get the sense with Bautista, that he really does see the rest of the world as, “The Little People.”

At any rate, this bat flip, this losing in the playoffs to the Jays has stuck in the collective craw of the Rangers for the better part of a year.

Sunday was the last meeting of the two teams this year (barring a playoff match-up) and the Rangers pitcher hit Bautista with a pitch. This was pay back, and although Bautista gave him the slow, threatening stink-eye, he didn’t do anything, until he did do something. This something was a hard, illegal take-out slide of Ranger second baseman Rougned Odor on an ensuing play.

Now this sort of thing has been happening in baseball for a hundred years, but only recently was this kind of slide (in which you try to knock over the second baseman rather than achieve possession of the bag) made illegal. Odor, the second baseman, shoved Bautista in the chest. Bautista, who could buy and sell the little man, moved toward him like a God toward a mortal, and as he was pulling his fingers together to make a fist,  Rougned clocked him in the face with a stunning punch that saw Bautista’s $13,000 glasses, helmet and ego go flying.

It was awesome.

Of course, there are all sorts of people who are upset about the savagery of the act, but not me. It was cathartic and shocking, a David and Goliath moment that saw the preening, entitled 30 million dollar a year athlete get what his behaviour actually warranted. It was, for a moment, a kind of justice, a blow for the little man, and it made me happy.

After I got the phone call informing me that I had advanced cancer, I went to the New Edinburgh Pub. I sat at the end of the bar,  so thin and pale and hunched as to be little more than a shadow on the periphery, and ordered a half liter of red wine and a large soda water, and then quietly flipped through a newspaper for the rest of the night. That was over 20 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

The New Edinburgh Pub, located on Beechwood in Ottawa, wasn’t too far from where my parents lived.

It’s a generic place, a standard Ottawa pub that looks like it was made from a Build-Your-Own-Bar kit. It wasn’t ugly, but there was just no mind paid to the character or aesthetics of the place, and it reflected nothing back to you. It was nobody’s first choice, just a space in which you could drink.

The reason that I went to this particular pub on that night is that I didn’t think that I would know anybody there. I wanted to be invisible and uncalled to. I wanted to separate from the herd,  step outside of my life and dissolve into the space around me. I didn’t want to see anybody who might call me back to my life or the one that had been expected of me. I could not bear my own sadness, let alone theirs.

My recovery from the treatments and surgeries for Hodgkin’s Disease took a long time, years, actually, and each night, I went to this pub. It became the bell I had to ring each day, the one that confirmed my survival. And in spite of my desire to be anonymous, to have nobody care about me and vice versa, I became friends with all the staff and regulars.

I went there late, in the drinking hours, and all of us there carried our weights. But the pub served as a place where these weights were lifted, and suspended from our lives we could just sit amongst other people, unjudged and unmeasured.

We all need rest stops like this. And when I think of this place I think of it as being as essential to my recovery as the hospital. I sought to abandon the world, but it was here that I found the world, and that world restored me.

Just the other day, about half and hour before I turned the astonishing and impossible age of 50, I was told that after decades, the New Edinburgh Pub will be closing. This is what the world does. It reinvents itself. And that the landscape of my past is vanishing is nothing new–it happens to everybody, on every single block of this world, but still, it’s a blow, a real loss. And I just want to thank the New Edinburgh Pub– Paul, the truly decent owner, and everyone who worked and spent time there, I want to thank them for being present and sharing that space with me.

I don’t believe that this crime was committed by a hacker collective known as The Impact, as has been reported, because The Impact can be nothing other than the name of a (white) B-Boy dance troupe from back in the 80’s.

At any rate, I think that the bloody-minded terrorist group ISIS, who really knows how to tear at the fabric of Western society, was responsible. They want to expose our corrupt ways and force our children to watch us shriek at one another while washing dishes after dinner. But no, no, I am not going to let terror win. When our leaders called upon us to shop in order to fight terror, I shopped, and now, when it is clear that we must continue our adulterous ways in order to stave off terror, I will be adulterous. I am for the troops, and with that in mind, I have just joined Ashley Madison.

This is my profile page:

RaccoonDrumCircleSexMachine

“Renaissance man”

Age: 36 (Leo)

Location: Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Height: 6’0″ (183cm)

Weight: 190 lbs (86kg) – Average/medium

Languages Spoken: English

My Limits are: Undecided

Status: Attached Male seeking Females

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian (white)

Smoking Habits: Not specified

Tell me more about yourself:

I love puppies and animals in general, although I have never cheated on my wife by using them as sex slaves. By the way, raccoons are my favourite animal, and I am pretty sure they’re my spirit guides. Sometimes, I like to dress up as one for sex.

Besides that I do martial arts; extreme martial arts. And Parkour. I also play the drums, and it’s like I play the drums better than Satan, it’s like I’m having sex with those drums, it’s like a drumgasm! ( LOL!!) I’m also taking some college classes, one on zombies in popular media, because I love zombies and meeting young women who would normally be outside of my sphere. I work as an Uber driver (another great way to meet women and find out where they live) whenever my wife starts screaming at me about whether the forks are clean enough or some other bullshit.

Preferences and encounters I am open to:

I am on a quest– not just for sex with a female partner who is not my wife, but for all things. I will do and try anything. Some people say that I am fearless, as fearless as an urban raccoon. Would somebody who isn’t fearless spend just over a week in the woods searching for Bigfoot? I don’t think so. A person with fear would cringe from that challenge, but not RaccoonDrumCircleSexMachine! I went to the woods. Will you go to the woods with me?

What really turns me on:

Honesty would have to be number one, and a close second would be to see a Bigfoot man and a Bigfoot lady going at it.

What I am looking for:

I like chicks who dig passionate drummers, as well as submissive Goth types who are into role playing, but mostly I just like really hot babes. Here are some examples:

No Asians please.

And as most of you also know, Donald Trump is an absolute master of Twitter, (@realDonaldTrump) a medium which is quickly becoming the primary means of disseminating thought and information. In case you’ve forgotten, here are some of Trump’s most penetrating, brilliant and revealing Tweets:

“If Obama resigns from office NOW, thereby doing a great service to the country—I will give him free lifetime golf at any one of my courses!”

“Everyone knows I am right that Robert Pattinson should dump Kristen Stewart. In a couple of years, he will thank me. Be smart, Robert.”

(That is not Robert Pattinson in the above photographs)

“The concept of global warming was created by and for the Chinese in order to make U.S. manufacturing non-competitive.”

“I have never seen a thin person drinking Diet Coke.”

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Ever the iconoclast, Trump has decided to participate in the Presidential debate via Twitter, limiting his answers to a blunt 140 characters. These are some of the Tweets that Trump and his team have been preparing for the night:

On the Charleston shooting:

“Tragedy. National tragedy. As an olive branch from the whites, I am offering any black $100 worth of gambling chips, free, at any of my casinos on the anniversary of that church shooting.”

“Mixed race guests get $50 worth of chips, which is still a great deal.”

Gay Marriage:

“Know lots of gay people. Best decorators in the world. They’re responsible for making my hotels look so great. Terrific race.”

“A couple of them have won Celebrity Apprentice, so I’m obviously not a bigot, even though I am big time Hetero.”

“I’ve slept with a lot of beautiful women.”

Health Care:

“Obamacare is a heat-seeking missile that will rape and destroy small businesses and jobs.”

“Hillary is a socialist, she doesn’t understand business, so I’m telling her once you rape small business, there are consequences, you can’t just go and get an abortion.”

“I would set up a different, much better, more luxurious system than we have now. It would have the Trump stamp of quality.”

ISIS:

“These guys just opened a hotel, can you believe it? Not only have they declared war on America, but now they’re going to war against me.”

“If I can make billions of dollars and build quality golf courses and real estate, I can destroy ISIS.”

“Donald Trump has never lost a war.”

“ISIS, what a bunch of chumps.”
The Mexican Border:

“I’m going to build a wall to keep Mexicans in Mexico, and you know it will be a solid, quality wall because it will be made by Trump builders. ”

“You know that wall in Game of Thrones? It will put that to shame, it will put China to shame, it will be the wall to end all walls, like the Trump Taj Mahal Casino in…”

“….exciting and beautiful Atlantic City. My fantastic casino has an exotic Indian theme–7-11 Indian though, not casino Indian.”

“No Mexicans will ever get through my wall to steal American jobs and water.”

“Is Salma Hayek Mexican? Classy lady. Beautiful, unlike most Mexican women who tend to be plain–they just don’t look after themselves as a people.”

For years there’s been an obdurate, official position that there is to be no negotiating with terrorists. Negotiation, or worse, capitulation would lead to utter catastrophe and societal ruination.

It was a mantra that echoed, even boomed in our heads, and to so much as question it was to let the terrorists win. It’s all a little bit counter-intuitive, because on an personal level, we all know that if somebody we loved were taken hostage, we would negotiate, doing whatever we could to bring that light safely back into our lives. When the stakes are intimate and truly meaningful to us, we only care about the results, not the precedent we’re setting in achieving that result.

In acquiescing to the Guardians of Peace demands and agreeing not to release the movie The Interview, Sony was acting in self-interest.

They were not concerned with freedom of speech or following the US government’s rulebook on dealing with terrorists, or even protecting the vulnerable part-time employees who’d be working in the threatened cinemas over Christmas, or anything else that wasn’t a part of their bottom line.

A corporation is not a moral agency, and it exists for the singular purpose of making money, and whatever serves that interest, whether it’s long-term or short-term, serves the corporation. In tatters and reeling, their internal system almost destroyed, Sony made a rational, tactical decision. Put the movie on the shelf for now and see how it all played out.

What’s interesting is that when money, when the unencumbered progress of private enterprise was put in peril, objectives were met. Now, all sorts of smoke and mirrors surround this, but it reduces to the valuation of corporations over actual humans.

One could argue that the dominant species on the planet are actually corporations. Single-minded and constantly feeding, they’re boundless, traversing and devouring landscapes and cultures like a predatory science fiction behemoth. They must feed, and in so doing behave in a very reptilian, even predictable (if strategic) fashion. Although they may, very weirdly, have some of the same rights and responsibilities as human beings, they’re not human beings and don’t serve the broad interests of the species—they’re just seeking to metastasize, and any concessions that are made to modernity, social progress or environmental stewardship, for instance, are done purely to ensure they’re continuing to maximize profit within an evoloving host.

The lesson to learn here is that when an economic system is disordered, as was Sony’s, then a meaningful tactical response was achieved. Our hearts might break to see hostages taken in a coffee shop in Sydney or journalists executed in a faraway desert, but the terrorist’s goals are not achieved until what really matters is threatened, and that is the free market. Corporations, massive, powerful and ubiquitous, perhaps more powerful than nations, remind me of dinosaurs, and the cyber attacks now threatening them are a virus to which they might be vulnerable, and could ultimately cripple the entire species.

This was greeted by jeers and laughter from the crowd, and pretty much immediately, John Tory, Ford’s primary opponent, issued a statement accusing him of using “the classic refuge of racists, anti-Semites and homophobes” when he said this.

The next day, Doug tried to clarify his remarks:

“Matter of fact, my wife is Jewish. Her mother is Jewish. And they have to come after me? You got to be joking. My wife was furious last night at John Tory’s statement. It’s disgusting.”

But as it turns out, the Fords are a well—known family of evangelical Christians, including Ford’s wife, Karla.

As I used to drink with Rob Ford back at Carleton University in Ottawa, I am considered a trusted member of the Ford inner circle, and was asked by Doug to come in and consult on the election, offering some advice on the campaign and how best to deal with the sensitive matter of race relations.

These are some of the thoughts that I shared with Doug:

Come out swinging against ISIS!!

Paint your opponents as people who are weak on beheadings, and then in classic Doug Ford mode, intimidation level set to 11, issue a challenge to ISIS to just come and try to behead you. You let them know that if they want a war with Ford Nation, then they can have it! The Jewish community will love you for it! (From this point forward, the War Against Isis will be a primary plank in your election campaign.)

Exposing your neck for the cameras, ask, “Is John Tory willing to put his neck on the line for you?”

Demand to know if John Tory looked at any of the stolen celebrity sex pictures. When he denies that he did, in a mocking voice, ask, “ What? You don’t want to see Jessica Simpson naked, what’s the matter with you?”

You must then imply that you have evidence that he has indeed looked at the photographs, and that he is a sex criminal and a liar. Say it “disgusts” you, as the public loves when you do that, and then challenge John Tory to a boxing match for charity, perhaps to create a fund to keep West Africans who might have Ebola out of Toronto. When he says, no, say, “Geez, you’ve spent so much money on cosmetic surgery that I keep forgetting how very, very old you are. ”

Do not use the expression CHINGLISH when referencing Toronto’s Asian community.

Make note that the Asians are more than just a people who work like dogs, but also have a great love of gambling, and that as a businessman, you applaud both their willingness to take risks and to work hard. Let them know that you would gladly fight by their side against ISIS.