An acquaintance of mine recently posted this on her wall:
“MFA thesis defended!”
These are the comments that followed:
***************
Congratulations!
Way to go, Sloan!!
You did it, you’re the best!!xoxo
Awesome. Just awesome.
It must feel great to accomplish something so useful!
Congratudonlences!
That’s great, hopefully the debt won’t be too crippling!
You’re going to be a poet, I hope! A nation really can’t have too many of them!
That’s eight years spent in academia that you can be damn proud of!
So. Fucking. Brave.
Very sorry to hear this. WHAT NOW???? At least your mother died believing that you’d never finish that degree!
Thank God somebody is finally going to give some attention to Gender Dichotomies in the Kitchen: Feminine and Masculine Qualities of Spaces and Artifacts as exhibited in Queer literature of the 1990’s! It’s been a long time coming! You rawk, Sloan!
Idiot.
Hopefully after all those years you committed to that institution, you have a good relationship with them and they might offer you a job as a diversity officer or something!
Sloan, you have just taken your Blog to the next level!
So, so, so sorry to hear this. Big hugz!!
My ex works at the Starbucks on College and University, and I am sure he can get you a job there while you write your novel. Private message me.
Fantastic news! You must be super proud! See you at the Slam Poetry workshop on Sunday!
First of all, before I write my message, I want to thank Mother Earth for all the resources that she allows us to use, and honour all First Nation, Métis and Inuit people whose land we settlers now stand upon. We ask your forgiveness. YOU ARE THE BEST, SLOAN, YOU MUST BE SO PROUD!!
Have you told your psychiatrist yet?
]]>
So far his short career has been pretty mediocre, indistinguishable from countless other players who quietly fell short of the expectations set before them. There’s an obvious poignancy to this, I think. The consensus was that Manaea was going to be a pretty great, and throughout his entire life he’d probably been even better than that. Every time he stepped on a field, all eyes would have fallen upon him. He was the single-combat hero of whatever school, town or city he came from. A transcendent athlete with limitless horizons unfurling before him, he’d likely never encountered an appetite his talent could not slake.
And then, once in the Big Leagues, he just wasn’t very good anymore. Other players were better. The axis of his life had shifted, and now he was the kid who couldn’t get anybody out, rather than the unblemished golden boy.
He’d fallen.
He was no longer the best.
He’d become like the rest of us.
Because of my involvement in Fantasy Baseball, I had watched a lot of his starts over the years. There’s something really intimate in that, to be so closely focused on another person. I saw parts of him he couldn’t keep hidden. I saw how disappointment revealed itself on his face and then crept into his body and effected his game. I saw him battle that. I saw how he responded to incompetent teammates and punishing heat, I saw victories and uncertainties, and eventually I felt like I actually knew him, as if he had grown up just two doors over.
In spite of that, I fell out of the habit of watching his games, and then, about a month ago I happened upon one by chance late one night. He was pitching against the Boston Red Sox, which is like saying he was pitching against a nightmare as their batters are so overwhelming and intimidating. It was maybe the 6th inning, and Manaea looked good. Really good. In fact, he had not given up a single hit.
And from this point forward, as he pursued a no-hitter, the tension just ratcheted up. The camera was trained on him so tightly you could see beads of sweat forming and then rolling down his face. Everything became quiet and important, and each step closer to the no-hitter was a miracle in itself, and these miracles kept piling up until finally the game was over and the inconceivable had happened, not a single player had been able to get a hit off of Manaea.
His teammates, child-like and abundant, jumped all over him. Manaea, as happy as he was amazed, had a rollercoaster grin on his face. He was in paradise, everything bright and spinning and timeless. He had become the perfect version of himself. And for those of us watching, it was as if something beautiful had been restored, and without even knowing it I had been pulled from the sofa, and alone and in the dark, I stood applauding something I had grown to care about becoming what it was always meant to be.
]]>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:
**************************************
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:
- Sanzer Hand Gel really stings when it comes in contact with any open wounds.
- Sanzer Hand Gel does not remove the choking stench of raccoon and blood from your hands, clothes, hair, memory or glasses.
- 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)
- 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.
Justin Trudeau and Barack Obama, or at least some consultation team associated with them, have made them, and now President Donald Trump, too, is releasing one. What follows are some selections from his playlist, as well as the President’s commentary on each song:
I Wanna Sex You Up by Color Me Badd
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kO6BtpIzIiM
“ This is a classic song. Sold over 6 million copies. Great artists. You ever see the video? In it a guy and a girl get it on in an elevator. Very hot. I had sex with Milla Jovovich in an elevator once. You see her in that movie Fifth Element? She wore nothing but bandaids in it, I mean, that was her costume. Very hot. Bet you would have liked some of that.”
Nadia’s Theme by Henry Mancini
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ttc9aCSRqEY
“What a beautiful, almost fragile piece of music. Made famous by that Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci in the 1976 Olympics. She was just a girl then, but she stole our hearts with her spectacular gymnastics. So beautiful. So limber. Later, when she was a woman, she appeared on Season 7 of Celebrity Apprentice. Attractive lady. Great boobs. Think they’re fake, but still pretty amazing. Saw her in the change room. Had to fire her, though. She just wasn’t cutting it.”
In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins
“ Very dramatic. If I was to commit a murder, I would do it to this song. Perfect music for killing. Phil was supposed to appear on Celebrity Apprentice but there was a scheduling conflict. Very short man, doubt he would have done well.”
Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds by the Beatles
“You can’t go wrong with the Beatles, and I particularly like this song because it’s about money. The Beatles should have written more songs about money. If they did, they could have gone on forever, but people were really getting bored of all that love stuff near the end. They were fading. That’s why they had to break up. Had nothing to do with Yoko. Got to say, Yoko was not an attractive woman. Weirdly, Ringo, who was the ugliest Beatles, had the best looking wife. Barbara Bach. She was a Bond girl. A real luxury edition. We used to have sex regularly in a bathroom stall at Studio 56. Ringo had no idea. Such a fool.”
Carmina Burana by Carl Orff
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6rbZr7YoqK0
“You might remember this tune from an Old Spice ad where a guy is surfing. A hot blonde is watching him, just begging for it. Very erotic. The music is incredible, really speaks to me. Used to listen to it turned up real loud before every negotiation. Got me pumped out to head into battle. Never lost one.”
Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke
https://www.vevo.com/watch/robin-thicke/blurred-lines-(unrated-version)/USUV71300526
“Oh man, the titties in that video!”
]]>These are the texts messages I sent my wife in a recent conversation:
*****************************
Me: Just watered my plant.
Me: No.
Me: No, you’re wrong. The plant is doing great.
Me: I’m really going to look after it.
Me: I am going to be a money tree ninja.
Me: One hundred dollar bills are going to be growing on that fucker!
Me: And each bill will blossom into the exact change for the laundry!
Me: Really?
Me: Well, why do they call it a money tree if it doesn’t grow money?
Me: Marketing?
Me: The fuckers.
Me: Fake news is everywhere! It’s getting hard to know how to navigate this world!
Me: Oh, you think a job would help?
Me: You’d be wrong! Just like you are about my plant’s chances for survival!
Me: It’s way better than 15%!
Me: That plant has at least a 50-50 shot. Easily.
Me: I bought a spray bottle for that plant! It’s getting the five star Murray treatment!
Me: That’s what you’re worried about. Ha-ha.
Me: So very clever.
Me: But listen, not everybody needs a job in order to be fulfilled.
Me: Criminals, for instance.
Me: Oh.
Me: Yeah, I guess they do make license plates and stuff.
Me: Okay.
Me: Deer.
Me: Deer don’t have jobs. They don’t even respect the law, man!
Me: Crush the system!
Me: Look, I will eventually get a job.
Me: I will.
Me: I just need to finish the designs for my cryptozoology tarot cards and then I can open up shop and start reading fortunes!!
Me: I was told I could set up a table at Snakes and Lattes.
Me: Well, yes.
Me: I would have to pay a small rental, but that would come out of my fantasy baseball investment portfolio.
Me: Are you serious???
Me: Really???
Me: Fuck!
Me: I can’t believe somebody else already came up with the idea for cryptozoology tarot cards!
Me: Damn it!
Me: I was really looking forward to going on Dragon’s Den, too.
Me: Oh well, back to the drawing board! Fall six times, get up seven, that’s my motto.
Me: “More like fall six million times?”
Me: Good one, Petal.
Me: It’s true, you are a very funny and talented woman who doesn’t drink too much!
Me: No, I don’t know what you’re doing with me either.
Me: Really does seem an uneven match.
Me: Jones?
Me: Yeah, I think he’s around somewhere.
Me: Oh there he is! Standing up on the wobbly chair right by the window and a bunch of dangerous ledges!
Me: He’s fine, having some quality dad time!
Me: Oh you and your elite mothering!
Me: Fine!
Me: He’s down now, playing with a little brown ball on the floor.
Me: Oh.
Me: It’s actually a peeled apple.
Me: Gross.
Me: Listen I’m going to tell you something.
Me: When he hides, I ALWAYS see him.
Me: He’s just not as smart as he thinks he is.
Me: Fine.
Me: Fine. I will perpetuate the peek-a-boo myth if you insist, and throw out the dirt apple, but I am sure as hell not going back to that job at the Box Factory!
Me: Okay, see you at 5:30! xox
]]>Valentine’s Day Press Briefing by White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer:
************************
Mr. Spicer: Good afternoon, everybody. Thanks for coming.
As some of the assembled press here might already know, but probably don’t, on account of being spineless merchants of ignorance and lies, is that today is Valentine’s Day.
Named after St. Valentine.
A Christian.
A Christian who was killed by Muslims.
I want those words to sit there for a moment and sink in.
No! No questions yet! We’re going to have a little time-out here and think about Muslims killing an an innocent Christian. A super Christian. The Tom Brady of Christians . That’s right, that’s how goddamn good Saint Valentine was, he was like Tom Brady.
And the Muslims killed him.
Do you know how he was killed?
Anyone?
No? Not one of you geniuses in the press corps has any idea? No, I didn’t think so.
Torture.
He was tortured to death.
Okay, moving on, I’d like to wish my lovely wife Rebecca a Happy Valentine’s Day– baby, you’re the light of my life! They say behind every great man is a great woman, and they’re right, they’re right, Rebecca.
However, the story dominating the news cycle today is the handshake between President Donald Trump and Prime Minister Jerry Trudeau of Canada.
Jerry Trudeau, as you could all see– it was plain as day– has smaller hands than President Trump. Much smaller. It was funny how small they were. The President firmly guided the direction, intensity and length of the handshake. He was in full control at all times. Additionally, Ivanka, a world-class beauty, is much more attractive than Sonja, the Prime Minister’s wife. Is she older than him? We will look into that, but I believe that Sonja is older than Trudeau. Sorry? What did you say, Kellyanne? I can’t hear you above the howling from the media cages! Okay, okay, got it. Sonja is 7 years older than the Prime Minister and has had work done. How much work we are not yet sure.
President Trump, as you all know, can get any woman on the planet, and certainly would never have to stoop to marrying a woman older than him.
Saturday Night Live continues to disgust.
There is no greater example of the corrupt and biased media than this treasonous show. For the record, I was never known as “Sean Sphincter” in high school. Nothing but malicious, mean-spirited lies. Our intelligence service has discovered that next week SNL were planning on having ISIS as their special guest.
Not on our watch.
The President takes the security of the American people very seriously, in fact it is his highest priority, and from this point forward all operations at Saturday Night Live and Nordstrom will be suspended indefinitely. They are welcome to operate out of Iraq and see how they like it there. Additionally, Playboy magazine will be bringing back nudity.
National Security Adviser Michael Flynn has retired in order to spend more time with his family. Here is the full statement from Michael Flynn.
“Working with Donald Trump has been the single greatest honour of my personal and professional life. Secure in the knowledge that the world is in his large, powerful hands, I regretfully tender my resignation, effective immediately, so that I can spend more time with my family.”
Before ending I just want to congratulate Adele for her victory over Beyonce at the Grammy’s.
Very well deserved. All lives matter, people, all lives matter.
Okay, that’s a wrap.
]]>In an effort to combat this, my wife Rachelle has developed a side hustle in which she combs through various stores for used children’s clothing and then sells what she finds online. I have recently become a part of her purchasing team.
What follows are the texts she sent to me while I was on a shopping mission:
**************************************
Rachelle: So, did you get those pink Sorel boots at the Value Village that you promised to pick up for me?
Rachelle: Oh.
Rachelle: I’d have thought you’d be there by now.
Rachelle: What problem?
Rachelle: Oh, I didn’t realize that taking the Queen streetcar to a destination on Queen street was “counter-intuitive,” especially considering that we used to live on that street.
Rachelle: Yes, I guess that was a lifetime ago.
Rachelle: We were very different people then, it’s true.
Rachelle: That’s right, there was no Netflix back in those days!
Rachelle: Yes, those were much more innocent times.
Rachelle: Those were the days before you fell down the conspiracy theory rabbit hole!
Rachelle: I’m sorry dear, of course I meant “Got Woke.”
Rachelle: Yes, you really are just as woke as fuck, and you’re right, the Lame-stream media can’t be trusted– it’s just too bad you still have such trouble with ordinary challenges is all.
Rachelle: Oh.
Rachelle: That’s what you want people to think.
Rachelle: I see.
Rachelle: Conceal the truth within a fog of misdirection! Just like a magician!
Rachelle: It’s amazing how successful you’ve been at making everybody believe you’re not very hygienic and unable to hold a job!
Rachelle: Oh, don’t be like that!
Rachelle: You’re still my favourite flavour of ice cream!
Rachelle: What? Something’s happening on the streetcar?
Rachelle: Bullying? Well that is serious!
Rachelle: What’s he saying to you, Pickle?
Rachelle: Well sure, it could be somebody else getting bullied, but I just figured it was part of your plan. You know, to draw fire from the weak to the strong!
Rachelle: I do know you well, Pickle!
Rachelle: So what did the guy say to you?
Rachelle: She called you a “weak-chinned twerp” because you got the last seat?
Rachelle: You’re right, it’s not your fault she’s slow.
Rachelle: You know what I think? I think she underestimated your quickness! Just like you planned!
Rachelle: But still, it’s amazing how bullies know exactly where to attack!
Rachelle: How did she know that you’re so sensitive about your weak chin?
Rachelle: Oh, good one, telling her you just had hernia surgery and needed to sit is sure to shut her up!
Rachelle: Oh, I’m sorry that it didn’t work.
Rachelle: And now she’s making fun of your “Solidarity Pin?”
Rachelle: What is a “Solidarity Pin.”
Rachelle: Oh, it’s a safety pin that signals to others that you’re a safe zone? And any persecuted group or person can take comfort under the umbrella of your entitlement, is that it?
Rachelle: So you’re kind of like an X-Man?
Rachelle: Got it.
Rachelle: Are other people wearing safety pins rushing to your aid?
Rachelle: No?
Rachelle: Well, maybe it’s your responsibility to find them?
Rachelle: Do you have your Ativan with you?
Rachelle: You better take one, honey. Maybe two.
Rachelle: Remember your breathing exercises.
Rachelle: In through the nose and then slowly out the mouth like you’re blowing out a candle.
Rachelle: Oh, Pierre, my power skating coach is trying to get through right now, so I have to go.
Remember to pick up the boots, my brave, little cloud of disinformation, and don’t let that bully scare you off your mission!
]]>
Trump, even attired that way, commanded the subway like a stern and punctual marshall at a luxury golf course, and people knew not to mess with him.
Normally he would never think to take the subway, as it is a filthy and vulgar mode of transportation, but today he wanted filthy and vulgar. His legs spread out expansively, taking up at least two seats, he looked down at his most recent text from Melania and smiled:
“I am to poo you,” it read.
Melania’s English wasn’t very good, but Donald knew exactly what she meant.
It was their beautiful night together.
Every year on the anniversary on their first sex, Donald bought a fast food restaurant in the New York area, fired everybody, and then made Melania work the counter. This year, it was a Dairy Queen, and Donald, disguised as the Burger King, was going to come in and order Melania off the menu and then make her his fast food sex slave for the night.
It was a great tradition, and they both loved it very much.
As Donald sat there on the subway thinking about whether he should purchase and then and torture some of the homeless and desperate as part of fast food sex slave night, a woman approached him.
“The Burger King?” she said.
“You look low rent,” the Burger Trump retorted, “and let me tell you,” he continued, “I would rather be a king than some low rent subway hen.”
The low rent woman had full lips.
“Subway hen?”
Donald ignored her, Tweeting a threat to France.
The low rent woman looked closely at his fingers, as if figuring something out.
Suddenly, the subway came to a screeching halt. Everything went dark and Donald fell to the floor, his Burger King head spilling off and his phone skittering out of his pocket! When he looked up, he and the subway hen, also on the floor, were facing one another, their lips just inches apart– something unspoken burning between them now.
“You’re Donald Trump,” she whispered, “I knew I recognized those tiny, orange fingers!”
The stranger’s breasts heaved upon the filthy, seductive floor of the subway. He stared at the woman and she stared back, their breath hot and real.
Trump inched toward her and she inched toward him.
At that moment Donald’s phone began to ring, picking up an audible message from Melania, “Donald, it is your Queen Dairy, I have customer, and child wants me to make curl with ice cream that I cannot make. Tell her we close? Give her money? I stand by you, my man, even if ice cream disgusting. I still poo you, my king.”
Donald swept the phone away with certainty, like a Commander-In-Chief. And then the lights came on and the subway started up again. The low rent woman got up and dusted herself off and walked away, shivering, “This is the weirdest, fucking grossest day of my life,” she muttered to herself.
“Rosebud, “Donald Trump mouthed, “Rosebud.”
******************************
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.
]]>
The site enables people to trade all manner of goods, absolutely anything you have lying around or might want to cook. If somebody likes what you posted, they send you a message and the bartering begins.
This was my first post:
Posted by Michael Murray
Toronto Division
Genuine Sialkot Pro Field Hockey Stick
Made in India, this vintage field hockey stick is a real gem! Nicknamed “Sally,” it was used by high school Goddess Victoria Reid during the season that saw her team, The Lisgar Lancers, win the Ottawa city championship in 1983. Victoria scored a record 36 goals with Sally!
The stick, which feels solid and sure in the hands, is also rumoured to have been used as a murder weapon. So if you’re looking for a little bit of security around the house and are still unsure of guns, this is what you’re looking for, as the stick’s hooked nature guarantees that irregular and jagged wounds would be cut into any invader. I hate to give up this wonderful piece of history, but my wife insists, believing it to be cursed. Ha, ha. Let me assure you, Sally is not cursed, just brutally effective, as many squirrels and at least one homeless man rooting through our garbage for empty wine bottles can attest. It is also important to note that Sally never has conversations with me. I don’t get “different” around her, and you won’t get “different” around her either, just stronger, more violent and a little unpredictable!
All reasonable trade offers will be considered. #Sports #Hockey #Vintage #Murder #Weapon #ProbablyNotHaunted
Response from Dealer Dave
Toronto Division
Bullshit.
I don’t believe your story for one second, but I need something to use for my son’s birthday pinata and your field hockey stick sounds like it would work. I have a Chinese bootleg CD of the U2 album How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, would that work?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
No, a crappy U2 CD will not do.
Do you have any wine?
Response from Dealer Dave
Toronto Division
No, I am not giving you wine for a piece of wood. I have a CD by the Tea Party, would you prefer that?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
No deal!! Sally says no!!!
Response from Cindy84
Toronto Division
Your dog is super cute! I also like your carpet. Would you be willing to trade either one of those instead of the creepy stick? I have gift cards…
Response from Make$2000AWeekFromHome
Toronto Division
I’m impressed, I have to admit. Seldom do I come across a blog that’s both equally educative and interesting, and without a doubt, you have hit the nail on the head. The problem is an issue that too few folks are speaking intelligently about. I’m very happy I found this during my search for something relating to this.
Response from Redrum
Toronto Division
Interested in the weapon.
Do you know what became of Victoria Reid?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
Heard it was a suicide, but even after all these years there’s still a lot of controversy surrounding her death. Th CBC is said to be making a mini-series on it called, “The Possession of Victoria Reid.”
Sometimes she comes to me in my dreams.
Response from Redrum
Toronto Division
I work at a packing plant and have meat to trade. Lots of ground beef. One pound of ground beef for the weapon?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
I’m worried about food safety. I got Listeria once and will not go through that again. Do you have any wine? Sally likes you and wants to serve you.
Response from Redrum
Toronto Division
I have a half-full box of Jackson Triggs Merlot.
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
Deal!
]]>