If you don’t know who he is, he was one of the stars of the hit 90’s sitcom Friends.

Don’t be impressed by that. There were too many “stars” to count on that stupid show. Even a monkey was a star on that show. A monkey. Not Curious George. Not the Ikea Monkey. Just a regular, annoying monkey, so Matthew’s “star status” is really no big deal at all.

Just like in high school.

Matthew may have had famous parents and a cheap California tan, but I was the real star at Lisgar Collegiate Institute in Ottawa. Not only was I president of the UFO club, but I was also a great athlete, and I used to crush Perry mercilessly at tennis.

All.

Day.

Long.

It used to infuriate him! He would throw his expensive tennis racquets all over the place, complain that I was “foot faulting” or not wearing proper whites. Bullshit stuff like that. Anyway, the bottom line is that I destroyed him and made the tennis team while he did not. This final humiliation seemed to break Matthew, and after that he was my subordinate, little yes-man.

Matthew has been pretty unemployable since Friends, and thirsty for a little bit of publicity, he recently went on Jimmy Kimmel and announced that he and another kid, “Chris Murray,” once beat up Canadian Prime Minister and sex symbol Justin Trudeau back in school.

http://www.womansday.co.nz/celebrity/matthew-perry-admits-he-once-beat-up-justin-trudeau-7383

This is not true.

As Matthew still respects and fears me, he wouldn’t dare use my real name in public, but I was the “Chris Murray” mentioned.

To make a long story short, I was giving a presentation– in the hopes of recruiting future members to my high school UFO club–to Justin’s fifth grade class. After my talk I opened the floor up for questions:

Justin: Je ne peux m’empêcher de remarquer que les filles semblent être sous-représentées dans le club UFO. Pourriez-vous nous expliquer pourquoi?

Me: What?

Justin: Oh, I see you don’t speak French. What a shame. What I was asking was why aren’t there any girls in the UFO club. Are they not allowed?

Me: Girls??

Justin: Yes, girls. They comprise over half the population. ( Class, including teacher, roar with laughter)

Me: No girl has ever tried to join the UFO club. Would any want to?? Do you think you could get us one!?

Justin: That’s not my job. Your job is to create a safe and inclusive environment so they’ll want to join. Girls, would you like to join this creepy, unilingual, UFO club for boys, or would you rather form your own right here?! ( Class, including teacher, roar with approval)

Some other things happened, but in short, I delegated Matthew to beat up Justin after school, however Matthew failed, as I should have known he would fail, and I had to step in to do the job properly. At this time in my life I got nose bleeds very easily, and my bleed had nothing to do with Justin, who mistakenly thought the fight was over and was walking away like a coward. I tackled him and was just about to apply the finishing gotchy when some little girl kicked me in the back of the neck.

I had to wear a brace for six weeks after that.

And sadly, Matthew and I then drifted apart and the UFO Club just sort of faded away.

A sprawling outpost on the edge of the city, the place has always reminded me of an airport. It’s insanely busy, there’s a multiplicity of languages and cultures streaming through the corridors, and the store, the things that they sell, are never truly what the consumer wants.Ikea is more of a way station, a place in your life where you pause, and finding an acceptable but temporary solution, move forward from who you are toward the glittering horizon of the person you’ll one day become, a person who will eventually be able to afford the sort of “adult” furniture you might one day pass down to your children. And so, when you find yourself at Ikea on a Sunday afternoon, you discover, in both a figurative and literal sense, that you are not where you want to be. Ikea, is not your beautiful house.

Perhaps as a result, most of the people there, like commuters, have a slightly dazed and unhappily obliged expression to their faces. However, one couple looked happy, like they were starring in their own movie and the rest of us were just extras there to lend contrast. Located somewhere in their beautiful twenties, they were animated, as if playing games in an amusement park or falling in love while ice skating.  Wearing a shiny, silver miniskirt that showed off a splashy array of tattoos, she was a platinum blonde with a kind of retro burlesque vibe, and he, well, he didn’t look quite as confident as he was dressed, but he was trying hard.

They were in Ikea as tourists, treating the place a bit like a museum where the exhibits weren’t the storage solutions and furnishings, but all the weary, humbled people shopping there. It was a cultural excursion for these two, an anthropological journey that was meant as symbol of the quirky, self-conscious lives they were trying to fashion for themselves. She, independent-minded and unpredictable, loved the carnival food on sale there, the secret passageways through the intricately designed shopping trails and the way that things were piled up like giant toys, and he was planning on getting a tattoo of the Ikea Monkey to commemorate the great day, both of them smiling secrets at one another, certain that they would never grow into the compromised, dream-beaten people they imagined blending into the background all around them.

We are sad to announce that Crasher Squirrel was killed on Friday after a truck backed over him while he was trying to retrieve a pizza crust that had been left in a parking lot. May the Rainbow Bridge carry you home, sweet squirrel.

Darwin, who shot to fame in 2012 while wandering a parking lot in Toronto wearing a faux-Shearling coat, was found dead on Tuesday night. Known as the Ikea Monkey, Darwin was a sweet and fashion forward monkey who excelled at flinging pillows and masturbating. The absence of his playful, luminous presence will leave a hole that can never be filled. Dangles, Darwin’s life partner of 2 weeks, is asking that in lieu of flowers donations be made toward a banana tree to be planted in Darwin’s memory.

Chris P. Bacon passed away in a drowning accident on July 2. This wheelchair bound piglet– who had just recently signed a three book deal and had almost 5, 000 followers on Twitter– will leave behind a tremendous legacy of fortitude, inspiration and cuteness. Although he did not have the use of his back legs, he more than made up for that with his tiny, super cute heart. Any donations toward further research for safer, airbag equipped piglet wheelchairs are much appreciated.  He was a delicious and beautiful pig.

“In this picture I was thinking about the colour of the car, how it was like the bottom of one of those above-ground swimming pools that the poor people put up in their backyards. I grew up with a real pool. We were rich. Pools are a good way of excluding people and creating pecking orders. The football guys liked to hangout at our pool, but without the pool, who knows? I was also wondering about all the sex that took place in that car. A lot, I bet.

“ In this photograph I was thinking about what it would feel like to shoot a monkey, the Ikea Monkey in particular. What was his name? Genesis? Something stupid. Anyway, ever since that monkey became a big media story I’ve been having fantasies about shooting it. Not sure why. It might be the little, gay coat that bugs me. It’s not natural that a boy monkey is dressed that way. “

“ Blow Jobs and the way that pets look at you funny when you’re having sex.”

“I don’t want to sound vain because I’m a man of the people, but I was thinking that I look good in hats. A lot of people say that you can measure a politician’s success by how natural and at ease he looks in different hats. (Don’t know what the policy is for chicks). I think a lot of my political success has to do with my ability to look good in a hat.

“ I probably should have been thinking about the owl, but I was deep in thought right there considering the works of Roman poet and philosopher Lucretious and his views on Epicurean principles and Atomism. I think that a lot of people misunderstand hedonism and I was trying to untangle that philosophical quandary and than suddenly I was like, “Oh fuck, an owl!”

has done his time on reality TV, served as a columnist for Vice Magazine, has been to jail, shares all his late night “inspirations” on Twitter and completely loves cars. In short, he is a 12 year-old boys idea of what the American dream could be, and for a moment that dream was to become mayor of Toronto.

Last week as Canseco was Tweeting his New Year’s resolutions, which included, “Fight Shaq in MMA cage match,” and “ help people getting screwed wherever I can,” he also enthused about running for mayor of Toronto—the city where he hit 46 home runs for the Blue Jays back in 1998. This was pretty much the best thing that I had ever come across on Twitter, and I immediately Tweeted back to Canseco in an effort to help.

@josecanseco: Don’t worry about any Citizenship issues in Toronto mayoral bid, I will gay marry you!

@josecanseco: But first you should try to become one of the Beauties on The Price is Right—they are now accepting men!

@josecanseco: It would make our union credible and be good PR!

@josecanseco: Secure the downtown Grinder vote.

@michaelmurrayca: Jose swings for the fences, not with other dudes!

@michaelmurrayca: I am having my people look into citizenship issues.

@josecanseco: But weren’t you in prison?

@michaelmurrayca: I called it Jose’s Castle, and I was in charge.

@josecanseco: Got it, I hear you!

@josecanseco: I have some campaign ideas for you, I am an idea factory!

@josecanseco: The Ikea Monkey will be your campaign signature, always standing on your flexed bicep– like a fetish.

@josecanseco: Open up Jarvis Bike Lane and make the Ikea Monkey municipal symbol.

@josecanseco: Ikea Monkey everywhere!

@michaelmurrayca: Ford too much trouble to be effective. Gotta fix budget, traffic, get new $ not from taxes, get more businesses, and help schools.

@josecanseco: The only thing that can help schools is a casino!

@josecanseco: A monkey themed casino!

@michaelmurrayca: I’m listening. Contact my assistant.

@josecanseco: And forget about Shaq, you must challenge mayor Rob Ford to an MMA fight. All proceeds to go to the monkey casino for the children!

@josecanseco: Ford is slow and easily confused.

@michaelmurrayca: I will throat punch him.

@josecanseco: He will die if you do that!!!

@josecanseco: Hey, did you ever have sex with Madonna? I bet she was pretty aggressive.

@michaelmurray: Just heard from my assistant and I can’t run for Toronto Mayor.

@michaelmurrayca: Will now just work harder on my anti-aging drink Ponce de Canseco.

@josecanseco: Nothing gonna keep you down! You are my hero. Can I have an autographed photo?

@josecanseco: You remind me a bit of Fred Flintstone, but in a good way!

I know it’s not politically correct to do this but I’m going to do it anyway, Merry Christmas everybody! I could say something like “Happy Holidays,” or “Season’s Greetings,” like the nerds in the office want, but I’ve got to be me! Rob Ford is Rob Ford, and if that means taking the difficult path of the warrior, then that’s the car I gotta drive, and if you don’t like it, well, you can just sit on it. So if you’re gay or an Indian or Jewish and don’t respect Jesus and commerce, well, just ignore this and continue with your Chinese food and movies. (By the way, if you’re looking for a movie to see I’d recommend The Hobbit. It is WAY cool! I’ve seen it three times and consider it an early Oscar favourite.)

Now that I’ve gotten the “politics” out of the way, I just want to say, WOW!!!!

What a freakin’ year!

Our very own Toronto Argonauts won the Grey Cup, there was a bunch of black on black killings in gangtown, and until the left-wing media drove me to quit, I went on a diet. Even more, we’ve all had to battle through the NHL lockout and the subsequent hockey pool draught it’s caused, we shared in the emotional roller coaster that was the Ikea Monkey, and finally we all survived the Mayan Apocalypse! (I tell you, I was never happier to have a vacation property in Florida (two swimming pools) than I was on December 21^st when I thought it was all coming down! Anyway, I want you all to know that it was my honour to serve as your captain through all this joy and pain, all this sunshine and rain. Toronto, you can always count on me to be your quarterback.

I want to add that at city hall we’re really proud that we’ve been able to slow down the gravy train. It’s third and long for the socialists and downtown elite and soon we’ll have a casino the size of an airport right in the middle of Toronto, firmly establishing us as a world-class city. We have an awful lot to look forward to in 2013, so rock on, T.O!

Here’s hoping you all fight hard, but fight fair on Boxing Day, and that you get the stuff you want!

Rob

PS: And remember, if you get stopped during a holiday ride program, always say that you haven’t had anything to drink so that the police officer doesn’t have reasonable cause to give you a breathalyzer!

Mary Webster, November 13, 2009

“I can no longer be near that man. He lost a tooth one night when we were dancing. It just fell out of his head, and all he did was put it in his pocket and jam some Kleenex in his mouth, which quickly became sodden and red. I had to run to the washroom and throw-up. It is impossible, and I mean physically impossible, for me to dance with him again.”

Claire Hepburn, December 12, 2009

“I will not dance with him again. He’s just too sweaty. At first you can see it on his upper lip, and then it’s all over his face. His hands are cold and slippery, like something that lives in the water, and one night I noticed that he was sweating through his pants, near his groin. He said he had an unusually effective lymphatic system. Gross.”

Julia Barylak, December 12, 2009

“He simply can’t dance. It’s like he’s trying not to dance and you’re fighting against some creature from a parallel universe who’s attempting to thwart your every move. It’s so frustrating that when I get home after class I drink a bottle of wine and watch game shows. I really hate him.”

Alex McLaren, February 28, 2010

“He always asks me to call him The Colonel, and I’m not going to do that.”

Jillian Dickens, September 02, 2010

“He gets tired very easily and then his nose begins to whistle. It’s demoralizing, as if some ghost or the specter of death is in the room with you.”

Rei Hokkaido, March 15, 2011

“I always feel like I’m one of those prank shows when I’m dancing with him. At first it was kind of fun and unpredictable, like a witty conversation with somebody begging for money, but then it quickly devolved into a display of mental and physical illness. I’m sorry, but dancing with him just makes me sad and I come here to be happy, my life is difficult enough, you know?

Alison Perry, October 12, 2011

“He wore a mesh top to one class and is always telling knock-knock jokes. That’s enough, isn’t it? But even more, his dancing skills and ability to learn new moves are so horrible that I feel I’m regressing whenever it’s my unfortunate turn to partner with him, and I cannot do that any more.”

Aurina Gupta, September 2, 2012

“I was there the day he wore the Batman costume to class on the opening night of The Dark Knight Rises. He really seemed to think that the cape was sexy and kept spinning around and around, or rather, stumbling around and around. He knocked over my water bottle and stepped on my iPod, breaking it. I cannot tell you how much that evening upset me. I was sure he was going to get on the subway and shoot people after that class. “

Debra O’Malley, December 11, 2012

“I can’t say why, but he just reminds me of the Ikea Monkey.”