We weren’t best pals, but we spent an awful lot of time at the campus pub—The Slick Rooster—cutting classes and drinking, and I suppose we formed a bond, a bond that has surprisingly remained intact over the years. Recently, I got an email from Rob after he heard about my heart surgery:

*********************************

Little Buddy:

Holy shit storm!!

I had no idea your ticker was F’ed! You were always so skinny, you’d think it would have hit a bigger, heavier, more powerful guy like me, but hell, it just goes to show that you never know what’s going  to happen in this crazy world. Who knows, eh? I might still end up with Jennifer Aniston!

If I did, I tell you, we would become a political force that could never be stopped.

Robiffer: A fucking juggernaut.

Who was it you were nuts for? Oh yeah, Demi Moore! You wanted her so bad!! You saw that movie Ghost 8 times!

Remember that pottery scene? That was boner city, man!  Demi Moore reminds me of a lady soccer player. It’s the short hair, like she’s a boy only with really hot boobs and a fine, fine ass.

Have you been watching the lady soccer? No, me neither! LOL!!

Hey, gotta change the tone here for a sec, get heavy.

As you know, I spent some time incarcerated in the hospital, too. Unbelievable that a guy as vital and straight-shooting as myself would get the Big C, but I did. Not stopping me, though. Gotta have a positive attitude, little buddy. Just charge through it like you were a big lineman ploughing through a bunch of nerds, or in your case, a nerd beating on smaller, weaker nerds. What’s beneath a nerd on the totem pole of cool anyway? I mean, who do nerds bully? Do you just throw rocks at animals, or are there actually people you can push around? Interested to know as I always try to relate to my constituents. Wanna speak their language, even if it is Nerdlish.

How were your nurses?

Hot or Not?

That was a game I played to pass the time. I would look at each nurse and ask myself, “Would you do her?” I’m not sure what the percentage was, but it was pretty high. There was one little sex bomb name Sylvie.

( .Y .)

 Jesus. They couldn’t let her work on the cardiac floor because she’d send all her patient’s blood pressure through the roof!  LOL!! Shit brick house, that one, and an accent that was better than any porn film I’ve ever seen. Always asked her for a sponge bath– once, I even offered her three hundred bucks for one, but I don’t think her english was too good because she never responded. The city of Toronto has to legislate that everybody fucking speaks and understands ENGLISH and that it is their ONLY language.  Those that don’t comply? Fucking deported.

Loved the drugs in hospital. Hydromorphone.

They’ll tell you to only take one, but screw that, take two, maybe three, for a good high. You will float right to the fucking ceiling and then have the best sex of your life with that goddamn ceiling. It is that good.

It will bung you up eventually, but it’s still worth it.

Get well soon, Little Buddy!

Big Rob

What follows is Rob Ford’s response:

“The pandas? What do I think of the pandas? I think I goddamn love pandas!! (Takes reporter and places him in genial headlock while giving him a Noogie.) Ah, just fudging around, look, to be serious with ya for a second though, I got to say that I’ve always related to the panda. They’re big, strong and fiercely committed to their people, just like football players.

And you know, they’ve always got the eye black on, so you just know that they’re ready to go into battle. I’d be proud to go into battle with an army of pandas, and Jesus, if I had a team of football playing pandas we’d be as undefeatable as the free market! Just think about it. We wouldn’t lose a single game. Not. A. Single. Fucking. One.

Anyway, I have to give props to our communist Chinese friends for loaning us these pandas and letting them live in freedom for a few years. Hopefully, once the pandas get a taste for the independent, small government, big city dynamo that is Toronto– it’ll really get them turned-on. Guns ‘N’ Roses turned-on. Toronto is like an awesome guitar solo, you know?  Toronto will make the pandas hot, really hot, feeling all sexy like they’re watching a yoga class!  Does it to me everyday. The city girl make me hot, man, hot, sweaty hot. But Geez, it’s hard to imagine that pandas don’t like sex, but it’s a fact of science. Weird, that. So it’s my hope that Er Shawn is like the Jennifer Aniston of pandas and Dammy can’t keep his paws off of her. It’ll be Panda Time all the time, and we’ll become an industry leader in panda breeding. That means more jobs. More jobs for people who never even dreamed that they might one day get to see panda sex. (High-five)

Toronto is the city, stinkin’ rich in Asian culture and with a great Chinatown full of real cheap eats (and a spitting problem that I will take care of) where dreams can come true.  We’ll be known as panda city and we’ll have those little warrior bears all over the place! It’ll be so cute it’ll make you barf, and listen, I bet you my bottom dollar, that when my fucking downtown fucking casino opens, that the whores will be two for one and that all those baby pandas will clean up the raccoon problem that has plagued this city for years! If I, or any of my constituents have raccoon shit in their eaves troughs again, the whole frigging species is going get it. Raccoons, consider yourself on watch because Rob Ford and the pandas have a plan, and you aren’t in that plan.

And you know, this might sound all freaky or something, but I’ve had a lot of funny dreams involving pandas. Can’t quite explain it. I once wore a panda mask on Chat Roulette, didn’t even know why. Saw the video after the fact. Anyway, seems like fate that my city is going to be the city of panda sex–wild, eh? ”

Based on the old New York Times Photo series, What They Were Thinking, I came up with an idea to post the unflattering picture of Ford before it made a splash, and have the Mayor, in his own words, tell the public exactly what he was thinking the moment the photograph was snapped. This way, we would be ahead of the envelope and we could see the inner, vulnerable Mayor.

This photograph, taken late Thursday night at a CJPAC event, shows the Mayor kindly posing for a photograph with a fan.

What The Mayor Was Thinking:

“Well, it was International Woman’s Day, so I was thinking about all the amazing contributions women have made to the world. If it weren’t for women, I don’t think that there would be any cookies, babies, or lingerie football, and I bet Cute Overload would have tanked. There’s tons of other stuff, too, and I was thinking about that, also. I mean, women have written books and starred in movies, there have even been lady Mayors! It’s amazing, when you think about it, and I was considering all of it, the sorts of make-out music they like and how they’re scared of spiders. I was really feeling the lady vibe right then. Like, the way that they smell, the way they feel, and the way that their voices are higher and softer than your own—it’s just so cool. You know, Jessica Alba, Jennifer Aniston, The Kardashians, Jennifer Lawrence, Pamela Anderson, hell, even Lindsay Lohan, and Scarlett Johansson, yeah, her big time…The list just goes on and on. Women are fucking awesome, and I really like it when they’re around, especially when I’m feeling a little lonely, and believe me, even a big, cool Mayor like me gets lonely from time to time.”

*Late on Thursday night while at a CJPAC event, Sarah Thomson, a former candidate for Mayor, posted the photograph of Rob and her at the function, stating that he said she should have been in Florida with him last week because his wife wasn’t there and then grabbed her ass.

As some of you may know, Rob Ford was enrolled at Carleton University in Ottawa back in the 1980’s and he and I used to be last-call regulars at the same bar. We haven’t seen one another in 20 years and have never had a sober conversation, but we were drinking buddies and as such continue to have short, on-line chats whenever one of us is drinking alone.

On Friday morning at 1:39, I got this message from Rob:

Rob: Hey Mur, you catch the Olympics?

Me: Slobber! It was a Bronze Bonanza for Canada, my man!!

Rob: How ‘bout that Udon Bolt guy, eh? The night before he won all the races he did three chicks from the Swedish handjob, I mean handball team! What a stud!!

Me: Usain Bolt, he should be the new James Bond.

Rob: Yeah, that lightning Bolt guy. If I were in his position I’d do some of the lady divers. It turns my crank when they’re all wet and then shower and go into that hot tub together. Love to party with them, man. SHOOTERS!!!

Me: SHOOTERS!!!!

Rob: asadafsdafdpaaaaf9as9d0as

Me: ????

Rob: Fucken cat just walked over the laptop.

Me: Oh.

Rob: I wana get a big dog, call him Flat Screen, but the wife won’t let me. Says I’ll never take him for a walk.

Me: You wouldn’t.

Rob: HAHAAHAHAHAHA! Ain’t it the truth!

Rob: Mur, I tell ya, I just can’t root for Canada during the Olympics. They’re losers. It’s the USA for me, just respect the way they go about stuff, you know? Look at the way they handle war, football, cars, food and stuff. They got it going on. And Jennifer Aniston, too!!!

Me: She’s always been your special friend.

Rob:  BOURBON!!!

Me: Bourbon shooters for all!!

Rob: And US cars rule!  I got a new ride, an Escalade.

Me: The Escalade, that’s what all the rappers sing about, right?

Rob: You know it, little brother. Big shit storm up in Toronto about my ride.

Me: What happened?

Rob: Some fart hole took a picture of me reading while driving down the Expressway. Wasn’t even breaking 100! Now all the green-freaks are on my ass. They can kiss MY ASS!! HAAAHAAHAH!!

Me: I hear you, Slobber.

Rob: Goddamn Escalade drives itself—you don’t need to be paying attention. Things a tank! Couldn’t hurt myself if I tried!

Me: What music do you listen when you’re driving?

Rob: RATT. They really clear the brainpan. Psyche’s me up for the day.

Me: Cool. Did you see the Spice Girls at the closing ceremonies for the Olympics? Still looked pretty good, eh?

Rob: Oh Yeah! Ginger for me, man. And Posh. And Scary. And the other one, Baby, they can all hop in the hot tub with me and the diver girls!!! SPLISHSSSPLASHSPLISHSPLASSH!! But not Sporty, she’s like a dude.

A big, heaving white guy, he’s the kind of man that gets all red in the face and pumps his fist in the air shouting stuff like, “the gravy train must stop!” He has tiny, receded eyes that make him look as if he’s spent most of his life underground, hair that’s thin, sparse and so absent of colour as to appear transparent and emits the general vibe of a defeated salesman. His life has been buckshot with the sort of Frat Boy controversy you’d expect from a guy that grew up idolizing Rush Limbaugh and the CFL.

He’s not really into the brainy, micromanaging of governance, preferring instead to “take the bull by the horns.” Very often he does this by calling in to talk radio stations or writing letters to his constituents. These are some of Rob Ford’s recent missives:

To a 17 year-old suspected of committing a recent robbery:

Dear Mister Winston,

It’s Rob Fucking Ford here, Mayor of Toronto.

You’re scum.

I don’t want you in my city. I want you to leave my city. You’re a loser and a disgrace to the honest, hard-working citizens of my city. You think it’s cool to hold-up a gas station? Well, it’s not. We need gas to drive our cars. Did you ever think about that? I bet you didn’t. It’s not a victimless crime. You’re a loser and I swear, if I ever hear of you doing something like that in my city again I am going to take you out on the football field and make you my cheerleader, you bitch.

To a militant cyclist who organized a protest on a busy street at rush hour to  bring attention to unsafe biking conditions:

Dear Ms. Hairy Hippy Chick,

It’s Rob Ford here, yeah, that Rob Ford, the Mayor of your city. Lady, it’s not the 60’s, shave your armpits, get a job and learn to drive a goddamn car! If I see you protesting on one of my friggin’ streets again I am going to run you over in my Escalade. I’ll enjoy it. I want to rid my city of people like you and the goddamn pigeons who shit all over the place. You’re of the same diseased flock, as far as I’m concerned. Look out for me, license plate reads  “Go2Hell” and I drive fast, faster than Batman.

To a store in Chinatown that is suspected of selling bootleg movies:

Dear Mr. Chang or whatever,

It’s Mayor Rob Ford and I you boss. You do laundry for me, understand? No legal-legal to sell Hollywood star movies! Very bad! I shut you down like Jackie Chan, unless you me give Big Man Me movies I want. Big Man Me like Jennifer Aniston and movie with fast car and crash, understand? Keep them coming or I on you like white on rice.

To a graffiti artist known as DMC:

Dear Coward who hides behind the coward name DMC:

What the hell does DMC stand for?

Dumb Moronic Candy-Ass?

I tell you what Rob Ford, Mayor of your fucking city, stands for, he stands for the rule of law. Got it? Just because I can’t draw I don’t take out my frustrations  by vandalizing the city, that’s what a coward would do. That’s what you do. You’re a piece of trash.

I demand that you leave my city.

NOW!!!

Go to France where they play sissy football, sissy! 

Back in January he launched a public campaign called The Cut The Waist Challenge, where he pledged to lose 50 of his 330 pounds in five months. It was a campy circus, this, with the mayor having public weigh-ins (sometimes with girls in lettuce bikinis!) each week and TV stations reporting on it as if it was a sports event. However, after a period of time the mayor stopped showing up for the weigh-ins, and then gave up on the entire project about month before it was to end.

You should know that I used to drink with Rob Ford back when he was a student at Carleton University in Ottawa. We were both last call regulars at a local bar and we became friendly in the way that only barflies bound by drinking can. The truth is that I don’t think we ever had a sober conversation, but we bonded through this somehow, and even though we haven’t seen one another in over 15 years, we still text one another when drinking alone. A kind of nostalgia, I guess.

I hadn’t heard from Rob in quite a long time, but on Friday, at 1:45 in the morning, he sent me a text.

Mayor Ford: Mur? You thare?

Me: SLOBBER!!!

Mayor Ford: Cowabangle, dude!

Me: How’s it hanging, captain?

Mayor Ford: Straight and strong, straight and srtong!

Me: What up, big dog?

Mayor Ford: Just watched Along Came Polly. Would totally do Jennifer Aniston!!!

Me: She’d be a lucky woman.

Mayor Ford: I’d be her fucking friend, if you know what I mean.

Me: You’d be a glamour couple, like the goddamn Kennedy’s!

Mayor Ford: I wonder what she smells like????

Me: Suntan lotion and misspent money?

Mayor Ford: Ha! She smells like big government! Let me tel u, I would cut the hell out of her deficit!

Me: Wacha drinking?

Mayor Ford: Gin, lotto gin tonight. On the patio throwing ashtrays at squirrels. You?

Me: Playing Angry Birds and drinking rum.  I miss the old days, Slobber!

Mayor Ford: Me2, little buddy, me2.

Me: ME2 sounds like a robot in a movie! Saw the Avengers the other day. Awesome!

Mayor Ford: 3-D rules. I completely fucking relate to the Hulk!  He my man!!

Me: Puny humans bother Hulk! Hulk smash!

Mayor Ford: SMASH!!SMASH!!SMASH!!

Me: Hey, how’s the weight-loss thing going?

Mayor Ford: SMASH!!SMASH!!SMASH!!

Me: Not so well?

Mayor Ford: SMASH!!SMASH!!SMASH!!

Mayor Ford: You know what my favourite part of the Avengers was?

Me: The smashing?

Mayor Ford: Yeah and Scarlett Johansson’s ass. Love the 3ddee.

Me: Aniston or Johansson?

Mayor Ford: BOTH!!! HAHAAHAHAHA!

Mayor Ford: Fuck, I love gin.

Me: Still get high?

Mayor Ford: Does a bull shit in a chinashop?

Me: Why’d you quit the weight-loss challenge?

Mayor Ford: Barbeque Season. Pulled fucking Pork.

Me: What about austerity measures?

Mayor Ford: Barbeque season ain’t no time for austerity measures!

Mayor Ford: Go Argos!!

Me: YOU THE MAN!

Mayor Ford: Lead, follow or get under the doggamn bus!

Mayor Ford: HULK SMASH BUS!!

Me: Testify!

Mayor Ford: I think globarl warming is real. GEts hotter all thetime. Love ya little buddy! Dizzy bedtime.