is now trying– for the third time– to become the Democratic candidate for President of the USA. The man must like power, I guess. At any rate, he has espoused all the political views at one time or another, and now, at 77, he must truly believe it is finally Joe time. What follows is a list of alternate jobs, other than President of the USA, that Mr. Biden might fill:
Greeter at a prestigious riverboat casino
NHL Ref
Dr. Joe, marriage counselor and TV personality
Gourmet hot dog street vendor
Permanent host of The Academy Awards
Mayor of Caramel-by-the-sea, California
Colour commentator on Monday Night Football
Private detective who lives in Hawaii
Head barber and owner of Joe’s Man Cave
Prince of Whales
The other day while perusing the products of an online weed dispensary, a chat box opened and a support agent asked me if I needed any help. This is our conversation:
****************************************
Stacey: Hey there, if you have any questions regarding our products please let me know!
Me: I’m interested in knowing how you folks come up with the names for all the different strains. I always thought I’d be really, really good at that. Is there any chance I might be able to apply for such a position within your organization?
Stacey: The growers name the strains, so I’m afraid we’re not accepting any applications for that position.
Me: Nuts.
Stacey: Sorry.
Me: I had some really good ones.
Stacey: I bet you did.
Me: You know it! Listen to these… Mystic Space Owl! Howling Cheesie Attack! Electric Light Orchestra!
Stacey: Those are pretty good, but I’m pretty sure the last one is the name of a band from the 70’s.
Me: Really? That doesn’t sound right.
Stacey: Google it.
Me: Sweet Jesus, you’re right! They must have been an amazing band, look at that hair! And the satin, too! Just stunning. I would give it all up if I could look like that. I really would.
Stacey: And speaking as a person who’s spending time chatting on a weed web site in the middle of the afternoon about job opportunities, what would giving it all up mean to you?
Me: I’m not sure. But it wouldn’t be weed. I would not give up the weed.
Stacey: We’re happy to hear that.
Me: I have a cat.
Stacey: Just one?
Me: Yes, his name is Admiral.
Stacey: Is that your duvet?
Me: No, it’s my mother’s.
Stacey: I see. Well, Admiral looks very cute.
Me: He’s a great cat, but make no mistake, I would give him up him for the ability to look like I was in ELO.
Stacey: Well, we must all walk our own path, I guess.
Me: That’s for sure! And let me tell you, I do walk my own path. Always have. I have to be me. Just the way I am.
Stacey: I’m sure you have lots of friends!
Me: And just because one of them might say you’re on the spectrum, that doesn’t mean it’s true.
Stacey: Are you high right now?
Me: No. You?
Stacey: No.
Me: Just a regular Wednesday afternoon then?
Stacey: Yep.
Me: Do you get sent a lot of dick pics?
Stacey: What do you think?
Me: I think that you probably do.
Stacey: Good guess. So, is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: Have you ever seen a ghost?
( Stacey ends chat)
]]>
Upstairs at the bar there’s an unrelenting press of people. So many of them. Jostling together excitedly, they’re all hopeful on this festive night out, each one wanting to feel special in some regard, each one waiting for their life to pivot. Unshaven Bros in sports toques and ball caps, beta predators who only move in packs of two and threes, are looking over at a cluster of Friday night women worrying their phones. Men are pushed up against the bar three deep, each one competing for something.
The bartender is at the centre of it all.
Although completely overwhelmed, she’s working calmly through the chaos. Surrounded on all sides by some sort of want, she makes a millions subtle calculations with each one of her actions. Each person is a problem that must be solved, a fire that must be extinguished. Her face determined, she moves fluidly and with purpose, and all the men encircling her at the bar with their steaks and Keg-sized glasses of red wine, are watching.
A man around 60 leans in. Everyone is leaning in, trying to flag her attention. This man, he’s lived his life handsome, and the confident residue of that lingers within him still, “Can I be next?” he asks in a salesman’s voice. The bartender forces a smile and takes his order, and all the other men waiting stiffen a little, jealous.
He is pleased with himself, this man. He feels special.
When she returns, he leans in yet further, “That tattoo on your right forearm, the roman numerals, are they from your favourite Shakespeare passage? Are you an actress?”
It is not clear that she is flattered by this attention, but she gives a partial, evasive answer.
“It’s a date,” she says, giving the man a polite, discouraging smile. Gesturing to how busy she is, she moves to disengage and tend to other preening, signalling men, but this man was not finished. “This is my favourite passage,” he began, and then in his best Shakespearian accent:
“If music be the food of love, play on.
Give me excess of it that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die…”
And she is trapped, so trapped she is almost suspended in air.
Her eyes close for just a moment, as if it is all too much, and then she reanimates herself and begins to applaud robustly, cutting the man’s recitation short. It was as if a battle had been won, and she got to keep the secret of the tattoo– something so important, so crucial to who she wanted to be, that she had it written into her flesh–for herself.
]]>She lives in the same part of Toronto as I do, and occasionally we bump into one another as we did yesterday when Rachelle and I were at the local park with our two-year old son Jones:
************************************************
Me: Oh, shit.
Rachelle: What?
Me: Two o’clock.
Rachelle: The woman in the cloak?
Me: I thought it was a cape.
Rachelle: No, that’s a cloak.
Me: Ok, whatever. Either way, it’s Margaret fucking Atwood.
Rachelle: I think she’s coming over. I’m going to take Jones to the swings! You two talk on your own!!
( Rachelle and Jones run off as Atwood approaches)
Atwood: Forgive me, but I have to ask, do the police get called very often?
Me: I’m not sure I understand what you mean.
Atwood: You, a middle-aged loner who will never be accepted by his neighbouring, wealthy peers.
Never-quite wearing the right brand and always on the periphery, just shy of conversation, always staring at the children and their pretty young mothers, staring so hard it seems as if you’re trying to fill some interior void that can never stop hungering. I’d think that might make many of the parents nervous.
Me: I think I’m seen more as a kind of guardian, like Batman.
Atwood: Yes, Batman, or perhaps a guardian, like a hollowed-out and mother-dominated crossing guard still living with his deceased parents. Maybe like that, too.
Me: Did you make it to the corn boil here the other day? Blue grass band and everything.
Atwood: Here at Sibelius park?
Me: Yes.
Atwood: No, I was in LA at the Emmy’s.
Me: Funny how the city of Toronto would name a park Sibelius, after a Finnish composer of classical music, before naming one after you, a Canadian writer of impenetrable, mostly hated books. Wonder why that is?
Atwood: I am astonished. You must have been reading your Wikipedia in order to find out who Jean Sibelius was, for surely you thought he was some old Toronto Maple Leaf who died in car crash, no?
Me: JONES!!! NO KICKING!!!! I’M SERIOUS!! I WILL TAKE THAT DIGGER AWAY!!! DON’T THINK I WON’T!!
Atwood: They’re so beautiful at that age. It’s wonderful to see such attentive nurturing, too. With all the advantages you’re giving your son, I am sure he will go far in this world, maybe all the way to The Keg.
Me: I heard you were wearing your housecoat on stage when that thing you wrote so long ago, The Handmaiden’s Tale, won some Emmy for best red outfit worn by a supporting actress, or something.
Atwood: Handmaid’s Tale, and it was awarded Best Drama, amongst several other awards, for being considered a prescient and uncanny representation of Trump’s America.
Me: It’s no Game of Thrones, is all I can say.
Atwood: “Perlen vor Schweinen geworfen,” as they say.
Me: Yeah, whatever.
Atwood: I saw that the *Giller Prize nominees were announced.
Me: JONES!!! I’M NOT TELLING YOU AGAIN!!
Atwood: I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t nominated.
Not even on the long list.
Again.
How does that make you feel, Marcel?
Me: It’s Michael.
Atwood: Right, so sorry.
* The prize awards $100,000 annually to the author of the best Canadian novel or short story collection published in English, and $10,000 to each of the finalists.
]]>This is a newsletter posted to the Super Yacht Community message board after the demonstrations in Charlottesville, Virginia :
*****************************************
Recent events in Charlottesville, Virginia have shaken not just the USA, but the global community, too, including those of us who belong to The Super-Yacht Community.
Many of our members have been rattled by the proletariat uprisings in the US and across Europe, and have been wondering whether or not being a white supremacist is really grounds for termination.
First off, everybody should just stay calm and keep in mind that the vast majority of the people in the Super-Yacht Community are job creators, not job leaches (consumers), and so we really don’t have to worry about getting fired.
If you don’t have a job at let’s say, The Bulk Barn, then Black Lives Matters can’t take it away from you for wanting to protect history, can they?
Regardless, The Super-Yacht Community has never been an insensitive or selfish group, and we’re well aware that many of the people who help to sustain us ( Ferrari repairmen, avocado specialists, bikini makers, personal assistants, personal physicians, personal nutritionists, mindfulness coaches, topiarists, helicopter pilots, addiction specialists, nannies, hunting guides and taxidermists, high-end sex workers, off-shore bankers, professional sports teams, etc.), are still vulnerable to loss of employment and social standing due to unfashionable political beliefs.
For instance, supermodel and beloved Super-Yacht Community member Tanya Mityushina has a brother named Dimitri.
(Dimitri is the one on the far right holding the “Nog Ar Nog) shield.
He worked as a DJ at a nightclub in Miami called Waves of Fire. Here, Dimitri enjoyed multiple revenue streams and unprecedented sexual opportunities. This young man was going places, but unfortunately his image was caught on camera while he was exercising his freedom of speech at a demonstration in Virginia and this (as well as his spirited thoughts on eugenics) resulted in in his termination.
In order to combat this lynching, we at the Super-Yacht Community have decided to start a Go Fund Me for Dimitri so that he might buy his own nightclub. It is to be tentatively called Tsunami Inferno, and it will be twice as large as Waves of Fire. We are looking at a target of $25 million to help Tanya’s brother get back up on his feet, so if any of you have an spare properties lying around downtown Miami, please feel free to donate!
On a melancholy note, we within the Super-Yacht Community (no longer officially affiliated with the Illuminati) and are deeply saddened that we recently lost one of our own. Glen Campbell was a great member of our community and a transcendent talent who truly made the world a better place. He will be missed.
Pace et requiem est, Rhinestone Cowboy.
And finally, please remember, if America burns there will be plenty of economic opportunity for our community.
Nisi eliphaz,
The SYC
PS: Also, keep in mind that everybody is welcome aboard Bono’s Super-Yacht “Kingdom Come” for a barbecue next week in Fiji. And yes, Ivanka will be there, so be prepared for a little larger press and military presence than usual.
****************************
Dear Bitter Writer:
I think that having the capacity to feel a broad array of emotions is a big component of being a great, great writer, like you are, and with that in mind I was wondering what the first book that made you cry was?
Igor
Igor:
This one is very easy.
The first book that made me cry was Horton Hears a Who!
Completely fucking terrifying.
Dr. Seuss was one messed-up guy, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he turned out to some sort of unknown serial killer. He’s like a Stephen King for children. You should fear him.
Anyway, I was probably about four when this book was first read to me, and I immediately understood that our world was no different than the speck of dust Horton was holding. Our lives– even those of Mommy and Daddy– were incredibly precarious and vulnerable, subject to forces we know nothing about and couldn’t even begin to imagine. At any second, all we knew and loved could just vanish into an unknowable abyss. I did not sleep for two weeks after the babysitter (Summer) read this stupid book to me, and ever since, I’ve been cursed by a deeply penetrating existential terror, one that continues to govern my days.
************************
Dear Bitter Writer:
You’re such an interesting and charismatic person, I was wondering if you’d share with us any literary pilgrimages you might have gone on?
Oscar winning actress Jennifer Lawrence
Jennifer:
Ha, so great to hear from you!
As far as your question goes, I’ve never been on a, “this is the cafeteria where Kafka ate,” or, “ this is the dungeon where Dr. Seuss used to torture his victims,” kind of pilgrimage. Instead, I think of each day as a literary pilgrimage. I go out with the conscious intent of finding a moment of beauty in the world, of discovering something holy, and then I try to recreate it using words. And so each day is a journey, a pilgrimage toward something sacred that must be worshipped.
PS: Have you been getting my postcards? I have not heard back and was wondering if I was given the wrong super-yacht address for you?
PPS: I think you’re something sacred that must be worshipped!
*****************************************************
Dear Bitter Writer:
I just want to say how much I LOVED your brilliant book A VAN FULL OF GIRLS.
It is, and I hope this doesn’t embarrass you, the work of a true genius. Obviously, writing just pours out of you, but if for some reason you couldn’t be a genius writer, what do you think you’d do for work?
Taylor
Taylor:
Thank you for the kind, extremely perceptive words!
It’s hard to imagine a life where I’m not a writer, but if I were forced to live one by some alien over-lord or something, I think I would probably be a model. I think I could bring a lot to that job.
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.
Me: Thanks so much for sitting down with me.
Jane: It’s my pleasure, jobs, justice and particularly climate change are the defining issues of our times, and with what little time I have left, I want to do all I can to bring attention to them.
Me: Of course, of course. Nice hat, by the way—I think it says, “Let’s Change The World Now!” At any rate, you said, “with what little time I have left,” how old are you?
Jane: I am 77 years-old, and fortunately I’m in good health and have lots of energy, so I’m very hopeful that I can keep using my celebrity to bring attention to these causes before it’s too late.
Me: My mother is 77 years-old and she doesn’t look anything like you. Practically a different species.
Jane: I’m sure your mother is a very, very lovely woman, although looking at you I’d think she was much older than 77. But anyway, I’m from Hollywood and I’ve had so much work done I’m practically a cyborg.
Me: Ha!! A sex-cyborg! That’s funny! I’d love to see a Jane Fonda sex-cyborg. I hope the Japanese invent one after you’re dead. But back to the interview. You can imagine how confusing it was for me growing up to have you on one hand, a hot star I wanted to have sex with, and my mother on the other hand– and both being the same age! Very mixed-up– still am, I guess!!
Jane: Well, I hope you got some help for that. That’s one of the good things about Canada, it has universal health care so that people with mental illnesses such as yourself, can be treated.
Me: I loved you in Barbarella. When you made that film, did you have any idea how many strip clubs in North America were going to name themselves Barbarella’s? There must be hundreds, probably thousands.
Jane: The sex industry is a very complicated one, but what is clear is that women should have the right to do what they want with their bodies, be it free choice, stripping or prostitution. We need to enact laws to protect and empower women so that they’re in control of their bodies and lives, treated fairly and in a safe environment.
Me: Okay, good point. This one is a three-parter: Is acting a form of prostitution? Does Hollywood treat women fairly? Do you have sex with all of your leading men, or women, such as the case may be?
Jane: Yes, I think that acting is a form of prostitution, and…
Me: I have never in all of my years been to a prostitute. Never had to pay for it.
Jane: As I was saying, Hollywood has a long, long way to go before men and women are treated equally, particularly older women. Once you hit a certain age, the roles just vanish and you become invisible!
Me: Which is why you’re at a rally in Canada instead of, saying, selling aerobics videos
or starring as a lawyer or sexy, mean matriarch in some movie. I get it. They say that women in Hollywood have a best before date, a point where they become unfuckable. Do you think you became unfuckable, and if so, at what point in your career? Maybe Stanley and Iris or Monster-in-Law?
Jane: (Gets up and leaves)
]]>
Ford has submitted an audition tape with a number of sample interviews he’s conducted, and this is a small selection:
Doug Ford interviews Deepak Chopra (Indian-American author, public-speaker, businessman and physician)
Doug Ford: So, what do you like better being a doctor or being a businessman?
Deepak Chopra: Well, we are more than just the labels that society puts on us. Yes, it is true that I am a businessman and doctor, but I, like all human spirits, am many things, and everything that I do nourishes my soul equally.
Doug Ford: I’m a very successful businessman. We make labels. We’re called Deco Labels. Three different locations, two in the GTA and one in Chicago. Deepak, let me ask you, you ever been to Chicago?
Deepak Chopra: I have been many times and will be there next week to promote my new book, Why is God Laughing: The path to joy and optimism.
Doug Ford: That’s great. You should take in a Blackhawk’s game and go to Michael Jordan’s steak house. Jesus, those are some good goddamn steaks. Do you eat steak in India? I mean, you folks worship cows, you’d think you’d know and appreciate how delicious steak is. By the way, I’ve always admired the Indian people, you guys are great, very colourful and polite.
Doug Ford interviews Suzanne Somers (comedienne, actress and businessperson)
Doug Ford: Let me tell you, thirty years ago you were just about the hottest thing I ever saw. Chrissy Snow. Jesus Christ. Hot. And let me tell you, Three’s Company, that was a real comedy. Classy.
Suzanne Somers: Thank you.
Doug Ford: So, you write poetry in your spare time?
Suzanne Somers: I’ve always felt the need to express myself creatively.
Doug Ford: I like to box. Sometimes shot put. Okay, my producer wants me to read one of your poems. It’s from a collection called Touch Me: The poems of Suzanne Somers. I bet you have a lot of takers when people hear you say, “touch me,” eh? Right for the boobs.
Suzanne Somers: I mean it spiritually, not physically.
Doug Ford: Yeah, whatever. So it’s called “Organic Girl,” and it goes like this:
Organic girl dropped by last night
For nothing in particular
Except to tell me again how beautiful and serene she feels
On uncooked vegetables and wheat germ fortified by bean sprouts
Mixed with yeast and egg whites on really big days
She not only meditates regularly, but looks at me like I should
And lectures me about meat and ice cream
And other aggressive foods I shouldn’t eat.
Nice. Okay, I got a two-parter for you. So, what’s the theme of this poem and you ever have any work done? You still look pretty good.
Doug Ford interviews Tanya Tagaq (award winning throat singer)
Doug Ford: Sorry, I had a real hard time there with your last name. If you’re in show business you might want to change it so that it’s easier to say and remember. Just smart business.
Tanya Tagaq: I like my name as it is, thank you.
Doug Ford: (Stares at her, a burning silence for 20 seconds.) Are you saying you don’t care about business?
Tanya Tagaq: No, I’m saying I care about my name.
Doug Ford: You’re First Nations, right? Am I right? Yeah, look, don’t you think if maybe you guys were better at business you wouldn’t have signed all those treaties where you gave up prime real estate for bracelets and you wouldn’t always be asking tax payers for hand-outs? So maybe business is important, okay? You get it? (Aggressively bangs question cues cards on table) Alright, so what the hell is throat singing anyway?
Under the awning girls in tube tops giggle while their boyfriends watch them, imagining lifting their twisting and smiling and screaming bodies up, and carrying them out into the cooling streams of rain– the moment and everybody in it, becoming slick, beautiful and imperishable.
]]>