As many of you know, Rob Ford and I went to Carleton University in Ottawa at the same time and were last call drinking buddies. Although we’ve never had a sober conversation, we developed a strange but resilient friendship, one that sees us communicate even to this day. Whenever one of us is drinking alone, we often go on-line to chat with one another, a sort of nostalgic slur back to the good old days.
At about 3:00 am on Saturday, as Toronto’s Nuit Blanche arts festival was winding down, I got this message from Rob:
The Mayor: Her Mur, you there? You go to the French thing last night?
Me: Rob! You mean Nuit Blanche?
The Mayor: Yeah, the farts festival.
Me: What were you doing there? You’re not a fart fan!
The Mayor: Who says?? BTFSPLK!!!! LOLOLO!! Hey, uever hit a raccoon with a rock?
Me: Tried to, but always missed.
The Mayor: Always threw like a girl, Murray! Honest to god, thought ur a fag until we went to that peeler together!
Me: Juicy Lucy’s.
The Mayor: Loved that place. Wanted Sylvie so baaaddd!!!
Me: What about the raccoon?
The Mayor: Pegged it right in the head, thing fell off the fire escape. I was a goddamn hero, but the press never runs those stories.
Me: Slobber, you should have been the quarterback.
The Mayor: Always the QB inside, Mur, u know that.
Me: So how was your night of arts?
The Mayor: Fuckin’ AWESOME!!!
Me: What’d ya see?
The Mayor: My brother and I dressed up as Droogs from a Clockwork Orange!! Got hammered!
Me: You gotta always hide from the press, eh?
The Mayor: Always wanted to be a Droog. Relate to the Droog. DROOOOOOGGG!!
Me: DROOOOOGG!!
The Mayor: We tipped over some shitter that some dick was in.
Me: He crossed the wrong fucking Droogs!
The Mayor: Ain’t that the truth! Doug and I were yelling at some chick to show us her tits and then this fancy Charlie got all feminazi on us so we taught him a lesson.
Me: You ‘da Mayor!!
The Mayor: Fuckin’ right, little buddy. And let me tell you, if that pirate girl Justin Trudeau runs for Prime Minisiter, I’m quitting this job and running against him. Show him what a real man smells like! Ford’s Fist, Fucker, Ford’s Fist. Outta Rye, catch ya later little buddy!
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