What a beautiful couple we were. Really, you could have put us on an album cover. That album? It would have sold millions and millions and millions of copies. Best selling album in history. Captain and Tennille? Forget about ’em. We would have blown them out of the water. Losers.

That thing Ivana is wearing on her head?

Not a swim cap.
Not cancer.

Very European. Very classy. VERY expensive.

What do you think the thread count is on those sheets? 500? 800? Maybe 1000?

1200.
That’s right, 1200.
Egyptian cotton.
The finest in the world.

Ivanka is such a beautiful woman. So very talented. Have you seen her ski? Amazing. Could have been an Olympian if she wanted. But the truth is that she was never very good at art. Always used to hire other kids to do her drawings in school. This one was done by some Chinese. Ivanka, such a smart businesswoman. Her IQ might even be as high as mine. Such an improvement on her mother.

I was asked to do Playgirl. Many, many times. So many times I can’t even count. And the amount of money they offered me? You would not believe. The most ever. It was like the same amount they would have paid Jesus. Never did it, though. Didn’t like the idea of fruits getting off on me. Just disgusting, that. Anyway fruits, I guess today is your lucky day.

I get people to shave my chest now.

Bannon took me to that party a few years ago.

So much quality ass.

The ladies there had the best skin in the world. They were just as smooth as a bunch of billiard balls. Probably all used French moisturizers. I had sex with many, many of the girls that night– some with the masks, some without. It was hard work to stay hydrated.

Met Jamie Lee Curtis at a Planet Hollywood back in the 80’s.

Went on a date with her. Very uneventful, but let me tell you, those rumours of her having, you know, both sexes? Not true. All woman.

This is a more recent photo. Here I’m just roaming the White House late at night exploring. The place is really third rate. Desperately needs an update. If it was a contestant in a beauty contest? Boob, nose, eye job and liposuction just for starters. Reminds me. Walked in on one of the cleaning ladies changing the other day. You can do that when you’re President.

You think Obama didn’t?

C’mon!

Why are writers all so ugly?

Simon

Simon:

It’s true, most writers are pretty ugly.

They were just born that way, and no matter how their parents dressed them, they remained ugly.

A consequence of this ugliness is that they were almost always excluded as children, forced to watch from the sidelines as their more attractive peers lived their happy, little lives. It’s unlikely that any of their glittering peers were mocked, called “Grosslord” and then turned away from the Manor Park Mayfair Kissing Booth, amidst a cacophony of kids pretending to barf, even though the Grosslord in question, who yes, needed dental work at the time, had the money, just like everybody else, that it cost to get a peck from grade eight goddess Mary Appelton. Injustice makes a writer, and ugliness is a great injustice. So the writer, by circumstance rather than by instinct, becomes an observer, hovering darkly on the periphery, always plotting, plotting, plotting, always devising schemes of seduction, conquest and personal elevation, all of which, of course, are doomed to fail.

It’s why so many writers are alcoholic as well as being ugly.

Eventually, the writer will become destitute and bitter, unable to do much beyond engage in Twitter wars about Canadian poetry.

However, I would be remiss if I were to say that all writers are ugly, for this is not true. Tyra Banks, the author of Modelland, is world-renowned beauty.

And of course, Samuel Beckett: 

Dear Bitter Writer:

Like most people, I was disgusted and heartbroken when I heard about the mass murder in Orlando. I wrote down some of my feelings on the matter, and I was wondering if you could tell me where the best place might be to publish my Think Piece? I was considering Medium, any advice?

Brad

Brad:

The best advice I can give you is to never, ever publish anything that is referred to as a Think Piece. Think Pieces are the equivalent of drunken phone messages left for an Ex. Lost, wandering and self-absorbed, they exist only to make the author look enlightened rather than to actually share some sort of enlightenment. Truth be told, I can’t read the words Think Piece without wanting to punch whomever coined the phrase in the face. It sounds remdial, like something you’d do in kindergarten.

“And what’s this a drawing of, Bobby?”

“It Think Piece.”

“Well, it’s lovely, I like what you’ve done with the raging green!”

So no, Brad, just no.

Don’t do it.

And Brad, if you’re straight, that cry of no becomes even louder. I don’t care if you’d fuck Tom Hardy

and are a true ally of the LGBT community, the world still doesn’t need another straight voice added to the storm of voices attempting to deconstruct the shooting. Whether you think people from the LGBT community were specifically targeted or not doesn’t matter. The LGBT community is one that has always been subject to violence, hatred and bigotry, and this, the largest mass shooting in America’s rich history, conducted at a specifically gay venue, suggests that those directly within the community might have a deeper understanding of what the shooting “means,” so I suggest that all straight voices just park it for a little, and listen rather than tell. Just switch your profile pic to rainbow and call it a day, okay?

“The Invisible Gays” was a Black-Ops project undertaken by the CIA that lasted through the 1950s to 1980. The highly classified covert operation implemented weather manipulation technology, chemical warfare, mind control and the paranormal in an attempt to influence social behaviour and undermine the USSR. Like a weather system, the CIA sought to create  “Homosexual Clouds,” with which they could then target various key groups of Soviet society. This imperceptible cloud would infiltrate certain groups creating gays, or at very least feminine, neutered sensibilities, from what was otherwise very vigorous, heterosexual stock. Through this process the USA hoped to gain the upper hand in the Cold War by emasculating, demoralizing and destabilizing the male-dominated, warrior culture of the Russian empire.

The success and even existence of the operation is still in some debate, although there are many in the West who believe The Invisible Gays played a large role in the eventual collapse of the Soviet Union.

The Invisible Gays and hockey

The “enigmatic” Russian hockey player is said to be a direct result of The Invisible Gays project. Historically, hockey was a very violent sport in Russia, but over the course of the 1970s the game took on an artistic character that saw fighting almost entirely eliminated even though it had always been a beloved and encouraged part of the sport. According to sources within the CIA, “Homosexual Clouds” were directed in greater and greater number into the locker rooms of powerhouse Russian hockey teams like the Red Army and Moscow Dynamo during the 70s, resulting in an effete style of play that lingers in the national character to this day.

Vladimir Putin and The Invisible Gays

It’s believed that Vladimir Putin’s current anti-gay laws have much to do with his knowledge of The Invisible Gays from when he was working for the KGB. Although it has never been confirmed, it is believed that Putin worked exclusively as an anti-The Invisible Gays operative for 6 years, at which time he was exposed to many Homosexual Clouds. Some have posited that this exposure has had lasting effects on the man, leaving deep within him homosexual desires which are now expressed as a repressive rage. Some argue that is a False Flag, and that Putin simply knows from personal experience how dangerous and what a threat The Invisible Gay project, and thus homosexuality, is to stable Russian society.

The Invisible Gays and popular culture

Reclusive American author Thomas Pynchon wrote a novel called The Invisible Gays.

He couldn’t be stopped, his dick had to be seen.

Of course, politicians have long been engaged in reckless, sex scandal drenched behaviour. Vladimir Putin, President of Russia and robust anti-gay activist has actually been celebrated for his aggressive sexual posturing, with his PR team strategically releasing sex room chat transcripts to the public in an effort to bolster his macho image by “gay-baiting,” a practice common in Russia, a nation now dealing with the fallout from Putin’s new anti-gay laws.

Here is one of those transcripts:

Bear60: Tell me! What is it you are wearing!!

Twink23: Black leather chaps and a wife beater. Also, I’m hard.

Bear60: You must prove this to me! I demand it!! You are submissive!!

Bear60: Ha! I am not gay and now you have sent me a photograph of your hard penis!! The joke is on you, fag-boy!!

Twink23: I like it when you talk like that, you want some more, don’t you?

Bear60: It is a nice penis you have, strong. It is a shame you waste it on men and not women!

Twink23: I would waste it on you.

Bear60: Tell me Twink, what sort of men do you like? Do you like Russian men?

Twink23: Oh, you know I do. I love the HARD consonants of the language, I love everything HARD about Russians—their lives, their hands, their dark secrets.

Bear60: Maybe it is one of your homosexual fantasies to imagine sex with a powerful Russian man who was once a killer in the KGB!!?? Perhaps that excites you Twink23!?

Twink23: Tell me more, Bear, tell me more!

Bear60: This man, he would take you roughly because he hates that you have unnatural sex! And to show you his anger and disgust he would tear off all your clothes, and it would just be the two of you in the secluded barn that had been sheltering you from the storm! Because you are weak, you would demand to be punished sexually for the things you have done and the Russian Bear would humble you with great force and beauty, and then your skin would glisten and emit a satisfied and loving rosy hue!

Bear60: Ah, Twink, I see I have tricked you into sending me another abberant photograph of you! Ha, you are a fool, but I see you must workout! A lot. I also work out, for I am a very vigorous and heterosexual man. Do you know where it might be possible for me to trick a black homosexual into sending me a picture of his penis and muscles? Maybe the three of us could chat?

Shortly after this stunner was completed, the Jays signed Melky Cabrera, thus transforming their team into serious contenders to win the American League East.

Canadian sports teams have long had a hard time persuading foreign-born players to sign contracts here, as many players know very little about Canada, fear the taxes and imagine that they can make greater endorsement money in the United States. As such, the Toronto Blue Jays send a letter to all new players in an effort to familiarize them with their new environment, hoping to ease the transition and help teach them everything that they might need to know in order to prosper in Canada and more specifically, Toronto. This is the letter that the Blue Jays sent out to their most recent acquisitions:

Welcome new Blue Jays!

Let us first say that we’re absolutely thrilled to have you as part of our organization and are looking forward to a great year that will hopefully see us all working together to win the World Series!

All trades are disorienting experiences, especially when they involve moving to a new country and so we want to tell you a little bit about your new home to make your life as a Toronto Blue Jay as easy and fun as possible!

Canada is a geographically large country with over 30 million inhabitants and 3 million lakes. That’s one lake for every 10 people in the nation! You might think that Canadians would be expert swimmers or subsist on a strictly fish diet, but this is not true at all. Canadians have a diet very similar to Americans and are good at hockey, a sport that involves skating on frozen water. However, baseball is very popular here, too, and as young, rich professional athletes you will enjoy every opportunity you might expect.

There is Internet in Canada and you will find plenty of sexual opportunity here. Rape and sexual assault are considered serious crimes, and although we will have teams of lawyers helping you out, you are not allowed to grope or have sex based on a vibe. You need consent, but rest assured almost all women will willingly want to have sex with you, so this shouldn’t be a problem at all.

This brings us to another point. Many men will also want to have sex with you. Toronto is a very large (5 million people) city with a lot of cultural and ethnic diversity, and some of this diversity includes gay people. Gay people like to have sex with members of their own gender. But remember, what is true for a woman is also true for a man, (Canada is a land of equality!) so a gay man cannot rape or molest you unless they have your explicit permission to do so. As repulsive as this may be to you, it is important that you do not go out of your way to insult the gay community in Toronto, so beating them up or making slanderous comments comparing opponents to fags is strongly discouraged.

Unfortunately Pit Bulls are banned and you will not be able to bring any of your warrior-pets into the country. In general, dog fighting is frowned upon in Canada and people treat dogs almost as if they were small children instead of extensions of an individual’s masculinity. You are welcome to bring in other, deadly breeds, though, just not the Pit Bull.

Many Americans consider Medicare to be an attack on their civil liberties. Canada does have a free health care system for all of its citizens, but you are under no obligation to use it. Buffalo is very close to Canada, and you are welcome to go there and pay for all of your medical needs and abortions.

Real Estate is expensive in Toronto, but as you are wealthy this should not pose a significant problem.  Many players like to simply rent a luxury suite at the Rogers Centre where we play baseball, and keep a home with their wife and children in another country. This is an excellent strategy for maintaining strict separation between mistresses and families. Veterans on your team will guide you on this matter.

List of Toronto Strip Clubs:

The Brass Rail

701 Yonge Street.

This is a very well known strip club and although you can expect special service, you will very likely be recognized.

The Landing Strip

191 Carlingview Drive

Out near the airport, this one has a little bit of edge. The women are generally less attractive but they are inexpensive.

Club Paradise

1313 Bloor W.

Very popular with people of colour.

The Lounge

1820 Dundas Street East

This features male and shemale strippers. Do not make a rookie mistake!

Contrary to popular mythology, Bigfoot sightings are still very rare in Canada.

Welcome to the Blue Jay family!

Sitting beside me were a couple of women who had driven five hours from Wheeling, Ohio to see the show. Holding a large, plastic cup of beer in her hand as if she was at a Tiger’s game, Terry said, “This will be the fourth time I’ve seen her. Five hours is nothing. I would have driven 15 hours—there’s nobody like k.d.” Her girlfriend leaned in over her shoulder and nodded her head at me, adding, “It’s true, it’s true. You’re going to love the show.”

They were right.

On stage Lang is simultaneously ironic and sincere, in possession of a fearlessness and confidence that she pours right in to her receptive audience. Her voice is a wonder, the sort of thing that gives one pause and forces consideration of divinity– as if for reasons unknown a presiding spirit touched her with a vocal genius that would ever elude the rest of us. Watching, she reminded me of an oracle, an entity that defied categories of gender and who by turn and flash of light, appeared masculine or luminously, mystically feminine. In another age she would have been burned or worshipped as a God.

In Detroit, she was simply adored.

The embodiment of a single-combat hero for a generation of women, the power and self-assurance of her persona– the complete absence of uncertainty– seemed to be helping the audience imagine better, idealized versions of themselves. A kind of alchemy was taking place, and for 90 minutes the crowd was celebrating in who they were and who they might yet become, free now from all the battles they might have confronted as young, gay women growing up in the States in the 1970s.

At one point in the show I looked behind us and saw two black women near 60, the only black people in the crowd, I think. Both of them– looking like they had dressed for church– had their hands pressed to their lips as if in wonder or prayer, and tears glistening in their eyes. It was a holy moment, I think. With Lang’s voice rising so clearly, it felt like we were all in a cathedral rather than a casino. Looking about, everybody seemed so lost to the voice that it was impossible to know to what point they might have been transported, or what healing they had been looking for in this pilgrimage to MotorCity in the first place.

The most recent assault on Toronto’s foremost public servant comes from the Toronto Transit Commission. The other day a streetcar driver accosted Mayor Ford, accusing him of driving his Minivan (identified by the license plate “ROBFORD”) past the open front doors of the city vehicle.

This is a short, one-act play called Third And Long, (commission by Ford supporters) based on recent events.

THIRD AND LONG

Entitled unionized employee who is lazy and breaking regulations: (Rushing out of streetcar to accost Rob Ford as he sits in his car listening to motivational tapes while waiting for the light to change.) “Hey piggy Mayor, your mama so fat when she gets a cut she bleed milkshakes, she so fat she sells shade in the summer. You a fat motherfucka! “

Mayor Ford: “Pardon me, sir?”

Entitled unionized employee who is lazy and breaking regulations: “ Your politics suck ma dick, and I say you drove past my open doors! You front page, fattie!”

Mayor Ford: “I have to disagree with you, but if you like we can proceed through the proper channels to have this matter resolved.”

Lesbian on streetcar with social disease and unpleasant tattoos:  (Leaning through the window and shaking her fist)“ I sawz him! He was speeding like he done something wrong! Maybe he kilt somebody!”

Mayor Ford: “ I’m just here to serve the people in the best way that I can, and if any of you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them.”

(At this point Mayor Ford parks his vehicle, pays the meter and gets on the streetcar, paying his three dollars.)

Mayor Ford: “Toronto has the best public transit in the entire world! I’m probably much better taking it than driving and it’s also nice to get to chat with my fellow Torontonians! How are you Miss?!”

Indian woman in Muslim costume with baby who is different colour than she is: “I come from other country! Where my money! You supposed to feed my baby I make from crazy drug sex!”

Mayor Ford:  (Smiling) “You have a lovely child there, she could grow up to be Mayor, you know.”

Person in wheelchair taking up way too much room: “ My disability isn’t enough! Give me more!!”

Mayor Ford: (Taking a knee to get closer to the person) “I feel your pain and will personally look into your case to see if I might improve matters!

NDP Party member and supporter of Occupy Wall Street who is playing bongos in back of the streetcar: “ Your family is ugly!”

Mayor Ford: (laughing in a good-natured manner) “Oh, we’re just big-boned!”

Faggy drug addict with a nose bleed: “ You’ve been running this city as if it was a suburban country club, ignoring the needs of those with the greatest need, why won’t you help us?”

Mayor Ford: “ Your words are daggers into my heart. You are all my children, (opening his arms expansively) my constituents, and I want nothing more than to help you by teaching you to help yourselves!”

And then Mayor Ford hands out Scratch And Win lotto tickets to all the passengers on the streetcar, the people, HIS people, now applauding and cheering as he drives away in his Minivan to visit with wounded troops.

They’re just not his bag.

I think that they make him squirmy.

You know, eww!

At any rate, Toronto is full of the gays and each year there is a massive Pride Parade, one of the largest in the world, and typically the Mayor of Toronto attends, regardless of how uncomfortable he may look amongst the Go-Go boys, atomic water guns and piercings.

Not Rob Ford. He goes to the family cottage every July 1^st weekend and will not bow to the moral or political pressure to attend. He’s his own man, and if he wants to be drinking beer while floating about a lake in an inner tube, then that’s where he’ll be, damn it!

That is where he’s going to be this year.

You should know that I used to drink with Rob Ford back when he was a student at Carleton University and was known as The Slobber.

We were both last call regulars at a local bar and we became friendly in the way that only barflies can. Even though we never had a sober conversation, we became buddies, and in spite of the fact we haven’t seen one another in over 15 years, we still message one another when drinking alone.

At 1:18 in the morning yesterday I got this message.

Rob: Mur, you see what they do to the Oreo!?

Me: Slobber!!!

Rob: They dressed it up like it was a fairy!

Me: The Homoreo.

Rob: I don’t want my kids eating Homoreos!

Me: You won’t even believe what they’re thinking of doing to Cheerios!

Rob: An Oreo is an Oreo. White between black. You don’t tamper with that. It’s unnatural.

Me: You can’t play God with an oreo! But what about the free market? Shouldn’t the free market decide what’s right?

Rob: WE’RE TALKING ABOUT FUCKEN OREOS!

Me: Has the Cookie Monster come out on this yet?

Rob: HAHAAHA.

Me: Seriously, the Cookie Monster and Kermit have long been suspected of being gay. They might be behind this.

Rob: Yer fucken with me.

Me: Yeah.

Rob: If I was there I’d punch ya in the head! Hey, you remember Jennifer?

Me: The waitress?

Rob: Yeah, Jennifer the ass waitress, not Jennifer the tits waitress.

Me: She used to let us order two for last call.

Rob: I think about her, you know. Can’t find her on Facebook.

Me: Can you make trades for the Maple Leafs, you know, being the Mayor and all?

Rob: If I could, I’d make Jennifer my wife. Fuck she was hot. She was my favourite chicken wing.

Me: Are you sad, Slobber?

Rob: Yeah, it’s wrong what they did to the Oreo. The world’s changing around us, Mur, it’s changing fast—outta ice, be back in 2!