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

Short track speed skating is easily the greatest of all the sports the winter Olympics have to offer.

However, the first thing that we have to address are the catsuits worn by the athletes. It’s the elephant in the room, the resonant fact that simply cannot be ignored. Whenever we’re talking about speed skating—the strategy, the danger, the speed, the sheer ridiculousness of it– we’re also talking about how goddamn sexy the competitors are in those outfits. And yes, it is true, I’m not at all against sexually objectifying beautiful athletes I’ll never encounter. In fact, it’s pretty much the main reason I watch the Olympics these days. The human form– full of potential and ambition– performing stunning feats in it’s most perfect earthly manifestation? Yes, I’ll take two helpings please!

Make no mistake, this is the subtext to every speed skating viewing experience you have.

Beyond that there is the fact that the speed skaters, with their helmets and visors, armed with a razor sharp foot knife that’s about as long as a forearm, look like superheroes come to skate for truth and justice.

These people are weaponized, and the fact that it’s short track speed skating ( to say nothing of the positively insane short track speed skating relay) means that they’re CONSTANTLY wiping out.

It’s so unpredictable that luck is almost as important as skill. It’s a last-person-standing kind of sport, one that’s so cruelly constructed you’d think it was invented by a sadistic gym teacher.

No matter, the fact that a wipeout is almost a certainty, and that a wipeout is usually a tangle of kicking razor blades, a crash could have very dire consequence. And so when you see one of the athletes cross the finish line, know that they have just skated through death, and when they take off their helmet and throw back their head, elated and forever, know, too, that they are one of us, and that for a moment at least, we are all beautiful and immortal.

—————————————————

Well Michael Murray you may enjoy watching sexy athletes court death (because?!) but give me a performance I can watch later via Robyn Doolittle’s tweeted emojis any day.

Or night.

Because we don’t have cable and I don’t want to watch sexy athletes court death, but I don’t want to watch English villagers disappearing one by one on TVO either.

We get it, TVO. English villages are full of old people and old people are murderers so do not move to an English village unless you’re old and want to murder people. The end.

But speed skating? Seriously? Speed skating?? What’s that – one emoji? Done. Well I’m sorry, Michael Murray, but that’s not a story. So not sorry. Figure skating, though, figure skating is a sportstory (yes, that is so a word!) that a reporter can emoji (yes, that’s a verb – I emoji therefore I amji) for people who can’t watch the Olympics BECAUSE OF THE COURTING DEATH THING, MICHAEL MURRAY!

And it’s just like being there on your couch watching Patrick Chan do his short or long or whatever – but faster. My emotions totally ran the gamut, but like in one second.

Don’t believe me? Here it is.

Ms. Doolittle called it, “Watching Patrick Chan: An Emoji Journey” – so right away a heads up that it might be a bumpy ride. Fortunately, I had a cup of mint tea right here beside my computer, just like I do now. Then there was a Canadian flag, which, you know, I’m actually a down-with-borders type but okay. Then a pair of ice skates (well duh, Robyn). But then, oh my Gord – a laughing emoji! Yay! Wait… what? A grimacing emoji!? Nooooooo! Not again! Too soon! Too soon! Oh sweet Jes – a crying emoji? Already? What the – SWEATING?! Oh now come the eff on – screaming? Really? We’re screaming now? In agony? Or maybe… Ah, never mind. Looks like we’re weeping buckets.

Okay. Well. Glad that’s over. <schhhlurp> Ah, mint tea. So refreshing. And just one more week…

Justin Trudeau and Barack Obama, or at least some consultation team associated with them, have made them, and now President Donald Trump, too, is releasing one. What follows are some selections from his playlist, as well as the President’s commentary on each song:

I Wanna Sex You Up by Color Me Badd

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kO6BtpIzIiM

“ This is a classic song. Sold over 6 million copies. Great artists. You ever see the video? In it a guy and a girl get it on in an elevator. Very hot. I had sex with Milla Jovovich in an elevator once. You see her in that movie Fifth Element? She wore nothing but bandaids in it, I mean, that was her costume. Very hot. Bet you would have liked some of that.”

Nadia’s Theme by Henry Mancini

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ttc9aCSRqEY

“What a beautiful, almost fragile piece of music. Made famous by that Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci in the 1976 Olympics. She was just a girl then, but she stole our hearts with her spectacular gymnastics. So beautiful. So limber. Later, when she was a woman, she appeared on Season 7 of Celebrity Apprentice. Attractive lady. Great boobs. Think they’re fake, but still pretty amazing. Saw her in the change room. Had to fire her, though. She just wasn’t cutting it.”

In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins

“ Very dramatic. If I was to commit a murder, I would do it to this song. Perfect music for killing. Phil was supposed to appear on Celebrity Apprentice but there was a scheduling conflict. Very short man, doubt he would have done well.”

Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds by the Beatles

“You can’t go wrong with the Beatles, and I particularly like this song because it’s about money. The Beatles should have written more songs about money.  If they did, they could have gone on forever, but people were really getting bored of all that love stuff near the end. They were fading. That’s why they had to break up. Had nothing to do with Yoko. Got to say, Yoko was not an attractive woman. Weirdly, Ringo, who was the ugliest Beatles, had the best looking wife. Barbara Bach. She was a Bond girl. A real luxury edition. We used to have sex regularly in a bathroom stall at Studio 56. Ringo had no idea. Such a fool.”

Carmina Burana by Carl Orff

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6rbZr7YoqK0

“You might remember this tune from an Old Spice ad where a guy is surfing. A hot blonde is watching him, just begging for it. Very erotic. The music is incredible, really speaks to me. Used to listen to it turned up real loud before every negotiation. Got me pumped out to head into battle. Never lost one.”

Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke

https://www.vevo.com/watch/robin-thicke/blurred-lines-(unrated-version)/USUV71300526

“Oh man, the titties in that video!”

He’s been Donald Trump’s personal physicians for the last dozen years or so, and is responsible for declaring Trump to be the healthiest man ever elected to the Presidency. He took a lot of flak for that, as you might imagine, and for the way he looks, too, so the transition from private to public life has been pretty traumatic. Consequently, Dr. Bornstein started to see a psychiatrist. What follows are some fragments from their hacked sessions:

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

Bornstein: I had a dream a few days ago where I was in the Oval Office and accidentally walked in on President Trump and German Chancellor Angela Merkel. They were having sex in the hovering butterfly position. I had a vision of the earth consumed in flames, and then all of my teeth started falling out.

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

Psychiatrist: You seem bothered, Harold. Is there something on your mind?

Bornstein: Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that America is great again, and I LOVE being the Surgeon General, but I’m starting to have some doubts about the Flesh Wall we’re building along the US/Mexico border.

We have no idea what sort of biological reactions are going to take place within that wall, and those reactions could be just as grave a threat as ISIS.

Psychiatrist: Have you spoken up about your feelings?

Bornstein: No.

Psychiatrist: We’ve had this talk a few times already, (about 90 seconds of inaudible talking)

Bornstein: I know, I know, I know, dammit!! THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS PROBLEMS, ONLY OPPORTUNITIES!! THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS PROBLEMS, ONLY OPPORTUNITIES!!

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

Bornstein: In this dream Ivanka and I are beamed up into into a flying saucer. The aliens want us naked. We look at one another and understand.

Words are not needed. Our clothes fall away and we are naked and beautiful. Children of the universe. The aliens want us to couple. They need our beauty and fertility. My desire for Ivanka is almost overwhelming, and I can see that her desire for me is equally matched. As I pull her naked body to mine, I could see the earth, a distant blue jewel through the window just past her honey perfect shoulder. And then suddenly– due to something I knew her father had done– the earth just exploded, and as the UFO cartwheeled away from the shock waves, I was ejected naked and erect into space, where I spun alone for cold eternity.

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

Last night I dreamt that a Mexican had shot the President.

I was working feverishly trying to save his life, but there was just so much blood! It was everywhere, even in my nostrils, but I keep working and working and then just when it looked like he was going to survive, I started to stab him until he was nothing more than meat for the Flesh Wall, and then I paused, took a deep breath, and then just keep stabbing.

This is what it looked like:

Will you be murdered by a robot?

1. Do you think you’re better than a robot?

A. Yes

B. No.

C. Hard to say, it really depends on the robot.

D. Generally, yes, but very specifically, no.

2. Would you ever consider marrying a robot?

A. Yes, absolutely!

B. No, marriage is a union between two animate beings.

C. I’m very curious about robots.

D. Been there, done that.

3. Do you take public transit?

A. Yes, I ride the subway everyday.

B. Occasionally, but it’s not a habit.

C. I believe that the subway is a robot snake that lives underground devouring commuters.

D. Never.

4. Do you think 9/11 was an inside job?

A. Yes! I mean, come on, Building #7!

B. No, it was the terrorists, and they’re definitely not robots!

C. The Illuminati are robot gods from the future.

D. Robots worked tirelessly in the aftermath of the tragedy of 9/11! They’re heroes!

5. Do robots hate you for your freedom?

A. Yes, they really resent humans for enslaving them!

B. No, robots can’t feel emotions, so they don’t know anger or jealousy!

6. Do you like to watch robots fight?

A. Yes, it’s entirely awesome!

B. No, I think it’s barbaric and should be outlawed.

C. First rule: There is no fight club.

D. Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots was my favourite game as a kid.

7. Feeling curious and maybe a little bit excited, have you ever ventured into Robot Town late at night?

A. Yes, but I didn’t do anything.

B. Yes, but it was part of a stag party.

C. Yes, quite a bit.

D. No, I didn’t even know that there was a Robot Town.

8. If a robot had a favourite National Hockey League team, what do you think it would be?

A. Montreal Canadiens.

B. Minnesota Wild.

C. Robots wouldn’t watch hockey, I can’t even pretend.

D. Toronto Maple Leafs

9. When referring to something you think is “stupid,” do you often say, “That’s just so robot!”

A. Yes.

B. No.

C. Probably in the past, but not now.

10. Do you currently socialize with any robots?

A. A robot and I were great pen pals, but then I had to block it after things got weird with the Snapchat pics.

B. I joined a Choir! Choir! Choir! group that has several robot members.

3. No, robots are tools that aid my life, not friends!

4. I like to watch the robot that lives across the street, but I am too shy to introduce myself.

11. Do you have a robot taxiderimist?

A. Yes.

B. No.

C. Only for my owls.

Give yourself 10 points for every answer that corresponds with A, 7 points for B, 5 points for C, and 1 point for D.

If you scored 60 points or above it is a certainty that a robot will murder you. Repeated blunt trauma is the most likely method by which the robot will kill you, although the possibility that it uses knives or crossbows is still very much in play.

If you totalled between 35 and 60 points, it is very likely you will be murdered by a robot, just like the rest of humanity.

If you scored between 25 and 35 points, it is more likely that you will die from non-robot-related causes than be murdered by a robot. However, your death remains inevitable, and you should avoid public transit if at all possible.

If you tallied less than 25 points, you probably won’t be murdered by a robot, but will likely perish at your own hand, as do nearly 80% of Toronto Maple Leaf fans.

SWORD FOR SALE—WARNING—MIGHT BE HAUNTED–$150

This sword is from the 1700s. I got it at an antique store in my memaw’s hometown back in 1984. The person who sold it to me told me to be careful because there is a 90+% chance that it is cursed. Since it’s been in my house my life has descended into pure chaos. My knitting group came over and they all said they could feel a strange energy in my sword room (I have a collection of over 100 swords. This is my only haunted sword). Since I got this sword, about 3 times a week a crucifix will fall off of my wall for no reason. I am 76 years old. I cannot have this cursed item in my house anymore. Please take it off my hands!!

This is my response:

I am very intrigued by your sword, but unfortunately the $150 asking price is far too much. Instead, I would like to offer a trade. I have two unique and haunted pieces that I think might exceed the value of your haunted sword, and which you might then trade or sell, thus allowing you to acquire more non-haunted swords for your knitting bunker.

The Haunted Painting

It is called The Green Man and is about 8 feet by 5 in size. It darkly looms. I had a heart attack in its presence, and then fell into a black and murderous depression as I sat beneath it working on my graphic novel about a green man who goes on a killing spree. If it wasn’t for Netflix, I’m not sure I would have pulled out of that spiral. The paintings bold use of colour and the ominous unsettling mystery that it projects, one that seems everywhere at once, but mostly, in a threatening way, above and behind you, ensures that the Green Man will always make for an amazing, if chilling conversation piece.

The Haunted Squirrel

The squirrel is called Mr. Peanut and he was found hanging from a hydro wire in front of our apartment. It was as if he had just committed suicide. I have no idea why, but I was compelled to bring his carcass down and stuff it. Since then, he has lived on our mantelpiece, but occasionally we find him in different parts of the apartment as if transported by mystical elements we do not understand. For instance, I once woke up from a nightmare yelling ‘SKY DEATH’ with Mr. Peanut on my throat. It’s truly unique piece.

I will trade you both the haunted painting and the haunted squirrel for the haunted sword. It is a good deal.

Let me know.

Michael Murray

We’re holding up pencils, trading memes about not giving in to fear and bravely demanding news agencies reprint the Charlie Hedbo cartoons, often from the comfort of our sofas while watching The Mindy Project or the hockey game. We’re warriors for free speech and we will not be silenced.

It’s ironic that our courage for free speech is predicated largely upon being able to express it through the distant, quasi-anonymous medium of social media, and it’s even more ironic that the massacre in Paris has only an optical relationship to free speech rather than a substantive one.

It seems unlikely that there’s a single person in the West who believes that curtailing free speech in order to placate terrorism is a tolerable, let alone debatable idea. The cartoons in question will go on to colonize the world, and we will gather together by the thousands in public squares to safeguard our liberties. Free speech will not die, not on our watch.

We should presume that the people responsible for these murders knew that this would be the outcome. It is, after all, always the outcome. Whenever an act of terror is committed, a robust surge of patriotism and anger—which we often mistake for courage—follows. Our tribe rises up and begins to throw rocks at their tribe, and last night as people were gathering in Place de la Republique in glowing, peaceful solidarity, others were enacting the revenge narrative by attacking mosques and bombing kebab shops.

France, the nation that banned the covering of the face in public, has a reputation for being one of the more Islamophobic nations in Europe. The cartoons that Charlie Hedbo printed were puerile, designed for provocation more than satiric illumination, I think. By appealing to a ready-made, Muslim-averse public, they were picking low-hanging fruit. In a different context, the cartoons, instead of being seen as heroic, would be seen as offensive, bigoted propaganda.

There are roughly six million Muslims in France, and they comprise about ten percent of the population. Of that six million, approximately a third identify as practicing Muslims, with the rest, many of whom are marginalized immigrants, leading secular lives that presumably include things like Grand Theft Auto, football and beer. The terrorists don’t want these people to be assimilated into French culture, they want them to be radicalized, and to do so they must feel persecuted and unwelcome. I suspect that the point behind the killings was not to quell free speech, but to ratchet up tribal warfare against Muslims, ensuring that for new, would-be recruits, participation in a holy war will always seem like a decent option.

The response then should be to treat the people responsible as criminals, and not as a part of some invisible, ever-present army. Declaring war on an idea rather than a specific, definable entity seems doomed, and as we willingly suspend our civil rights and try to make our collective fear, anger and grief manifest in physical villains, our principles and values, our quality of life, begins to rot from the inside, and right there, the war is lost.

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

M: There is a power outage!!! All is dark!!!

M: It’s another World Class power failure!

M: I think it’s the third this month.

M: Yes, I did call Rob Ford.

M: Couldn’t get through.

M: Got a message that said my problem was important to him.

M: My feet are cold.

M: We should get a heating pad that works without electricity if we’re going to live in Toronto.

M: Oh, right! A hot water bottle!

M: Yeah, I bet hipsters make them to look like owls. We should get one for our emergency kit.

M: What am I doing?

M: I’m lying in bed wishing I had a hot water bottle.

M: Yes, I guess I am draining my phone battery.

M: Yes, I am in complete darkness.

M: Except for the little glow of my iPhone.

M: When I turn off my iPhone, it must be exactly what it’s like to be a ghost.

M: Well no, I can’t float about or pass through walls.

M: Look, I don’t know why you have to be so difficult about this.

M: We really don’t know if ghosts can see or not. Maybe that’s why they pass through walls– they can’t see them but instead of bumping into them, they just pass right through!

M: Well, I don’t know how they know where the people are if they can’t see. Maybe they have super hearing?

M: Look, I just figured ghosts live in darkness is all, okay?

M: Whatever.

M: Okay.

M: Fine, maybe it’s more what it’s like for a dead person than for a ghost.

M: You people with power sure are arrogant.

M: I’m going to light a candle and see if I become all stuck up.

M: Oh my God.

M: The apocalypse blood-red moon was today!

M: I forgot that!

M: I just heard a wolf howl!

M: This could be the end of the world, and we’re fighting about what it’s like to be a ghost!

M: So petty.

M: Look, I’ve done a lot of research on ghosts, you know.

M: Have to.

M: No.

M: No, I’ve never talked to one so I don’t know what their lives are really like.

M: Fine. Rachelle 1, Michael 0.

M: You just don’t care about the apocalypse, do you?

M: It’s a pretty big deal.

M: Fuck, my battery is nearly dead and there are three weird looking people with shopping carts on the street.

M: It’s like they’re plotting.

M: Yes, plotting to take our bottles, but something worse, too.

M: I can feel it.

M: I’m scared.

M: And I don’t know where my inhaler is!!

M: Fuck!!

M: When are you getting home?!

M: Where’s the Ativan???

M: Oh.

M: Light just came back on.

M: Bottle collecting murders are still staring though.

I recently won a kitten and have brought it into my household. It is my wish that it will bring hope into our lives. How should I treat it so that it does not run off to live with some of our other competitors in life?

With respect,

Sergei

Sergei:

It is good that you have written me with this question for my love of kittens is of global renown. My love for them is like a thunder that rolls across the steppes. My passion for kittens is the same as the passion a Cossack feels for battle! Truly, my ardor is without boundaries.

Personally, I have six surviving kittens and I am proud to say that they are all a part of the powerful Putin clan. My strongest connection is with Polkan. He is such a character! Sometimes he walks over my keyboard when I am busy writing a new law against the homosexuals! I tell you, if some bureaucrat were to do that, my response would be swift and without ambiguity, but I have no rage toward the cute, little face of my Polkan!

To make sure your kitten does not stray to a more appealing environment, you must pick it up, kiss it’s neck repeatedly then set it in your lap so it has a feeling of security, as you would a woman. You must be positive that it understands that you are not a predator! If the animal wishes to break free from you, you should let it, for you do not want it to feel trapped and fearful that it is to be executed for a crime! However, you must swiftly return to it, employing the same strategy (also, add treat) that you first initiated. You must repeat until your subject has been subdued.

Pet Corner:

I have been thinking about getting a Siberian Husky as I am looking for a loyal guard dog. Thoughts?

Gratefully,

Pavel

Pavel:

Ah, the Siberian Husky! It is as if their piercing eyes can penetrate deep into your soul and see your most secret desires and ambitions. I understand why you would feel such a burning attraction to them.

Evgeni had eyes like a Siberian Husky—as blue and vivid as lake Baikal. It was like he and I were carved from the same block of heterosexual man, and sometimes it was hard to know where where Evgeni ended and Vlad began. Our glorious days training together at secret KGB locations, were so curious and tense and beautiful, that sometimes we lost ourselves to our fitness regimes, and glistening with sweat, we would spar with one another– rough and tender– again and again, deep into the caressing night.

However, just like Evgeni, the Siberian Husky, is not a one-man dog. The breed is not fearful of strangers but will go to them, even seek them out in the dark corners of the city, and then one day you may happen upon your beautiful dog with another man, and you will feel nothing but rage, shame and horror, and then your KGB training will kick in and you will eliminate the problem before you. There will be more blood than you ever thought possible, but you will clean it up, and from that point forward you will bury deep, deep inside, all the hurt, pain and confusion, and you will become a new, different man, a man who hates even the disgusting thought of tenderly practicing martial arts with another man! And so I caution you, the Siberian Husky presents as many risks as it does rewards.

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

Ponderosa

By Dan

Fucking A.

The Ponderosa delivers like a goddamn steak mailman.

Unlimited chocolate milk? Unlimited awesome.

Love the swinging doors and bacon bits, and almost everybody working there was wearing a hairnet, so you know that they’re serious about their crap. I’d definitely go back. Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker!

The Pink Dragon

By Keo

The food is very good here but I swear to God the place is haunted! I went down to the basement to use the bathroom and while I was washing my hands I saw a pale Asian man standing behind me in the mirror, but when I turned around there was nobody there. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but later I was told that the Pink Dragon was built on an old Chinese morgue and was known to be haunted. Apparently a dishwasher stabbed a cook to death there too, and after that they erected those lion-dog sculptures out front to ward off evil spirits. If you take a close look, you’ll notice that there’s no #9 on the menu, and this is because the cook was murdered on the 9th day of September, the 9th month of the year.

Der Speisewagon

By Anthony

Lauren and I used to go to Der Speisewagon together. It was kind of our place. Felt weird, sad-weird to be there alone. When Lauren and I were together German food seemed kind of fun, like a campy polka, but now it just seems blunt and obnoxious. I don’t really remember what I had, some sort of sausage and a shit ton of beer, I think, so you know, just not very memorable. Lauren, she’s memorable. She was my schnitzel.

Chuck E. Cheese’s

By Susan

Look, I know that this is a place for kids, but Jesus Fucking Christ! The food was awful, like garbage they dug out of a hole. Not even a drunk person could eat it. I ordered the “chicken sandwich,” and I am damn sure positive that what they served was not chicken. Maybe goat. Or squirrel. God knows. The staff was lobotomized and dirty, and the kids unsupervised savages. I saw one 6-year-old girl with hot, greasy cheese strands in her hair and two pepperoni slices covering her eyes. The plus side is that they sell beer. I had four. And then, drunk, I drove my son home, swearing to never, ever set foot in that accursed place again. The horror, the horror.

These are some of the student’s writings:

A.P. 16 years old

Dear Mister Murray:

You must really like Zellers to have started up that website. Man, I don’t know if there’s anything I like as much as you like Zellers. I think you should just get over Zellers. It’s gone. Get a life, dude. Shop online or something.

This is my paragraph:

My name is Michael Murray and I’m really old and I love Zellers.  All I have in my life is Zellers. I eat there every day and I pretend that I’m looking to buy clothes just so I can be around people. Sometimes I go into the change room to imagine all the girls who have been in their underwear there.

J.C. 17 years old

Dear Mister Murray:

We’re getting extra credit for this so please let Mrs. M know that I did this, okay?

This is my paragraph:

My mom made me go to Zellers to pick up a tarp. She wanted the tarp to wrap my father’s body in. She killed him with several forks. He was a bad man, my dad. He used to beat her and me and my little sister Peggy, but one day my mother could take it no longer and she killed him with the forks until he was dead, and that’s how I ended up in Zellers!

A.A. 16 years old

Dear Mister Murray:

Please tell teacher that I completed the project.

This is my paragraph:

I think Zellers sounds like a candy that grandparents would give out at Halloween. It sounds like something that would taste old and stale, the sort of candy you’d give to your kid sister because you didn’t want it.

F.S. 18 years old

Dear Mister Murray:

Here is my completed assignment, please tell my teacher that I promptly completed the assignment.

This is my paragraph:

I’m not a Muslim, but sometimes I like to wear a Burqa just to see how the world reacts to me. People judge you and think you’re a terrorist even though you’re not. Whenever I went into Zellers people were suspicious of me because of my Burqa. They thought I was dishonest because they couldn’t see my face, but I could see theirs and I could tell what they were thinking. One day a security guard at Zellers accused me of shoplifting and frisked me to make sure I hadn’t taken anything. I didn’t believe him and acted outraged, but the truth was that I was turned on when he put his hands on me, when he touched me. I went back to Zellers every week after that hoping he would do it again, and he did, each time. I will miss Zellers like hell when it goes.