My level of celebrity has gotten to the point where people are digging up my ancient Tweets.

Several of mine, written way back in 2008 when I was only 42, have surfaced. Now that the fires of controversy, anger and hurt have subsided a little, I would like to address these Tweets. First of all, the Tweets themselves:

“More like No Country for Old Mansplaining! Can’t believe that piece of shit won best picture! Tommy Lee Jones was the worst, and there were no nude scenes!!! Zero!! #OscarsSuck!”

“ But it’s true, those goddamn orientals do work like dogs! How can we keep up! I really like the potential of this young buck of a councilor! Look out for Rob Ford, Toronto, he tells it like it is! #Orientaldogs”

“ I wish some great hacker would steal all the private, nudie photographs of hot movie stars and then release them to the general public! #EspeciallyJenniferLawrenceSweetJesusSheismyJesusMySexySweetJesus!

“I don’t know. Just something I don’t like about Barack O’bama. Maybe it’s the ears. Such a Ferengi. And we have no idea where he was born. #WhatAreYouHiding!?

“The blacks sure dominated the Olympics again!” #Beijing2008

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Although it’s difficult to apply the cultural values of one era to another, I categorically apologize for my Tweets and to anybody whom they brought pain. I want to be clear that in no way do I endorse hatred, racism, homophobia, xenophobia or any form of bigotry or intolerance. When I made those Tweets I was young, immature and stupid, but regardless, there are simply no excuses for any of them.

In the fullness of time I have come to realize that No Country For Old Men was a great movie, in spite of Tommy Lee Jones talking an awful lot about weird things and there being no nudity. Women are not purely sex objects. I see that now. I am sorry I didn’t see it earlier.

I had no idea a hacker would take my Tweet as inspiration and that The Fappening would one day occur. I am sorry that I was an unwitting party to this sex crime. In the wake of #MeToo, I have come to understand the constant sexual harassment and intimidation that woman daily suffer, and women out there, I want you to know that not only do I hear you, but I am listening.  Thank you.

The Obama family were exemplars, and I am very sorry to have doubted them, particularly the girls. But perhaps more importantly I want to apologize to Star Trek fans and the fictional race of the Ferengis. It was not my intention to imply anything negative about this great and proud and kind of greedy species. In no way was I trying to say that they were Jews, and by assocication that Obama was a jew. That was not my intent. I was drinking heavily that year. I think Jews are great.

Lastly, I want to apologize to the all the blacks of the world. My words were insensitive and ignorant, and I now understand that not all blacks are good at sports. Just look at the Mets. I want to thank you, black people, for this gift of awakening. You have changed me.

I appreciate all the constructive criticism I have received. I’ve genuinely learned so much about how to be a better person and wish everyone all the best.

Namaste,

Michael Murray

PS: Please buy my book A Van Full of Girls. It’s the only chance I got.

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I’m not going to give you any guff.

Ayahuasca is no walk in the park.

Like politics, it’s not for the faint of heart. Only the strongest will survive. You’ve got to be fearless to meet Mother Ayahuasca, and when I looked around the yurt at the lost and dirty hippies sitting around chanting and smelling like carrots, I knew I was the alpha and that I was going win. I knew that Mother Ayahuasca was going to choose me.

Now you’ve probably heard that the potion the little witch doctor guy gives you tastes horrible. That’s a fact, but if you’re smart like I was, you’ll just pour a little bit of chocolate milk into the cup and Presto! It’s still not the best thing you’ll ever taste– kind of like something you might get served on a Cuban cruise ship– but you can take it if you’re disciplined.

Anyway, after a couple of hours of trying to organize the hippies and teach them about the free market, I started to experience visual augmentations to the lights in the yurt. The lights seemed to get more vivid, like they were right up close to my eyeball. The yurt was getting hotter, too, and the hippies, with all their chanting and puking and moaning, were getting more irritating, so I took my shirt off and lay down for a power nap. With my eyes closed I saw all kinds of geometric shapes and started to experience things I’d never experienced before. I felt what it was like to fly through the jungle like a toucan. Eyes looking at opposite sides, I felt what it was like to crawl on the land and slip into the water like an alligator, I felt what it was like to sneak upon a prey like a puma, I felt the energy of a bull.

It was awesome, like playing football or throwing the shot put a mile.

I really felt like I was in the zone, so I started to do some push-ups. I think I was up to around 75 when Mother Ayahuasca appeared to me. Pretty average looking. You hope she might look like Cheryl Ladd or something, but that’s not the way it works.

Anyway, she looked at me, like really deeply into me, as if she was trying to intimidate me or something. Fat chance. So I stared right back at her. There’s not a staring contest, in any dimension, that Doug Ford can’t win, dammit. This seemed to throw her, so she spewed a whole bunch of snakes out of her mouth, but it takes more than that to scare a Ford.

Eventually she turned into a lake and invited me to go for a swim in her waters. Now I’m a happily married man, but I did as I was told, and I tell you it was like one of those Vulcan mind meld things. Suddenly, the sacred herb told me everything all at once, and I knew how essential strong governance and fiscal restraint were, not just to my life, but to all life. 

It’s just not quality.

Melania is posing naked for a classy magazine.

I’m really happy about this because I want everybody to see what I have and they don’t, so I’m at the photo shoot making sure everything goes Trump perfect. I’m giving Melania instructions on how to pose, and as she’s doing exactly what I tell her to do, I try to Tweet a picture with the words,“Twice with this one last night!” but discover I can’t get into my Twitter account, @realDonaldTrump.

I am building a wall. It’s a great wall, a huge wall. It’s going to be the best wall ever. And then somebody, A Mexican, approaches me and tells me that there are scuff marks on some of the imported marble. A Mexican. What does a Mexican know about imported marble? Nothing. Enraged, I pummel him with the might of an angry white nation, and when I’m finished I’m covered in Mexican blood, which is just disgusting. I try to wash it off but can’t, and the more people I hire to wash it off, the thicker and stickier it seems to get.

I am in the penthouse of one of my many, many luxury apartments. I’m there to evict the deadbeat tenants by forcing them to jump off the balcony. One of them refuses. I wake up in a cold sweat.

I am waterboarding Ted Cruz’s wife because she won’t change her last name to something American.

In spite of her pain and terror and screaming and begging, and that her top was so wet it was completely see-thru, the experience was not nearly as sexually exciting as I had expected it to be. Woke up feeling empty, a sensation that trailed me all day long.

I am Captain of the Starship Enterprise.

I’ve rented out three decks as luxury condos, converted the Holodeck into a casino, crushed the Starfleet union and am running a real estate training program for my promising officers. Federation mismanagement had been costing the tax payers a fortune, but with me at the helm, the Starship Enterprise was making a fantastic profit and had never looked better. And then we’re doing a routine patrol of Quadrant 4 when a Klingon Bird of Prey suddenly materialized before us. As I was negotiating with their Captain, I noticed a stain on my uniform. Laundry had screwed up again!

In this dream I am a boy, lost and alone in the woods with no business plan.

The Leafs are on TV, but they’re losing again and nobody much seems to care, instead, they focus on the consoles in front of them, concentrating on the trivia game unfolding on the monitors above the bar.

“Which film features a man living the same day over and over again?”

The guy to my right, who is still in his FedEx uniform, is startled to attentiveness by this question, “Groundhog Day, Groundhog Day!” he shouts as if sounding an alarm.

The other men, slowly and silently, reluctantly even, nod—tell them something they didn’t know.

To my left is a man who smells like cigarette smoke and is wearing the sort of sweater that invites fascination and curiosity. How old is that sweater? Was it a gift? If not, what was it that attracted him to it? He’s the most animated person in the bar, giggling nervously and speaking quickly, his eyes always darting. He and the bartender, an efficient but world-weary bald guy, have a rapport, a banter, and they’re trying to stump one another with arcane Simpson’s trivia and forgotten players from the OJ trial.

Mark Furhman!

Nicole Simpson’s dog was a white Akita!

Can I borrow a feeling by Kirk Van Houten!

All night the conversation jumps about in this way. They’re no longer the people that they became, but are now floating free, inhabiting a nostalgic landscape where they remain limitless and ascending. O, there are just so many details to untangle and isolate, to cherish… Episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, what country was the best to build your base from when playing Risk, and later, the naming of all the Replicants from Blade Runner, each one uttered with tenderness and respect, as if each one a kind of miracle, like a love from the past who was never to be seen again.

Your Highness:

You ever have one of those days?

I was very nervous about meeting you, because I’ve never met anybody who was a direct descendent of God. That must be so cool. I come from a long line of sheep thieves who have always fled debt, not Gods. At any rate, I really wanted you (A GOD!!!) to like me, and in spite of taking an Ativan and drinking two glasses of wine before going to bed, I had trouble sleeping. When this happens I often listen to a calming CD of rainstorms,

which is what I did, and to make a long story short I ended up sleeping through my alarm and missing my opportunity to meet you. I had my blue suit laid-out on my bed and everything.

I had studied you in a completely non-invasive and totally not creepy way, and was going to make some pretty dazzling conversation, I think. I honestly do believe that we would have become best friends, likely participating in the same fantasy sport’s pools, attending Illuminati meetings together, texting one another about Game of Thrones and partying on boats with supermodels.

The One percent rules!

Do people make a lot of Hamlet jokes to you?

I bet that they do.

People are stupid.

Ninety-nine percent of people, in fact.

The rich are not stupid–especially not the rich who are descended from Gods.

I see from Wikipedia that you married a commoner, run marathons, are an expert sailor, have been on expeditions to Mongolia and Greenland, have extensive military training and care about the environment. It’s pretty amazing how much we have in common, as I also care about the environment. I really can’t stand that every summer is getting more and more humid, and I have to say, if it weren’t for my AC, well, it would be pretty tough slogging.

Look, Your Highness, I really hope you can find it in your gracious heart to forgive me for sleeping in this morning and that we can still become the friends that God wants us to become. By means of apology, I would like to invite you and your commoner wife over for Game’s Night on Thursday. We play a Star Trek version of the Settler’s of Catan and it’s an awful lot of fun– some people even dress in character for it!

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Michael Murray

Here is one of the columns I just found while cleaning out an old box:

Q: There’s a girl in my Latin class who I’m absolutely nuts about. Should I tell her?

A: NO, THERE IS NO WAY ON EARTH THAT YOU SHOULD TELL HER!! (Is it Marie-France Lapoint? She is CRAZY hot, especially in those green cords!!! Drool!!!)

Look, this girl who may or may not be Marie-France Lapoint, is probably completely out of your league and dating a guy who lives in Europe or goes to university in the States. You should spare yourself the humiliation of rejection and just wait for her to notice you and your totally cool sweater.

It’s not always easy to do this, but it’s ESSENTIAL that you try. Look at her all the time, but pretend like she’s not important to you because you’re popular and your family is rich. Your indifference will make her think there’s something wrong with her, and this insecurity will probably make her try to be nice to you, and when this happens you should still play it really cool, like you would never have a crush on somebody like her but you’ll talk to her in boring, old Latin, and then when she gets really, really hammered at a party you should make your move!! The master has spoken.

Q: My parents want me to take Computer Science but I think it’s a stupid waste of time. What do you think?

A: First of all, parents are useless. They’re completely embarrassing and don’t understand anything! Of course Computer Science is a waste of time!! Fortran and Cobol?

They sound like robot names! Only nerds take that class and they’re not learning anything important or fun. Rest assured, the world is not going to be run by Cobol and Fortran. However, I do think that computers are going to be really important, one day giving us instant access to pictures of naked women (Kim Basinger and Jamie Lee Curtis!!) and sports scores.

Computers will be like libraries, only they’ll be small and with you all the time, like on Star Trek, but things are going to move so quickly in the future that studying something like Fortran in 1983 isn’t going to do you any good at all. Ignore your parents and take gym or something cool and remember, don’t hangout with any phonies!

Q: If I want to appear of age in a bar, what drink should I order?

A: A Screwdriver. And wear a Harris Tweed hat.

The master has spoken!

Celebrities, politicians and common folks jumped on the bandwagon, many wearing blue bracelets in support of the cause, and a little bit of over-sharing might have taken place, but still, a bunch of money and awareness was raised. The success of this venture has led Rogers, Bell’s rival, to do something very similar. On January 31^st, Roger’s launched their Everybody Poops campaign, where for every tweet or text that included the hashtag RogersEverybodyPoops, six cents would be donated to gastrointestinal health initiative across the country.

These are some of the tweets that went out on that day:

Clint Eastwood

Go ahead, make my day and RT #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

Bowel movements are nothing to be ashamed of!! Please RT #RogersEverybodyPoops

Sarah Polley

Life’s no picnic when every bowel movement feels like an emergency. Please help by retweeting #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

We need to end the stigma that prevents people from talking openly about their bowel movements! Fight silence!! #RogersEverybodyPoops

William Shatner

I had a rectal polyp the size of a walnut and the pain was unreal. #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

Fart jokes are not funny!! They are a form of BULLYING! Please RT #RogersEverybodyPoops

Justin Trudeau

What would Justin do? Justin would bring attention to the gastrointestinal health of Canadians. Let’s knock out Colon Cancer! #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

I didn’t fart in front of my boyfriend for three years. Why?? The silence and shame must stop! #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

Because of my IBS I have to use public washrooms all the time and it is unsafe #RogersEverybodyPoops

Dion Phaneuf

Nobody likes to leave a floater in the toilet. #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

My stool is very unpredictable and always smells horrible. It’s time for pooping to come out of the closet! #RogersEverybodyPoops

Rob Ford

Nothing feels as awesome as a good dump, so let’s give all Canadians, not just the elites, that opportunity. #RogersEverydodyPoops

Anonymous

The runs aren’t just something that happens to your stockings. We need to talk about this! #RogersEverybodyPoops

Pamela Anderson

Nothing is a bigger turn off than blood or mucus in your stool. Let’s get our shit together! #RogersEverybodyPoops

As it turns out, Rob Ford, Toronto’s embattled, fiscally conservative, crack-smoking mayor is amongst those who have applied for this one-way ticket to the future.

This is his application.

Tell us a little about yourself:

My name is Rob Ford and I’m still mayor of Toronto, one of North America’s largest cities and greatest sport’s towns!! You might have heard of the Toronto Maple Leafs, the CN Tower or maybe some lies that the media made up about me. We’re pretty big-city here.

Anyway, I’m an alpha male, big and powerful, like a lumberjack or a white football player who ferociously protects his QB; loyal, not stubborn. I’m a straight-shooting son of gun who tells it like it is, and I like to have a good time. Let me tell you, you’ll always know when the Big Dog is in the house because there’ll never be a dull or non-confrontational moment! I will bring the energy and flat-out RAWK the Martian Mansion! I am a walking exclamation point!!! Think Snooki times six!

I’m also straight. The idea of guys kissing grosses me out. They can do what they want underground or wherever, but when it’s in front of me, I need them to show some respect.

I’m really into the ladies, am likely still able to father children and would be totally open to any romantic entanglements that might develop on Mars. I think everybody should have a shot at love, even if it’s on a different planet far away from your wife that you’ve been married to for a like a billion years. Personally, I like blondes the best, blondes like Seven of Nine from Star Trek: Voyager and Jessica Simpson. Hell, I don’t care that Jessica Simpson went out and put on some weight from drinking and having a baby! She was under a lot of stress, which I completely and totally understand, so if Jessie put on a few, big whoop, it just means there’s more for me!

Favourite movie:  A Clockwork Orange

Favourite city: Chicago

Favourite band: Triumph

Tell us why you’d like to go to Mars:

My favourite colour is red. LOL!! I’m just kidding. (I have a really good sense of humour and could really boost the spirits of the other pioneers, and keep our massive viewing audience laughing.)

But seriously, Commander Chris Hadfield, the Canadian who was up in the International Space Station Tweeting back to earth, has inspired me to want to become an astronaut. I could totally do what he did.

Here are some of my sample Tweets:

“From space, Chicago is an intricate tapestry of partying lights.”

“Who let the dogs out? Rob! Rob! Rob!”

“The Earth, small and blue and beautiful in eternal, floating silence.”

“Quietly, like a night bird, floating, soaring, wingless, I can blot you out with my thumb.”

Anyway, Hadfield is like a saint around here and can’t do anything wrong. The media, who tell lies about me and hunt me like I was a big, beautiful wild animal, think that everything he does is right and everything that I do sucks and instantly turns to crap. They’re trying to tackle me, the media, and that’s not fair. Earth people are negative all the time, and just don’t get Rob Ford. I think I’d like to get off this little blue bean and take on the challenge of colonizing a new, media-free planet.

I’m not scared to kill things with my hands if that’s what it takes to live on Mars.

If I can quote, “I’m not the man they think I am at home

Oh, no, no, no, I’m a rocket man.”

Also, I believe very strongly in free enterprise and would friggin’ love to start a brand-new economy that has no bureaucrats and very little municipal governance. That would be a dream, that and coaching football again. I would LOVE to be the greatest football coach in Martian history, and one day, I would hope to become mayor of Mars, too, or rather, my district of Mars.

I was built for space.

Rob Ford

PS: The rumors that I was rejected for “Celebrity Apprentice” are ridiculous.