***************************************************************
Me: Oh.
Me: I didn’t know you were getting a massage.
Me: I thought you were at the Dufferin Mall trying to improve our phone plans.
Me: Sure was off with that one!
Me: Well, I hope the massage is doing the trick, anyway!
Me: Awesome. You really do deserve to have a “tender yet forceful experience that lifts you out of your body and punishes you in all the right places.”
Me: What’s the masseuses name again? Yana? Didn’t she used to be a hot Russian long jumper before some sort of sex scandal?
Me: Pierre?
Me: He’s your masseuse?
Me: I thought he was your power skating coach.
Me: Both, eh? That’s a little weird.
Me: I see.
Me: He’s a renaissance man.
Me: I do too know what that means.
Me: It means he’s a douche.
Me: You know he lied about being in the NHL, eh?
Me: That’s something sacred, you don’t lie about stuff like that!
Me: Oh, he was in the German league then.
Me: Not. The. Same. Thing.
Me: Like playing in Peewee.
Me: I would dominate that stupid league.
Me: Whatever.
Me: Whatever.
Me: You did what?
Me: Look, my Fantasy Baseball Stats file is private.
Me: I have no idea why you found a bunch of racy photographs of Kristen Stewart in there.
Me: Not a clue.
Me: Maybe Jones put them there.
Me: Really? That’s the stupidest thing you ever heard?
Me: Look, I’m not stupid just because I failed math a bunch of times.
Me: Or French.
Me: Or any other subject!
Me: I’m Alt-Smart.
Me: No, it’s different than being “special.”
Me: You’re being a bully.
Me: You are not a safe space!
Me: Look, look, why are we fighting? It’s Christmas!
Me: Sure.
Me: Of course I’ve been doing my Christmas shopping!
Me: I’m no rookie.
Me: Practically done.
Me: You and Pierre wanted tickets to that Pentatonix concert, right?
Me: Or was it the travelling version of The Price is Right?
Me: Maybe I’ll get you two both!
Me: Yes.
Me: Wow, that would be great!
Me: I had no idea they made Kristen Stewart sex dolls!
Me: What do you mean, “That’s not what my Internet history says?”
Me: Well, I don’t know.
Me: Must have been some mistake.
Me: Maybe the baby sitter was looking up Kristen Stewart sex dolls? How would I know!?
Me: Also, maybe my account was hacked by a Russian?
Me: Well, I’m a pretty important writer.
Me: The Russians know that if they attribute something to me it will have great influence on the public.
Me: They’re smart, the Russians.
Me: You ever see them play hockey? So very clever!
Me: I did not think that Aleppo was a type of dog food two months ago!
Me: I’m pretty keyed in to world events. Always have been.
Me: I have always stood with Syria.
Me: Sure I did.
Me: I gave away that old bathroom scale to a Syrian refugee family.
Me: Well, yes.
Me: The organizer never did come to pick it up, but that’s on her!
Me: She’s the one who doesn’t care about Syrians, not me!
Me: I care about their weight, about how they adapt to the North American diet!
Me: Don’t want them to get diabetes!
Me: Sorry?
Me: Why did I text and interrupt your massage?
Me: I don’t remember.
Me: Oh, now I remember!
Me: If the last three women on the planet were you, Kristen Stewart and Jennifer Lawrence, I would choose you.
Me: Yes, I am very sweet.
Me: I love you, too, see you soon! xoxo
]]>Being generous and broad of heart, Rachelle has given access to our account to members of her family so that they can piggyback on our subscription and not have to pay to use the service.
What follows are the texts I received from my wife when I brought up the subject last week:
***************************
Rachelle: Oh, if it says the account is already in use when you try to watch, it means that someone in my family is probably watching.
Rachelle: We gave them access to our Netflix, remember?
Rachelle: Look, they do a MILLION things for us, you can just wait half an hour before you watch Arrow, okay?
Rachelle: I know you relate to the lead in Arrow. I know.
Rachelle: Yes, you got an arrow in your foot when you were a boy and ever since things have “changed.”
Rachelle: Of course, of course, it was certainly life-defining when you encountered a practice arrow that bounced harmlessly off your foot!
Rachelle: Must have been like meeting Bigfoot or seeing an angel!
Rachelle: Look, I’m not diminishing the arrow-harmlessly-bouncing-off-your-foot experience.
Rachelle: I know it doesn’t have to draw blood to hurt, or to alter the course of a young boy’s life.
Rachelle: I’m not mocking you.
Rachelle: Okay, yes, of course I’m mocking you!
Rachelle: Lordy, you can really be difficult, you know?
Rachelle: I know you REALLY love the show.
Rachelle: But honey, you’re unemployed and can watch it anytime you like.
Rachelle: Okay, I guess you can’t watch it when somebody else is using our account.
Rachelle: Yes, sure, game, set and match to Michael “Destiny’s Arrow” Murray.
Rachelle: And yes, I know that your fantasy baseball team is named “Destiny’s Arrow” to honour this pivotal moment in your life.
Rachelle: Leeches???
Rachelle: Are you really calling my family, the family that does so many kind and thoughtful things for us, leeches?
Rachelle: Un-fucking-believable.
Rachelle: Remember when my dad drove all the way down to Toronto from Alliston because you couldn’t open the patio table parasol?
Rachelle: Or when my mother typed out 150 pages of your Fantasy novel—Destiny’s Arrow–because you thought you might have a variation of carpal tunnel syndrome?
Rachelle: No, I don’t think autocorrect changed Peaches to leeches.
Rachelle: I simply do not believe you.
Rachelle: I think that you’re lying to me.
Rachelle: Yes, I think you lie all of the time.
Rachelle: Really?
Rachelle: Well, when we met and you said you didn’t have any “emotional baggage.”
Rachelle: When you said you were 5’9, that was another lie.
Rachelle: That you were good at sports.
Rachelle: Do you want me to go on?
Rachelle: Look, if you send my parent’s a bill for $3.50 each month, “so that they can carry their own weight,” I will kill you in your loud, nauseating, snoring sleep.
Rachelle: Be back from work around 7:30, please be dressed this time.
]]>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 31st, 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 many of you know, Rob and I were enrolled at Carleton University in Ottawa at the same time, and it was at a local pub—Tiddlers—where we became last call drinking acquaintances. We’ve stayed in a weird contact over the years, frequently messaging one another when up late and partying alone. This is my most recent correspondence with the mayor, which took place sometime after two in the morning on Wednesday.
Rob: FORD NATION KNOCKING!!!
Me: Rob!!
Rob: BRAIN ON FIRE! All sorts of ideas!! Need quick feedback!!
Me: You always make me feel like I’m on a game show, love it!
Rob: The Quebec charter of values thing, you know, where the French people say you’re not allowed to wear the jew hat and stuff? I like it.
Me: If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything!
Rob: Damn straight! I’m free market, not going to tell people what they can’t do, but if you live in Ford Nation, you’re going to have to walk the walk, get it? If you have to be a weirdo and ride a bicycle, then you have to wear an Argo’s jersey when you do it.
Me: It’s brilliant, Rob, it can’t miss! What happens if you’re culturally un-Ford Nation and exploit a public resource like a library?
Rob: You got to see Iron Man III and eat a Cronut burger.
Me: And then wear the t-shirt, “ I survived the Cronut Burger! Ford For Mayor 2014!”
Rob: Yeah!! Ford Nation: Not as diverse as you’d think.
Me: How about, Ford Nation: Strength in Unity?
Rob: Love it!!! Man, you really GET the heart of Ford Nation! I miss having these late night jam sessions in person!
Me: Me, too, big guy, me, too.
Rob: Know what else I miss?
Me: Tiddlers!
Rob: Tiddlers RULZ!!!!! But dude, I miss Frosh Week. I could fucken live in Frosh Week. I would take my vacations there if I could. Fuck Florida!!
Me: Frosh Week was awesome. But look, what happens to vegans? They’re not Ford Nation at all.
Rob: If you want to be vegan and live in Ford Nation, then you have to be a stripper once a week, too. Don’t care about their religion. Chicks only, tho.
Me: What if somebody isn’t a man of the people? You know, not the type to go to visit people in public housing and put campaign stickers on their door frames?
Rob: Oh! Just got another idea!
Me: Great!
Rob: My fantasy hockey team?
Me: Yeah?
Rob: Gonna call it, Everybody’s Twerking For The Weekend! After the Loverboy song!
Me: Genius.
Rob: Honest, I think it’s the best thing I ever thought of.
Me: Me, too.
Rob: Hey, you see those pictures of that bear chasing the bison down the highway?
Me: Yeah.
Rob: You the bear or the bison?
Me: Not sure. You?
Rob: Both, little buddy, both.
Me: Kind of scared.
Me: Kind of very scared.
Me: What if there’s a rope?
Me: I can just imagine it hanging from the ceiling.
Me: Swaying ominously.
Me: They’ll force me to climb up it.
Me: There might be a rope!!
Me: I’m not overreacting.
Me: Look, I know it’s not grade 4 gym class.
Me: No, I’m not expecting dodge ball.
Me: It would be nice if you were supportive rather than sarcastic.
Me: I don’t have dodge ball nightmares.
Me: Not anymore.
Me: Fartmares.
Me: Very funny.
Me: No, I’m not going to ask them if they can do anything about my “gas problem.”
Me: Because there is no gas problem.
Me: My trainer?
Me: Her name is Laetitia.
Me: She’s French, France French.
Me: She thinks I’m really funny.
Me: No, funny ha-ha.
Me: Cute accent.
Me: She really loves the anchor tattoo on my hand. It reminds her of Marseille.
Me: I know it was a commitment tattoo I got with you, but I can’t help it if other women find it attractive.
Me: My hands don’t look old.
Me: I’d say they look like they belong on a 25 year-old man.
Me: She’s going to test my grip.
Me: No, not my grip on reality.
Me: Man alive!
Me: My right hand has like a GI Joe Super Kung Fu grip!!
Me: Laetitia is really impressed! Gave me a hug!!
Me: Oh, you know the French.
Me: They’re like that.
Me: Yes, whorish.
Me: Such beguiling giggles, too.
Me: Are you going to your girl’s night out Salsa Dance Slut thing again tonight?
Me: Your sisters are a very bad influence on you.
Me: Alejandro.
Me: No, I don’t want him coming to my birthday party.
Me: I just don’t.
Me: I don’t want to talk about it.
Me: I don’t care if the therapist said I have to communicate more.
Me: All right.
Me: I communicate that I hate Alejandro.
Me: Well, didn’t he poke somebody in the back with his boner while dancing????
Me: I can’t do this now, I have to prepare for my next test.
Me: Mentally. I have to get in the zone.
Me: I want Alejandro out of the zone!!
Me: The next test?
Me: I have to walk briskly for the next six minutes.
Me: Yes.
Me: Well, why wouldn’t I take off my shirt?
Me: The French are used to that sort of thing.
Me: And I’m going to get a good sweat on.
Me: Oh.
Me: Apparently the equipment works better if I keep my shirt on.
Me: No.
Me: I don’t see any equipment.
Me: I think Laetitia might be a drunk.
Me: She’s all worried about me texting when I do the brisk walk test thing.
Me: Thinks I might walk into a wall or something.
Me: As if.
Me: Hate Laetitia and her bad skin.
Me: Glad I’ve never been to France.
]]>1. Repurpose Mayan Apocalypse Escape Pods.
2. Get in shape.
3. See a UFO.
4. Read at least three books.
5. Stop with the cosmetic surgeries, maybe get tattoos instead.
6. Stop Hate-Visiting Facebook pages of people who drive me crazy.
7. Go easy on the cocaine.
8. Become a volunteer.
9. Text more.
10. Join Choir! Choir! Choir!
11. Be the man.
]]>********************************
R: Oh Pickle, I just saw the worst thing!!
R: A man jumped from the Lawrence overpass onto the Don Valley Parkway and I saw his body, pinned underneath a pick-up truck. Just horrifying.
R: Sorry?
R: Oh, I see, your lunch was horrifying.
R: How sad for you that you had to eat the leftover lasagna I made the other night.
R: You’re very brave to endure such brutality.
R: You’re right, I should call it Pink Slimeasagna.
R: Regardless, imagine being behind the wheel of that truck, seeing a man jump and then running over him? Good God, that person will never be the same.
R: No, I don’t mean the person who jumped.
R: The driver.
R: No, I am NOT taking video of it!!
R: It would be awful for the driver to live with that, it would be a life-altering event.
R: Ha-ha. Yes, I’m sure that my leftover Pink Slimeasagna was a life-altering event, too. You’re very funny today, dear.
R: You had a coffee, didn’t you?
R: Sorry?
R: Well, I had never thought about it until now.
R: I suppose driving over a person who had just committed suicide would be more traumatic than seeing a UFO abducting a cow for probing.
R: How would you know?
R: Oh, that’s right, you have lucid dreams!
R: And in these lucid dreams you see UFO’s and drive over suicides?
R: I see.
R: Right, right, Night Time is Mike Time.
R: Did you really have that printed on a T-shirt in high school?
R: Very cool, I bet you were very popular with the ladies.
R: Sure.
R: Yes, I know, you were good at sports, too.
R: Now tell me, back in high school when Night Time was Mike Time, did you wear a Breathe-Rite strip to bed?
R: A Lucid Dreaming sleep mask.
R: It all makes sense now, you know.
R: Me?
R: I could dunk a basketball in high school.
R: And I had many lovers, some of them black, black as the night, Pickle.
R: I’m not being racist. I’m just stating a fact.
R: I never told you this, but I had a baby, a black baby.
R: Because I gave her up for adoption.
R: I was young, that’s why.
R: Her name is Jada.
R: Her father?
R: We haven’t seen one another in months, but we’re Facebook friends.
R: I think he knows about you.
R: Yeah, I think so. Maybe.
R: Not sure.
R: What does he do?
R: Well, he won Survivor: Fiji, but he’s really an entrepreneur, philanthropist, producer and advertising executive.
R: He looks a bit like Marvin Gaye.
R: But that’s all in the past!
R: You wrote a letter to Erin Collins from Survivor: Thailand?
R: You admired her grit?
R: Did she ever write back?
R: Oh, that’s too bad, Pickle.
R: Tell me about some of your high school sweethearts!
R: Oh, well I’m sure playing the field was a very good strategy for you.
R: Yeah, keep your options open.
R: What was high school like in the 50’s, anyway?
R: Okay, see you soon, xox
]]>
What follows are the text messages that I received from my wife Rachelle on that final night.
Hey Pickle, how are you doing?
Oh, that’s too bad.
Why are you scared?
Really??!!
You think you’re going to be murdered?
That’s too bad!
But yes, I am flattered that you want to leave everything to me.
It’s exciting to think about redecorating.
I’m certainly going to take down the baseball posters.
And that picture of you in the Tilley hat.
It is a Tilley hat.
No, it’s not an Australian Outback hat.
No, I’m sorry.
You’re right, your getting murdered is more important.
I am really very concerned about you getting murdered tonight.
No, I don’t want it to happen.
No.
I’ve never wanted it to happen.
No, not even very much then.
No, my dad doesn’t want to kill you.
He will not strangle you in your sleep.
He may snore, but he won’t strangle you.
By the way, why do you think tonight is the night that you get murdered?
Oh, I see.
Well, why are you guys staying at a drug and whore motel?
Is it because your road trip is actually all about drugs and whores?
It kind of sounds like it might be.
I am taking you seriously.
So, scary looking people have been watching you and the night manager is mean.
Oh, not mean, just unkind in nature.
I see.
So, he’s probably not going to be the murderer.
Have you and my dad discussed how you’re most likely to be murdered?
I’d bet on a screwdriver stabbing.
Yeah, it would probably hurt pretty bad.
Aww, I love you, too, sweetie.
You tell Jesus I say hi and that’s he doing very good work!
I will miss you.
But as I said, it will be nice to redecorate.
I want to make an accent wall in the living room where your baseball posters are.
It’s nice that you want me to find love after your gone.
Yeah, I suppose I probably will.
I’m young and pretty after all.
I guess it’s just your time, Pickle.
The chariot is going to swing low to pick you up tonight.
Oh, I didn’t realize that you two were armed for the night.
You have pepper spray for bears?
Really?!
And a hunting knife???
They’re from one of my father’s camping trips?
Oh, Lord.
You two are drunk, aren’t you?
Oh, I knew it.
And you were talking about scary movies in the car.
Look, why don’t you two just go somewhere else where you don’t think you’ll be murdered?
I don’t want you two to attack one another when you bump into each other on the way to the washroom.
Who do I think would win?
Well, my dad.
He’s about a foot taller than you and weighs 100 pounds more.
Okay, if you had both weapons and he was unarmed and sleeping…
Well no, actually you would still lose.
You’re jittery, Pickle, you’d pepper spray yourself and drop the knife on your foot.
Yes, you would.
Remember when you tried out the fire sticks at Julia’s party?
Kiki’s fur never grew back and Julia has never forgiven us, you know.
Oh, gotta go, Kitchen Nightmares is on!
We had a good run, Pickle, and remember, don’t be scared of the light, that’s where all your old pets are!
xoxxo
]]>