Toronto Mayor Rob Ford is a man’s man. He likes the things that most guys do– small government, football, hot chicks, barbeque, cars and not being told what to do. He’s a man of the people, Rob Ford, and as the straight shooting son-of-a-gun that he is, he often finds himself in trouble with the downtown elite. No matter, Rob just has to be Rob, and there aren’t enough handlers on the planet to make him a phony.
As some of you may know, Rob Ford was enrolled at Carleton University in Ottawa back in the 1980’s and he and I used to be last-call regulars at the same bar. We haven’t seen one another in 20 years and have never had a sober conversation, but we were drinking buddies and as such continue to have short, on-line chats whenever one of us is drinking alone.
On Friday morning at 1:39, I got this message from Rob:
Rob: Hey Mur, you catch the Olympics?
Me: Slobber! It was a Bronze Bonanza for Canada, my man!!
Rob: How ‘bout that Udon Bolt guy, eh? The night before he won all the races he did three chicks from the Swedish handjob, I mean handball team! What a stud!!
Me: Usain Bolt, he should be the new James Bond.
Rob: Yeah, that lightning Bolt guy. If I were in his position I’d do some of the lady divers. It turns my crank when they’re all wet and then shower and go into that hot tub together. Love to party with them, man. SHOOTERS!!!
Me: SHOOTERS!!!!
Rob: asadafsdafdpaaaaf9as9d0as
Me: ????
Rob: Fucken cat just walked over the laptop.
Me: Oh.
Rob: I wana get a big dog, call him Flat Screen, but the wife won’t let me. Says I’ll never take him for a walk.
Me: You wouldn’t.
Rob: HAHAAHAHAHAHA! Ain’t it the truth!
Rob: Mur, I tell ya, I just can’t root for Canada during the Olympics. They’re losers. It’s the USA for me, just respect the way they go about stuff, you know? Look at the way they handle war, football, cars, food and stuff. They got it going on. And Jennifer Aniston, too!!!
Me: She’s always been your special friend.
Rob: BOURBON!!!
Me: Bourbon shooters for all!!
Rob: And US cars rule! I got a new ride, an Escalade.
Me: The Escalade, that’s what all the rappers sing about, right?
Rob: You know it, little brother. Big shit storm up in Toronto about my ride.
Me: What happened?
Rob: Some fart hole took a picture of me reading while driving down the Expressway. Wasn’t even breaking 100! Now all the green-freaks are on my ass. They can kiss MY ASS!! HAAAHAAHAH!!
Me: I hear you, Slobber.
Rob: Goddamn Escalade drives itself—you don’t need to be paying attention. Things a tank! Couldn’t hurt myself if I tried!
Me: What music do you listen when you’re driving?
Rob: RATT. They really clear the brainpan. Psyche’s me up for the day.
Me: Cool. Did you see the Spice Girls at the closing ceremonies for the Olympics? Still looked pretty good, eh?
Rob: Oh Yeah! Ginger for me, man. And Posh. And Scary. And the other one, Baby, they can all hop in the hot tub with me and the diver girls!!! SPLISHSSSPLASHSPLISHSPLASSH!! But not Sporty, she’s like a dude.