Monthly Archives: September 2012

Fatass masochism

I stand staring into the abyss.  I am about to embark on a journey of horrors, from which I may never recover.   My pulse quickens at the very thought of what I am about to attempt.

 A diet.  Oh, the humanity.  What torture I am about to inflict on myself!  Woe unto me.

Ok, that’s probably a bit dramatic.  And the pulse racing is likely just the high blood pressure from having pancake batter coursing through my veins.

But I fear the diet all the same.  It is not in the slightest a happy decision to make.  But coming back from a cruise, where indulgence is the order of the day, I find myself needing to do so with alarming necessity.   I was already overweight before I went on the cruise, of course.  I’ve been heavy for the majority of my adult life.  But by the end of our vacation, the cruise ship had to dump off a few lifeboats to offset the water displacement I caused with my gluttony.  The waiters actually started to look nervous when I was ordering and eating.  I can’t say what they were thinking, but it was likely that none of them was all that keen on giving me mouth to mouth with my impending heart attack.  The captain was actually pretty pissed off.  He had to continuously make course corrections to account for the tidal effects my personal gravitational forces were causing.

My major problem with dieting is not the principle of losing weight. It’s a good thing to do when you are in danger of having your awkward waddling filmed and made into a documentary narrated by Morgan Freeman.  (Go ahead.  Try to avoid reading the rest of this in his voice.)  My issue stems from knowing exactly how it will go.

Stomach:  I’m hungry.

Brain: Sorry my friend, we’re on a diet.

Stomach: I don’t recall agreeing to this.

Taste buds:  Me either.  These carrot sticks freaking suck.

Brain: Come on guys.  We have to do this.  Pancreas, Liver, Kidney and Intestines are really, really suffering.

Stomach: No.  Fill me.  NOW.

Brain: No!  We’re on a diet!  I’m in charge here, and we’re losing weight!

Stomach:  Ha! You in charge?  I call the shots here.  FEED ME.

Brain:  Damn.

Stomach: now dance for me, puppet.

Brain: Yes Sir.

That is the hard part.  Dieting pits your willpower against your cravings, and if your willpower had any stones in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this mess.  My willpower is about as tough as that little Voldemort thing in Harry’s post death discussion with Dumbledore.  No?  Ok, let me try another example.  About as tough as Neville Longbottom BEFORE the miraculous puberty spurt that turned him in to a snake-killing sword-swinging beast. (No, I’m not a huge Harry Potter Fan.  I just like the concept of being able to wave your hand and have a table full of food without effort.)  I think Bacon tastes like the tears of angels.  The point is, my willpower sucks.  On a diet, I’m always a moment of weakness away from freebasing corn syrup.

Dieting would be way easier if things were different.  You eat food that you don’t like, and you eat less too.  So not only do you get to graze on greenish matter that tastes like death, you don’t even get enough of it to fill your considerable hungry-hole. Add to the fact that all the well meaning advice you get that makes it hard for us fatties to navigate through the mess.  Some of the nonsense you have to put up with includes:

The “you should write a food journal” people. 

Now, I like writing and all.  But I know what a food journal for me would look like:

Day 1:  Feeling ok.  This isn’t so hard!  A little bit hungry, but I think this is going to work! Yay me!

Day 2:  Ugh.  No energy.  Hate broccoli.  Hate lettuce.  Hate life.

Day 3: I just bit the dog because he’s a chocolate lab.  And snuck off and I ate at Denny’s.  God help me, DENNY’S!

Day 4: Come to me my minions!  My sugary people!  My gummy bears and Hershey’s kisses!  We shall rule the world! HAHAHAHAHAHA…..

It only gets grimmer from there.

The “Oh, I should lose weight too!” friend.

If your friend is fat, this statement is fine.  This shouldn’t bother you much.  For all the others though, that can wear T-shirts that don’t look like single colour muumuus, they need to not say it.  When they start talking about how they are soooooo fat and need to work out and diet I want to say:  Shut up skinny person.  I am fat. You are not.  I am very hungry and cranky right now, and if you don’t shut up I’ll EAT YOUR SOUL.

The “well, you only have yourself to blame” people.

Yes, those well proportioned douche bags who think it’s their job to turn all Bob Harper on your chubby ass.  Yes, we know that Twinkies are bad for us. Yes, we know that there are a ton of calories in a big Mac, and yes we know that tofu is healthy.  We are fat because we didn’t care.  Our taste buds overrule our knowledge.  And when they get on you about working out, you want to start your exercise regime by free-lifting them and throwing them off a bridge.  Our lazy fat selves know that exercising “increases your life span” but by my calculation, you gain exactly the time at the end of your life that you spent sweating away your will to live in the gym, and those years are adult diaper years, and you can darn well have them.

The will meaning family members

Now when I say this, know that I love you dearly, my well-meaning family members, and I don’t attribute ill motive to you, but we portly people struggle with you involving yourselves with our weight.  Bad enough that when we’re dieting and we come over for dinner and it’s a turkey with stuffing and gravy and mashed potatoes and pie for dessert and oh my…..

Sorry, lost track of where I was going with that for a second.

But when we sit down to dinner  with people who can eat what they want, because they don’t have a weight problem, and try and eat the salad and a tiny sliver of the good stuff, it’s torture. With all the wonderful smells coming from the food, it’s like being told at the end of a make out session that she “just wants to cuddle.”    Add to that that your family, because they love you and want what’s best for you, are more likely than anyone else to bring up your weight in general discussion with all the family in attendance.  You of course are caught off guard when they bring it up, likely with your chubby cheeks stuffed full of food, and can only chew in silence while you are told why you shouldn’t have eaten what you just did.

The Enablers

You’re not fat! You’re just big boned!  You carry it well.  You’re not overweight.  You should love yourself just the way you are.  Here, have a piece of cake, it won’t hurt you.  We need enabling as much as a white trash NASCAR loving redneck needs another confederate flag on his dirty pickup truck, but we love the enablers all the more for it.

Can you see how it’s difficult?  You not only have your own stay-puffed marshmallow man tendencies to overcome, you have other things to deal with as well. To top that off, you have to figure out your motivation for losing weight in the first place.  If it’s because you think that you have a promising career in underwear modeling… don’t bother.  They’d have to spend so much time airbrushing out your loose skin and stretch marks to make it worth their while.  But if you have a good reason to lose weight, it may be more likely for you to stick with it.

My reasons?  Well, there a bunch.  I don’t like having to replace shoes once a month.  I don’t like sweating when I eat, and I don’t like a vague sense that someone is in my blind spot when I’m walking.  I don’t like working with the fear that I’m going to kill one of my munchkin-sized co-workers if I run in to them.  And I don’t like the impression that being fat gives. Fat people are frequently considered stupid.  Slow of mind, definitely not as intelligent as the skinnier people in the world.  And unfortunately we have evidence of this.  Rob Ford, for those in the Greater Toronto Area, serves as a great example.  Other examples include Chris Farley, John Belushi ,and John Candy.  (all the more frightening to realize that most of those are dead.)  I like to pride myself on the intelligence I have, as small as it is, and I don’t like being considered dumber than I actually am just because I have fried chicken stains on my size 2XL dress shirt. So when it boils down to it, my number one reason for wanting to lose weight is arrogance.  Which, being a very arrogant person should serve me well.

When it’s all said and done though, I must lose weight.  And for that I must suffer. Sell your McDonalds stock folks…. Here we go.


Positive thinking power outage

There are two ways to slide easily through life: to believe everything or to doubt everything; both ways save us from thinking. ~ Alfred Korbzybski

 Today I’m going to get up, and I’m going to face the day with no worries.  No matter what comes my way, I’ll overcome it, because I believe I can!  There isn’t anything that can stop me.  Through the powers of positive thinking, I will ultimately be successful, because a positive attitude is the most important part of anything you can do.


Typing that was almost impossible.  My fingers kept trying to pull away from the keys in disgust.  For you see, I am a cynic.  I know the picture that people get in their minds.  Oh, great, a cynic.  Some doubting Thomas hunched over his keyboard with a frown on his face, a scowl on his mouth… and probably a unibrow.

 The world hates cynicism.  This is mantra that is spouted over and over.  Books are sold on the topic.  Motivational speakers have it as their raison d’être.  Think Positive!  Get rid of that stinkin’ thinkin’!    And as a gullible populace, do we ever swallow it like the finest of wines.  One of the most popular speakers that use this principle is Tony Power.  He of the silk suits and permanent grins, who lead his faithful to 3rd degree burns while fire walking using good vibes for protection.  The most popular book on the subject in the last decade is “The Secret.”  The secret apparently is that you can affect your circumstances with a Vulcan mind meld to the universe, and get whatever you want.   It’s fortunate for all of you reading this that this isn’t a direct review of either Power or “The Secret” otherwise the rest of this post would be so expletive laden that it would be all but unreadable.

 You know the shtick, though.  Little Timmy is on the baseball team.  Coach tells him to visualize him hitting the ball out of the park, and it will happen!  The only thing standing between you and success is yourself, and your negative attitude.  And sadly enough, we have anecdotal examples all over the Internet like bad chain letters, talking about how because they believed something good could happen, it would.  An underdog sports team wins, and the reason they accomplished it was because they always believed they could.  The reason that Grandma is in remission from cancer is because of her positive energy and will to defeat it.  Every once in a while, Timmy belts a homer.

 And for every success story, for every example of us using the wonderful power of our minds to achieve greatness, there is a trash-heap of broken dreams and failures.  People who were so gosh darn positive that their cheeks hurt from smiling, and still it didn’t work.  Didn’t get the promotion, lost the sale, sat in the doctors office and got the bad news, another round of treatment is needed.  Timmy hits in to a series ending double play.

 All of this stems from us treating negativity as a character flaw. That cynicism is a bad thing. We start the criticism of it early. We tell our kids that they can be anything they want to when they grow up.  This of course, is one of those happy little lies we tell our kids, with about as much truth to it as Santa Claus and the tooth fairy.  (With hearty apologies for letting the cat out of the bag for those who still believe in old Saint Nick.) What our children can be depends on a gigantic cauldron of factors, many of which they have no control over.  The little boy with very poor vision isn’t going to be fighter pilot.  The tiny girl who will top out at 4’11” and 95 pounds isn’t going to be a firefighter like daddy is. The odds of the impoverished family being able to afford the Ivy League education required to make their child a doctor are low, and get even lower when the child isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. We read them the little engine that could for a bedtime story, but don’t tell them that the fact of the matter:  That more often than not, “I think I can” becomes “I thought I could.”  We are unable to accept that we cannot accomplish everything we set out to do, and believe that every story should have a happy ending.  Thank you Disney! 

 Fact of the matter is, a healthy dose of cynicism is beneficial to living your life.  Properly applied cynicism is not pessimism.  Pessimism is never thinking that there can be a good outcome to anything you try.   The only thing Pessimism is good for is jokes about glasses being half empty. Realism, a shorter way of saying healthy cynicism, is simply not going in to things with your eyes closed to the possibility of a negative outcome.  Add to this the fact that positive outcomes are rarely, if ever, because of positive attitude.  This doesn’t mean there should be no confidence in abilities, or belief that you can succeed, but remembering that the other things that make up for a good result are just as, if not more important.  Things such as situation, training, ability, preparedness, and sometimes downright good fortune, do more to give people outcomes that are beneficial.

 I work in a middle management position.  And I can say without a shadow of a doubt, if I approached my job with the attitude that everything is going to be wonderful just because I think it will, I would not remain employed for very long.  I would grin like an idiot and reassure my employers that everything is going to be just fine, while the department crashes and burns.  So many jobs, such as my own, or the aforementioned doctor and firefighter MUST be able to weigh situations with the appropriate level of cynicism.  They need to make intelligent, informed decisions based on the evidence at hand, not on some euphoric miasma of happy thoughts.  In the case of my job, a few dollars (and my job) could be lost.  In other examples, peoples life are at stake.  It is the people who are cynical and negative that are better prepared to face the harsh realities of life:  That the universe doesn’t really care that much if you succeed.  Bad stuff happens.  It happens a lot.  And only a very few individuals win more than they lose, and succeed more than they fail.  It is the “Negative Nancies” that view situations with possible bad outcomes, and are able to avoid them because they prepare for the eventuality.

 Does this mean that you should think that everything will go bad?  No, of course not.  What this means is that you should have a sane estimation of your abilities when undertaking a task.  If it’s out of your reach, don’t cross your fingers and give yourself a pep talk, do what you need to do to get it within reach.   You should measure the probable outcome of events, and figure out what can go wrong first.  We all do this anyways.  We pack an umbrella just in case it rains.  We have a spare tire in our car.  Take that principle and apply it to everything you do.  When the failures come, (and they will) you will have been prepared to handle it all along.

And for God’s sake, someone tell Timmy to practice if he wants to hit a home run.

It isn’t really that hard…

My daughter is gay.

Now in saying that, I’ve automatically provoked a reaction in anyone reading this, varying from dispassionate acceptance to outright revulsion. I only speak freely of it because she had the courage to come out herself. At 16 years old, she has started forging her adult identity that she will carry with her in to the years when It’s Dad instead of Daddy, and contact with me will be infrequent phone calls instead of dinner time conversation and late nights poring over algebra questions together.

Her identity includes a fierce loyalty to friends and family. It includes a tender disposition that is easily wounded by cruelty and ignorance. And dare I say it, she also carries in her the same temper that her father has. Sometimes irrational, but always, always ALWAYS angry at injustice.

Being gay is not the entirety of my daughter. Just like being straight is not the entirety of my identity. It is however, the polarizing aspect of her that many people in the world feel is their business to judge and intrude upon. It’s something about her that some people in the world think they have the right to wave signs about. A part of her that some people think they can hate her for. Something that they think they can write laws about. And throughout all of this, none of these people, NONE of them, stop to think about the damage that they do.

I’m not going to try to tell people whether or not they should “agree” with people being gay. Whether or not it’s something that you support wholeheartedly, or whether or not it’s something that you have religious, political, or personal difficulty with. I just have a simple message to those who DO have a problem with it.


Being gay is something where you are hated by people you don’t know, and that don’t know you. It’s something where people are waving offensive, and hypocritical signs, and pretend to have your best interests at heart while doing it. All the while doing so without knowing the first thing about you other than that my daughter wishes to have a relationship with the same sex, as opposed to the opposite. They know nothing about her other than that (and they don’t even know that on a real level, my daughter is simply lumped in with all the other gay people.)

It really isn’t that hard not to hate her. It really isn’t that hard to stop hating everyone who is gay. It isn’t really that hard to love them. Whether or not you agree with their lives, and their sexual orientation. You do not have to agree with any of it, to avoid hating. There are people in my daughter’s life who I know have religious reasons to have differing opinions on the issue. And guess what? They love her. What’s important about her is who she is a whole, and their love for her is unconditional and powerful. For those people, I am endlessly thankful.

But I address those who cannot see past their own viewpoints. Those who assume that since they are right about the way things work, everyone else must be told and corrected. That the laws of the country must reflect their beliefs.

Let me address those people. First off, if you don’t like “Gay marriage” then I suggest you don’t marry someone of the same sex. You should be good then. My daughter and I are fortunate to live in Canada, where the issue has been settled for quite some time now. For those countries that haven’t gotten this figured out, let me point out that despite the fact that some gay people are now married by the laws of their country, the space-time continuum has not unravelled. The institution of marriage has not been destroyed (any more than straight people with all their affairs, divorces and abuses have done to destroy it, at the very least.)

Stop trying to make an opinion that specifically devalues other people, law. It’s been done before, and it remains no less unloving and horrible than it was in the past.  We look back now, (at least, a very great many of us do, there are still some remarkable bigots in the world) and say, how could we have been so horrible to black people?  How could we have done such things to Chinese people?  Where did we get the right to treat people with mental illness or physical disability with such disregard?  Why did we hate so much?

This isn’t to say there are not those who deserve hatred. We should hate bigots.  We should hate rapists, child and spouse abusers, and pedophiles.  But let’s restrict our hatred to those that really deserve it.

Stop pretending it’s any of your business in the first place. If you don’t like it? Fine. Don’t like it. Just tend to your own flower garden. And you will have lilies if you want lilies, roses if you want roses, and the lilacs someone else plants in THEIR garden won’t either jump over in to your garden, or make your garden any LESS a garden.

Parents, love your children. Even if you have the same fundamental problems with the whole matter, when they have the courage to tell you. There is nothing, NOTHING more sad than a parent turning their back on their child. Do not do it. Don’t make one of the hardest things a child can do, be a memory of bitterness and regret.

If I were to give a message to my daughter on the whole matter,

I’m sorry that it’s a world where you had to overcome fear that your Dad would reject you if you told him you were gay.   I’m glad you did, and I’m glad you weren’t disappointed with how that turned out.
I’m sorry that it’s a world where when people treat you rudely or unfairly, you have to wonder if it’s because you are gay. (it isn’t always. people can be jerks for no good reason.)
I’m sorry for the times they DO treat you like that BECAUSE you are gay.
I’m sorry that you see other people in the world hated as well, I know how much that affects you, I know how it breaks your heart.

I love you, kid.

And it ain’t really that hard at all.

If hell had a train…

God, how I hate commuting.  I hate the train, and all the irritating things that come with it.  I take the train because it is more feasible and economical  (by a small margin) than driving to work.  But that is like choosing a prostate exam over an endoscope.

I like my peace and quiet on the train, whenever possible, and sometimes, you get it.  Sometimes you take a train, and there are less than the usual number of people on it, and they are silent or talking politely and quietly.  You can hear them, but they are not loud, and that’s ok.  It is a public place, after all.  They are reading books and listening to I-pods at reasonable volume levels.  These are the days where you get Shangri-la on rails, and your commute in to work is really not so bad.

And then there are the others.  The other people, and the other days.  Any who have ridden the wonders that is public transportation know who I’m talking about.  Here are a few of the offenders:

Mr. important

You all know the type.  He has his laptop out, poring over a spreadsheet.  He takes phone calls often, barking orders at whoever has called him, loudly, and with exasperated rolls of his eyes to his seat mates, trying to imply the incompetence of the people on the other side of the call.  His briefcase is propped on the seat next to him, and any thought of moving it for others will cut in to his productivity.  He is the only thing standing between his Radio Shack store(1) and financial ruin.

Two turtle doves

And man, do they ever coo.  These lovers are so devastated at the thought of 8 working hours apart that they kiss and grope and gaze in to each others eyes with the intensity of a creepy optometrist.  He whispers in her ear, she giggles, and smacks him playfully on the arm.  Oblivious to the people sitting in uncomfortable silence in the same quad of seats, they engage in foreplay for the entire 30 minute ride in to work.  Nothing matters but their love NOTHING, you heartless bastards who would judge us! NOTHING!

Three French hens

Ah, the joys of having coworkers who travel on the same train as you!  These hens are active in the morning, clucking loudly away about their home woes. How hubby didn’t cut the lawn.  How little Johnny just won’t get to his homework.  The complaints are of course interspersed with boastful and informative soliloquies about the wonderful pot roast that they made (it turned out perfect the first time!) and how they got that wonderful mustard yellow blouse with the blue flowers for 8 dollars on clearance sale.  These chattering egg layers usually have a mother hen of the bunch, who imparts her opinion on every problem the other two hens bring to the table.  As a bonus, if you run in to the same fowl clutch on the way home, they are inevitably clucking about their coworkers many faults.  You do of course; have the privilege of being in the same train car as the most competent hens in existence.

Four calling birds

It’s fortunate that you have the summer off from these nasty little birds, but what they lose in the summer; they make up for starting in September.  They chatter chatter chatter chatter incessantly at volumes usually restricted to Nikki Minaj concerts (and with about the same level of vulgarity) using more likes than a facebook post about hating cancer.  These birds can be identified by their plumage of crop tops with belly button rings and shorts cut high enough to see their tail feathers.  Ordinarily these birds sound more or less like crows with tourettes syndrome.  They do have another distinctive call, however, as they chatter excitedly.  It sounds more or less like a chickadee, but with different tones:  “like-oh-ma-god-I’m-not-even-lying!”  Steer clear to avoid being shat on.


I digress.

Eau do stink

Not much must be said about this individual.  If you weren’t looking at them directly you’d wonder if you’d accidentally stumbled in to Calvin Klien himself (who apparently oozes pleasant scents directly from his sweat glands) but then you realize that this is an imposter.  They do leave you wondering, however, how bad their natural smell is, that they bathe in it to the point that their seatmates get nosebleeds.


This individual is by far the lowest on the irritating factor, but way the hell up there on the creepy scale.  Because you are in THEIR seat. For those who are more of a seat opportunist when commuting, and sit… you know… in an empty seat that is available at your stop, this person has THEIR PRECIOUS.  And you STOLES IT FROM THEM.  Shifty little eyes, hunched posture, and a glint of hatred in their eyes when they scuttle up the stairs to find you in their chosen  squatting location.  Gollum of course will not go away.  If there are seats nearby, he perches on the edge of it, glaring balefully at you and rocking back and forth to the voices in his head.  If there are no seats, he stands right there.  Usually close enough so that one of his legs is in contact with the side of the seat, or clutching lovingly to the little handle on the seat tops right by your head.  Stay alert.  The time will come when you let your guard down and Gollum will make his move to get MY PRECIOUS back from you filthy, tricky hobbitses!

DJ pain in the ass

We of course, love music, so thank you DJ pain in the ass, for playing yours on headphones so loud that we can enjoy your music with you.  Ours was a dreary existence before you came in to our lives.  I will say this though; you should turn it down so that you don’t have to feel ashamed that we now know your play list includes One Direction.

A lovely bunch, don’t you think? Please please PLEASE…. Learn some manners.

(1) I know Radio Shack is out of business. Apparently he had to move his briefcase.

Your Brain is bigger than your heart

Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition – they somehow already know what you truly want to become. – Steve Jobs.

your heart, because if you always trust your mind, you’ll always act on logic, and logic doesn’t always lead to happiness. – unknown.

The first quote is from a brilliant man, who unfortunately died early. The other, doesn’t have an author. And as brilliant as Steve Jobs was, Both are ridiculously stupid comments.  Steve Jobs say something stupid? Say it isn’t so! We hear it all the time. Follow your heart. Your heart can lead you. Don’t listen to anything else but your heart. Which of course, leads us as people, to make stupid, stupid STUPID decisions.  Maybe it’s getting the house you can’t afford…  or giving that cheating bastard one more chance because you just love him so much.  Maybe it’s getting that fifth cat.  (ok, that one is mild psychosis. )  Point being, your heart tells you do do some braindead things.

There are a few elections coming up. One domestically, with the Quebec provincial election. A month later, We’ll watch the great sideshow that is the U.S. election. And both elections will have one thing in common. People making uninformed decisions, following their feelings to vote, instead of thinking things through in the slightest.  One of the greatest, and scariest parts of democracy, is that all voices count the same. That guy in the dirty mesh ball cap that says “Pobody’s nerfect” wearing trackpant shorts and a Nascar t-shirt? His vote counts the same as yours, Mr. Harvard professor. Let’s make it more horrifying and realize that Kim Kardashian actually has a say in the leadership of her country… the same say as Maya Angelou.

Dilbert creator Scott Adams pointed out once that a test on intelligence in politics had some probable depressing results. Take the 100 smartest people in the country, and let them be the only to vote. Two results could apply, both which make you shake your head. The first result would be that all the smart people vote for one candidate, assuming that he or she is the best choice. This would indicate that intelligence would find a way to pick the better option… and that we don’t do that now. We let stupid people have the same voice as smart people. The other result would be that the vote would STILL be split, meaning that elections have nothing to do with intelligence at all, and even the smart people vote with something other than their grey matter.  If I were to forward a guess, I think the second result would hold true, because we aren’t ruled by our minds in elections. We’re ruled by our emotions and feelings. Why else do all election adds appeal to emotional response? I don’t watch election ads for other countries, but I do see them for the US and Canada. And one unifying truth between the two: Facts don’t matter. Emotions do. FEEL how we can help you. let your HEART tell you to vote for.

Now if would make a prediction on the US election, I think that Romney is going to win. One of the biggest emotional draws in an election is “change” when you aren’t happy with the way things are going. Obama rode that wave in to office, and it will likely be that same wave that sees him leave the office too. In my not so humble opinion, Romney and his hate mongers in office should give Canada the motivation to start building a wall. But allow me to focus on our country.  We are less than a day away from a probable Parti Quebecois victory in the provincial election. The rest of Canada of course, is not pleased with this concept. Yes, let’s return to the days of whining separatists and threats of secession if we don’t give them cherries to go on top of their parfait. Fun will be had by all. I have known many Francophones, and the picture that gets painted of them, of whiney spoiled children is not accurate. But they repeatedly choose leaders that make hyperactive spoiled kids in need of Ritalin and a spanking look well-behaved.

It seems to me that the province of Quebec has forgotten Jaques Parizeau and Lucien Bouchard, two men who were so far out to lunch that they managed to have four or five courses at a prix fix of self-delusion. Why? Again, emotion. Jean Charest is a sorry pathetic excuse for a politician. The Students whining about their tuitions (lowest in the country) going up, add more fuel to the fire. And we are inches away from another election ruled by hearts, by emotions, and an absence of anything resembling good sense.

There will be no negotiating this time around. Harper has a clear majority Federal government, and a complete lack of desire to hand more power to the treasonous bastards of the Parti Quebecois. And nor should he. Part of the problem with previous dealings with the separatists is pretending that they really had a leg to stand on in the first place. Placating people who will not be placated is a fools endeavour.  Because they won’t get what they want, the Parti Quebecois will undoubtedly try to kick up a grassroots support for another referendum. Another kick at the can to separate from the Dominion, which is not unlike a fetus trying to separate from the mother while still in the womb. It’s a concept so cracked that it’s laughable, but that won’t stop them from doing it anyways. Again, all because they are too busy feeling, to think.

I implore any who may read this, to think before you ink. Stop. Take a deep breath. Shut off your emotions for thirty seconds, and realize what you are actually getting yourselves in to. I don’t believe that in this election, or really in most elections, there are very good choices to choose from. Such is the lousy part of democracy… slimebags, liars and idiots are par for the course.   But don’t let the metaphorical “heart” that is your treacherous, fickle, and all too often deluded emotions, make you make the Worst choice of the bunch.

To be unread by most

I’m just an opinionated jerk.   We’ll…. we’re all opinionated, and jerks in various levels of vocal expression and for lack of a better word, jerkiness.  I just take ownership of my loud mouth and boorish ability to offend.

If you’re reading this, you’ll sooner or later be offended, or think I’m an idiot, or presume I think I’m better than I really am.  I’m comfortable with that. When you have an ex-wife, you get used to all types of criticism that doesn’t change what you are or how you want to say it.

Fact is though, one of the truly important rights we have is freedom to express ourselves as we see fit.  So many in the world have no such right.  Often enough we use that right to say or do incredibly stupid things. Just turn on the T.V. and watch our stupidity in action.

Right of freedom of expression also dictates that we can be critical of other points of view.  Nothing changes in our world without the conflict of argument.  The world would remain flat, the sun would circle the earth, and bathing would be bad for your health, if nobody stood up and countered popular opinion.  If nobody argued.  If nobody disagreed with mob-think.  there is nobody more stupid than all of us at the same time.

Not that I believe that in writing a blog I’ll be affecting the world in any meaningful way.  This will probably go unread by most.  But if you’ll permit me my intellectual self gratification, I’ll be more than happy to permit yours.  If you read this blog and it offends, comment.  If you read it and disagree, discuss.  Argue.  Even call me a moron.  I can take it.  At many times in my life I am, for all intents and purposes, a mouth breathing cretin.

Such is the spice of life.