Saturday, July 01, 2006

The Month in Review

It’s Canada Day already?

Man, oh man! Was that really a month that just went by since my last post, or has the usual smell of bullshit just started to dissipate around here? Heaven’s forbid it should be the latter. So I guess that means a whole month has indeed gone by and mankind wasn't obliterated in the fiery funaces of Hell.


Trying to explain my absence from these pages by somehow articulating what’s been going on here in ‘ol Crazytigerland would be like trying to explain Shoestring Theory to a guinea pig. Let’s just say that between work, weddings, birthdays, more work, and everything else, my precious bitching time has been broken up worse than Barbaro’s hind leg.

But, thankfully, I have a few minutes now that I can once again embrace my inner jackass, and try and to squeeze in a whole month’s worth of madness in this one post. Or, you can save yourself the reading time altogether and simply go outside and rub dirt in your eyes for about the same effect…only more fun.

But, first things first, what the hell is Canada Day exactly? There has to be more to it than beer, BBQ, and lighting off fireworks. Originally, on June 20, 1868, a proclamation was signed by the then Governor General, Lord Monck, calling upon all of:

“Her Majesty's loving subjects throughout Canada, to join in the celebration of the anniversary of the formation of the union of the British North America provinces in a federation under the name of Canada on July 1st”.

Only then, they called it Dominion Day. *

Since then, there has been no real record of organized Canada Day ceremonies after this first anniversary. On the 50th anniversary of the Confederation, in 1917 the new Center Block of the Parliament Buildings, under construction at the time, was dedicated as a memorial to the Fathers of Confederation and to the valor of Canadians fighting in the First World War in Europe.

“Paaaaaaaarrr-tay!” Pass the Cheese Doodles.

Since then, we Canadians have basically stuck to getting as drunk as all hell and blowing shit up. Whether it be out in the backwoods of Algonquin Park, the concert grounds at some community park, or just some backyard family BBQ, you can bet your Labatts that there will be booze and live rounds involved. And apart from an inevitable bad case of gas afterwards, we pretty much enjoy it that way.

And so here I am, with cold brewskie in hand, and some time to kill before the big ceremonious blowing of shit up. Where does one even begin in contemplating the last month?

Even though we all somehow managed to wake up the morning after the much feared 666 Apocalypse, early in the month, June was not particularly kind to many in the celebrity world. This month alone has marked more sudden deaths than the Stanley Cup finals.

Just consider some of the people on this list:

Vince Welnick (former keyboardist for the Grateful Dead)
Billy Preston (best known for his work with the Beatles)
John H. Oates **
Peter Greenwell (British composer)
Sheik Abd-Al-Rahman (spiritual advisor to Al-Quida)
Abu Musab al-Zarqawi (leader of Al-Quida in Iraq)
Bill Lamb (public television executive)
Claydes Charles Smith (of ‘Kool & the Gang’ fame)
Moose, (Eddie the dog, from televisions ‘Frasier’)
Charles Barrow (former justice of the Texas Supreme Court)
Roberta Weston (claimed to be world’s oldest woman at 118)
Harriot (the infamous Galápagos tortoise believed to be the oldest animal in the world and allegedly owned by Charles Darwin himself)
Melvin Watson (American Baptist minister)
Richard Stahl (actor)
Charles Older (Los Angeles Superior Court judge)
Nijiro Tokuda (oldest man in Japan, 111)
Jeffrey Harbors (Microsoft executive)
Three Guatanamo inmates (suspected terrorists and rally-er’s for Global Anarchy)

None, however, had quite the impact in the media as Aaron Spelling, the renowned larger-than-life Hollywood producer whose recipe for success was modeled on his “sun, fun, blonding and bonding” philosophy. Throughout his Guinness World Record holding career (for having over 3000 produced lifetime shows), the man was responsible for more pubescent boners before 9:00PM than both Daisy Duke’s short-shorts, and Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction combined.

Best remembered for his work with ‘Beverly Hills 90210’, not to mention helping spawn that weird gap between daughter Tori’s breasts, Spelling has resided in his Bel Air mansion with an extravagant lifestyle to make Robin Leach suffer heart palpitations. His huge estate of 123 wrap-around rooms includes a bowling alley, gym, swimming pool, tennis court, screening room, and not one, but TWO, “Gift Wrapping Rooms” for his wife. A man accustomed to being served on silver trays by a personal butler, Spelling was diagnosed with oral cancer in 2001 and has seen his health steadily declining up until his recent stroke on June 18th. For years, the man hasn’t been strong enough to crack walnuts, but he wipes his ass with thousand dollar bills.

Not bad for a former cheerleader, eh?

Personally, I’m not so upset with this turn of events. In his later years, Spelling has remade many of my childhood favorites, including Charlie’s Angels, The Love Boat, Dynasty, the Mod Squad, Starsky & Hutch, T. J. Hooker, Melrose Place, Models Inc, and Fantasy Island. More recently, he assisted in having many of these television classics butchered for the big screen. Single-handedly, Spelling has been directly responsible for murdering more of my childhood memories than my bucket bong in University.

Nevertheless, Spelling will be remembered as Hollywood’s true alchemist; turning shit into gold for over 30 years.

Meanwhile, head honcho evil doer, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the man behind the kidnappings, beheadings, and assassinations, lays at the bottom of a pile of rocks after a US air strike in Baghdad. Funny how allied forces couldn’t find hide nor hair of him while he was alive and kicking, but they can locate and identify his dead carcass in a pile of rubble from orbit.

C’est la vie…

Thankfully, however, a terrorist plot was foiled and co-conspirators were arrested in Toronto, only 100 short kilometers from my own front door. Seventeen would-be Islamic terrorists have been accused of planning an attack on the downtown headquarters of the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service (CSIS), as well as other targets such as the CN Tower and the Toronto Stock Exchange. Police allege that three tons of ammonium nitrate was to be used for the creation of massive bombs.

The suspects regularly undertook weapons training at a rural property 150 kilometers north of Toronto. While "foreign-looking" individuals seldom raise eyebrows in cosmopolitan Toronto, the presence of a large group of Arab and African men in camouflage uniforms running through backwoods Ontario with assault rifles inevitably aroused the suspicion of local residents who soon informed the police. The terrorists-in-training, or TIT’s for short, should have definitely considered a more ‘Queer Eye for the Terrorist Guy’ approach to their training compound. The camp was quickly put under surveillance, including over-flights by police helicopters. The investigation of the group began two years ago through CSIS monitoring of jihadi websites and was later joined by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP).

The group appears to have been rather inept, continuing their operations even after it should have been evident that they were under surveillance. A more professional terrorist would have been aware that large orders of ammonium nitrate are routinely reported to police. The three tons of fertilizer was a ridiculous amount that filled three pallets—only one ton was needed to carry out the devastating 1995 Oklahoma City bombing. Police switched the fertilizer with a harmless substance in a "controlled delivery," otherwise known as “the ‘ol Switcheroo” to be all technically precise for a moment, similar to the procedure used in narcotics investigations.

And thus we Canadians have narrowly avoided an ugly world calamity once again. But then again, a blind and retarded chimpanzee could have busted these guys.

In lesser significant world news, a black bear wandered into a West Milford, New Jersey, back yard, was confronted by a 15-pound (7-kilogram) tabby cat …and fled up a neighbor's tree. It seems, Jack, the clawless cat, was apparently upset at having his turf invaded by this pussy of a bear. So much so, that when the bear finally came down to bid a hasty retreat, with one hiss and what must have been one helluva “don’t fuck with me” look, Jack forced the bear up yet another tree.

Somewhere there is one humiliated mother bear shaking her head in shame. Clearly, here is an animal for which becoming a rug will be a step up. The bear, weighing in around 200-pounds by comparison, should have his bear license revoked immediately. It is well documented that bears will kill and eat just about anything. There is enough information available for people on how to avoid bears and to survive bear attacks – I’ve even been given the rundown once myself – but if this bear is anything to go by, we really have nothing to worry about all along.

Lucky for the bear however, the incident didn’t occur in Oklahoma. Signed by Gov. Brad Henry, Oklahoma became the fifth state this month to approve legislature that condones harsh justice for repeat sex offenders. Under the measure, anyone convicted twice for rape, sodomy or lewd molestation involving children under 14 can face the death penalty.

Despite the opposing concerns for this new state legislature – I would like to say BRAV-fucking-O! I personally subscribe to the old proverb: “If thou boinketh little children, thou shall be subject to being sodomized with a chainsaw.” Naysayers to this anti-child molesting bill should just shut-the-fuck up and consider themselves lucky that Sharon Stone isn’t their state governor, otherwise Oklahoma might have had to change it’s state motto to: “Cum and Enjoy our Minors”. Then Oklahoma City would have inevitably become known as the Blowjob Capital of the US.

How can you oppose legislature designed to protect minors from such heinous sexual atrocities anyway? Protesting against this bill must make you about as popular in your neighborhood as Oprah Winfrey at a rap concert for fuck sakes! What possible reason could you possibly have to justify a lesser harsh penalty for repeat, say that again – repeat – child molesters? I wonder how these insensitive moolyaks would feel on the topic after some tattooed Arians have made a playground out of their ass and come back for seconds?

June was also rocked with the mega-news that long running television sitcom, Will & Grace, was finally being cancelled from regular Prime Time syndication after eight seasons.

Oh, no! (Insert gasp of despair here)

Whatever are the gays to do now?

Personally, I would rather bait crocodiles with my manhood than tune into an episode of this Magnus Homo Opus, but many people are devastated with the show’s cancellation. So, the big question is what, or who, is going to fill the gay void on television now?

Inevitably, the much anticipated 'Will & Grace' Season Finale is bound to create a huge homosexual vacuum in Hollywood as all the big time TV producers are now scrambling to find the next big gay thing. All the world knows that television sitcom junkies love themselves a flaming queen, so I predict it’s only a matter of time before their girlish squeals of mercy are heard. Then we will once again be blessed with a new Prime Time syndicated program with the mandated over-exaggerated stereotypical homosexual flamer that either lives next door, or just shows up periodically in tight pants.

Aaron Spelling, eat your gay heart out.

Fortunately, fruit lovers everywhere will be able to consul one another at the upcoming release of Superman Returns in theaters everywhere. Yes, there will be enough male frottage going on in the darkened aisles to spark forest fires.

Internet communities and the popular media have all been abuzz throughout the month of June with the continued debate over whether Superman is, in fact, to be the next big gay icon. After the recent commercial success of ‘Brokeback Mountain’, and having extensively marketed itself primarily to young men as its target audience, the question has now erupted over the superhero’s sexuality faster than a speeding bullet. Movie producers now find themselves dodging more punches than Naomi Campbell’s personal assistant.

But, c’mon - really!

The man wears a tight blue leotard and flies around in a red cape, for Christ Sake! He sports a package that looks like a Norwegian Spruce wrapped in lyrca. What else could he be? Sure, fashion savant Carson Kressley will throw a hissy fit over his matching blue and red outfit, but Superman is about as gay as Richard Simmons with a free ticket to the Feast of Saturnalia. But then again, superheroes have always been gay.

Lets look at the facts.

1) Like most gay kids, superheroes have to keep their “difference” a secret.
2) Comic books = soap operas.
3) Superheroes—let’s face it—are totally hot.

Res Ipsa Loquitor. ***

It’s time to take the bull dyke by the horns and recognize superheroes for who, and what, they really are – costumed hopefuls for amateur gay fetish videos. Let’s face it, real “heroes” smoke, drink, wears sunglasses at night, has a marriage on the rocks, and loves it when a plan comes together.

‘Nuff said.

In other news, the heterosexual superchild Shiloh Jolie-Pitt was finally dropped from Angelina’s uterus in the celebrity birth of the century. The whole delivery, taken place in the small African country of Namibia, was more mysterious than the Priory of Sion. Just after we all started to breathe a little easier after the whole ‘Birthapalooza’ surrounding Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, the media hounds are at it again.

This time, the paparazzi were shut out, not by tricky hospital security, but by the Namibian government at the border by punishment of being fed to hungry jackals. Boy, the Namibians sure love them their Brangelina, huh?

Personally, I couldn’t give two shits.

Of course, there was some good that took place this month as well. Warren Buffett, billionaire investor and founder of Berkshire Hathaway, has announced he is donating much of his fortune to charity. Over time, most of Buffett's $44 billion in stock holdings will be given to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

The gesture constitutes the world’s largest charitable donation. In the form of Berkshire Hathaway shares, Buffett signed papers that give $31 billion of his fortune to fund the Gates Foundation's work in fighting infectious diseases and reforming education.

You can almost feel the heat friction in the air being generated from thousands of greasy palms rubbing together in eager anticipation. Never has it been so good to be so badly off. Shit, it finally pays to be a Sudanese orphan with AIDS. Those bitches have it made!

For the kind of money we’re talking about – I expect results by the end of the year. I expect to see newly planted rainforests, a solution to Global Warming, a cure for prostate cancer, herpes, leukemia, hepatitis, lupus, MS, ADS, AIDS, and SARS. World hunger will finally be eradicated in Third World countries, and a crystal chandelier will be hanging in every dilapidated shack, hovel, shanty, mud hut, and cardboard box the world over!

I expect results, damn it! No more excuses. For $31 billion, at least build a huge glass dome to protect us healthy, law-abiding citizens from the outbreak of any infectious diseases.

Yes, it’s been quite the ‘Monate Mirabilis’, hasn’t it?

June has gone on longer than Cher's last Farewell Tour. No wonder I found it difficult to put fingers to keyboard – this month has been nuttier than a box of squirrels. It’s a good thing that I’m not some bored, over-worked and under-appreciated schlep leaning on the kill switch at the local NORAD Missile Base, because I would have done us all the favor and turned us into space dust by now.

Thankfully, it’s now July. And with it comes a whole new clean slate with which to soil and complain about.

Stay tuned…

* Nowadays, there are other popular proactive movements lobbying in favor of renaming July 1st as ‘It’s a Free Day Off Day, eh?’, ‘Screw America Day’, and ‘Just Give Us Our Fireworks and Fuck off Day’

** Thankfully, upon reading the obituary, I learned that this particular John Oates was the Professor Emeritus of Ancient History and Classics at Duke University and one of America's leading papyrologists and not the famed 80’s quaffed rockstar.

*** That means, “the thing speaks for itself”, for all you monolingual rhubarbs.


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