Retirees dying young thanks
to kindness of slave-drivers

You hear about the unfortunate victims all the time.

The latest came in a call from a much wrought buddy, who for some reason actually calls himself Buddy despite the fact his real name is Phineas Broadhurst Quimby Jr.

“Geez, Gord, did you get the news about Charlie Stenwick? He finally retired in October and, boom, dropped dead six months later.” Continue reading

Till Debt Do Us Part host would find us disturbing

I have this recurring fantasy that, someday, that British-accented busybody Gail Hyphenated-Person from the reality show Till Debt do us Part is going to come to my place and finally find a little fantasy of her own….

“Hi, there, Gord. I’m Gail and I’d like to start this exercise by walking around your home to see the useless stuff that you have acquired to support your lavish lifestyle and then return to insult you.” Continue reading

Evil nations tremble as Canada’s submarine fleet moves 300 yards

The long-awaited launch of HMCS Windsor began this morning. (Phonse Jessome/CBC)

Troubled sub hits water after lengthy refit. VIA cbc.ca

Well, the bad guys of the world have reason to tremble today after Canada finally re-launched its fearsome submarine fleet.

After years of repairs, Her Majesty’s Canadian Ship (HMCS) Gerryrig sailed out of Fred’s Discount Garage in Halifax to begin an epic voyage of at least 300 yards as a bevy of tugboats jostled her dockside to join her three buddies, HMCS Lemon, Edsel and Cardboard. Continue reading

The Greatest Story Never Told: Hunting the Easter hockey star

I better get my credentials out front here so I don’t lose a chance at offending even more people than normal.

Your ink-stained scribbler is an unrepentant pagan who will definitely not be among the chosen few rising naked come the Rapture. (I’ll be the guy on the ground thumbing sophomoric Tweets about all those circumcision snippets struggling to catch up with their airborne former owners.) Continue reading

Thank heavens for little girls
smelling of deep-fried sugar

It’s the least a new-age sensitive kinda father can do.

Today, Feb. 9, is daughter Sam’s birthday and I figure she deserves a few words of bubbly optimistic encouragement as she takes another step down the road of biological inevitability that leads to wisdom, maturity, lumbago and, probably in the case of her generation, a pitiful government pension when she retires at age 89. Continue reading

I don’t get up at night to have a leak,
my skylight always did that for me

“Hey, Gord,” bubbled notorious neighbourhood busybody Randal Kumquat as he high-stepped up my drive slaloming around the broken bodies of drywall, plywood and pink insulation, “doing some renovations?”

Gee, Randy, what gave me away—the band-aids that cover most of my body? The sawdust falling out of all my new worry-wrinkles? The static-cling Styrofoam beads that unintentionally pimped my car? Continue reading

Grits ponder U.S. primary system,
send Bob Rae to test the waters

Canada’s fringe party, the federal Liberals, are having a big policy convention in Ottawa over the next few days and it promises to be a pretty sombre affair (imagine all 3,000 remaining Grits in the entire country faced with paying for their own booze for the first time in a century.)

I am genuinely intrigued by one proposal to have them select their next leader through a U.S.-style primary system. Continue reading

My predictions for 2012 tear
a strip off the Mayan calendar

Man, I weep for my former profession, the once-honourable calling of journalism which coincidentally went all to hell after I left it.

An allegedly responsible TV news show had on one of those shyster mediums the other night and the vacuous baritone host was all overcome gushing in awe as the dishevelled all-seeing-eye dog assured him that a whole bunch of her predictions for 2011 had come true.

You have to question the “gift” claimed by these hooey-mongers from the get-go, calling themselves mediums when this fraud tended toward the extra-large.