Influx of Drug-Laced Jell-O into Toronto: Bill Cosby and Feminism

Imagine for a moment you were a ten year old little girl.  Your mind is full of silly things from television and somehow you bump into an old episode of The Bill Cosby show and you laugh and have a fun time and you sing along and dance and it’s a great fun adventure.  Along comes your big sister, and she’s hot as hell, guys love her, they’re always hanging around your porch with their sleek cars, some of them quite fancy, some are even called odd names like Lambo, though unrelated to lamb chops.  So your big sis sees you watching The Bill Cosby show and makes a comment that never leaves your mind.  She says “Don’t watch that rapist!  Turn it off or I will kill you!”.  Like a good little girl, you turn it off, apologize and wonder why she is so angry.  Your big sis likes to toss the word “rapist” around like it is salt’n’ pepper at the dinner table.  So you do not think too much of it.

How The Grinch Stole Christmas

When I was a teenager in North York (Toronto, Ontario) I lay down on my bed happy one particularly warm night with a smile the size of the sun.  I just looked at my ceiling in the physical sense, but I was floating in another magical realm.  I was not on drugs as many of Canada's youth and adults might have thought because unlike you my family values are a bit different.  Now that Canadians are legalizing marijuana, people like me have more to complain about than lack of fresh air when passing by smokers.  Clearly I am cut from a different cloth, in fact I am that teenager who moved out of his mama's house because she was smoking.  So all that aside, I was dreaming of myself at the age of forty, celebrating Christmas just the way I recall my family did, except in my fantasy, I was the head of the family, my children were opening their presents, and my wife, well, she was nowhere to be found, because as is the case with much of my thinking, she was preparing warm eggnog.  To her a smell and a memory was just as important as the faces and sounds were to me.

Landlords, Police, and Toronto's Haters Culture

For a while now I was blessed by the city of Toronto with an apartment.  It is cheap, clean, and comfortable, with A/C and heating, and a perfect location right in the middle of the downtown core, next to the St. Lawrence market.  The kind people of Canada always know how to make things great and peaceful, except when it comes to my little life and my little happiness.  Except in the cases of us disabled men, and as I was born kinda sorta blind I seem to fit this criteria, except in our cases, the wonderfully hospitable people of Canada, especially Toronto, certainly know how to make all from the world feel right at home.  And when it comes to my complaints and those like me who were disabled since birth or after some unfortunate incident, we are simply never happy and never satisfied as we are less than your equals.  This is at least the bully-like attitude of this nation's citizenry.  But this blog post is not about that but about refrigerators, or is it?