A Hidden Agenda

It's not often that I get to recycle a picture for my blog, but when the opportunity arises, it only makes sense.

As stated in my previous blog, I've traveled from my home in sweet Saskatoon, to the bowels of Hell, aka Regina, for the bittersweet weekend among friends, to commemorate and celebrate the memory of our friend and family member, Darcy.

The last few years, we've stayed at a hotel on the northern end of the city, but this year we've moved to a new spot.  I'm not certain when this establishment was built, but the rooms are nicer, bigger and way cleaner.  To put it plainly, I'm not afraid to sit on the bed spreads while wearing shorts.  The rooms all, from what I've seen thus far, are all generic with practically the same artwork on every wall, but over all, I believe this experience will be for the best.

The location is superb, seated just off a main drag.  There's a decent speckling of restaurants and fast food joints all around, unlike the other place that had a Burger Baron across the street and a Tim Horton's about a block south.  The Burger Baron's food is so sub-par to what should be considered edible, and the walk to the Timmy Ho's is not for the faint of heart.

I got to visit the Carl's Jr, down the street from this Days Inn and though it fell short of my experience when I visited the one in Kelowna, British Columbia, the food was still okay.  The only downside to that visit was the bearded toilet and the creepy albino dude who lurked behind the corner of my booth, readily available to jump out and inquire about my meal.  He asked three frickin' times.

The hotel, costs about the same per night as the previous one did, only this one seems to have a plethora of hidden fees that the other never seemed to have, or at least hid better than this one does.  The room is $128 per night, which by my math, comes out to about $256.  I'm being charged just under $300.  When asked about the extra charges, the quirky fellow behind the desk proudly answered, "Taxes and other fees."

Taxes, I understand.  We can't get away from that, unfortunately.  No matter what a person does or buys, the government needs to have their hand out for their share, too.  It was the "fees" that sparked my interest.  "What sort of fees?"  I asked.

"Well," he explained, "There's the destination fee."

"Destination fee?" I asked, "What's a destination fee?"

"Regina charges visitors a fee for coming to the city." he said.

I found this reasoning, absurd.  "The city charges people to visit their city?  That's ridiculous."  I said.

That sounds as stupid as the conversation with the bank last week, who told me that the bank charges it's customers a fee for banking with them.  Now this city charges people a fee for the "privilege" of visiting their city?  That doesn't make any sense.

"It's to help pay for events like the Exhibition (fair) or Agribition (agricultural exhibition)." he explained, without so much as agreeing that the premise seemed deceitful or devious and no matter how much prodding I made, he wouldn't budge and admit that it was stupid.

I look at situations like this and wonder where I fell short, unable to think up a helpful service that people require then charging them a f**king fee for being so helpful.  I couldn't do such a thing, though.  As much of a scoundrel as I can be at times, I can't be a complete asshole.  I wanna be an asshole, but I can't bring myself to it.  Regina, on the other hand, in addition to being a giant toilet, is proving itself to be every bit the asshole I've always suspected it to be.

Up Chuck

The morning began as so many others had. The house was cool, still from the temperature drop overnight, but not so much that it was frigid.  I was applying deodorant before choosing a T-shirt for the day when the silence was interrupted by the hacking sound of my cat, Monkey.

He's lived with me for almost five years and despite my repeated efforts, the cat still refuses to vomit on the linoleum where it's easier to clean up and it's effects on my carpet is greatly reduced.  When first addressed, he actually followed my instruction, which was a huge win for me, but apparently in viewing the joy on my face, he quickly decided to stain my carpeted floors instead.  Now I have a slight leopard motif throughout my home from his many expulsions.

In the beginning, this would upset me.  Often I'd pull him aside, scold him heavily at the wrong that he'd committed and send him off with a quick rap to his bottom.  I must have done this too often as nowadays, when he vomits, he quickly makes shameful eye contact with me, then runs to hide.  These days, however, I don't get as upset with him, citing that this is simply one of the many "perks" of being a cat owner.

For a while, Monkey would get creative when depositing his vomit.  If he threw up near the fliers sitting by the front door awaiting being taken to the recycling bin, he'd pull a flier or two over his mess, hoping that I would never discover it.  The same went for the blanket I have draped over a suede chair I have in my front room.  Many many stains later, I received a cat-themed quilt as a gag gift from my sister, who was subsequently disappointed when I failed to be upset.  Upon opening the colourfully-wrapped gift, I knew straight away, what purpose it would be serving in my home.  The cat loved the small quilt, more so when he was able to pull the corner over whatever unfortunate deposit he may have made on that particular day.

Nowadays, I barely get upset.  Monkey knows that what he's done is wrong.  He visibly displays embarrassment and shame when confronted.  I still grab him, when I can, a task that often requires a distraction, then sit with him between my legs as we (I) clean up the mess.  He still believes that he's going to get a lickin', but is always surprised when I scratch him behind the ears and tell him it's okay.  I tell him that I understand and that because he's sorry, he won't get a scolding.

I've never beat my cat (I just realized that sounds dirty, like a reference to female masturbation), but I do believe in an authoritative smack to remind them of the rules.  In most cases, I don't smack him.  Everything has come into perspective, for me.  I realize that hairballs are a natural phenomena and given the circumstances, if the proverbial shoe were on the other foot, and I were faced to lick my own asshole, I'd probably vomit, too!!

Tits 'n' Ass

A few months back, myself and a friend had the distinct privilege of seeing Australian comedian, Jim Jeffries perform his unique comedy act, here in Saskatoon.  It was shocking, vulgar and hilarious as all f*ck!  As his show came to a close, Jim got somewhat serious for a moment, passing on a message to give to charity, but more specifically, charities for Colon Cancer.  He went on to explain that most money goes towards Breast Cancer charities, but not as much goes towards Colon Cancer.  He never elaborated on this message, but I gathered that someone close to him either has or succumbed to colon cancer.  A valid message, all the same.

I came away from that show, wondering why so much charitable donations go to breast cancer and not so much to other cancer charities.  Then it donned on me.  I think I may have been looking at a picture of Katy Perry or some well-endowed female starlet, when the reason became clear.  The solution was simple: Everybody loves boobs!

Now, I do mean everybody.  Women love their boobs!  And men love women's boobs.  I think even gay men, have a certain affinity for boobs, male or female.  So, yes!  Everybody loves boobs!!  Not many people like an asshole!  I'm a great example of this.  I don't have colon cancer, but I am an asshole, which explains why I have so few friends.

It's all crystal clear.  Breasts rule and assholes drool!  However, you feel in either case, though, if you have the cash to spare, give what you can, whether it's for the love of boobs or to ass cancer, out of spite.

Smoke & Mirrors - Chapter Two: The Journey From Diffidence to Being An Asshole

I've mentioned to people that I am painfully shy.  Most don't believe me as I am, for the most part, a smart ass.  I'm quiet and reserved at first, gauging my surroundings, then I'll open up some, mostly offering up smart ass comments of teasing jabs.  I mean no malice, by it, just harmful fun with hopes of making people laugh.  This was a self-preservation tool that many bullied children adapt on the playground.  You're far less likely to get punched in the gut or your underwear hiked up your ass, if you can make the bully laugh, even if at your own expense.  I recall using this tactic many times on the mean playground at King George elementary.  Except one time where I became favourable with one bully, while infuriating another, which ultimately earned me a sharp punch to the abdomen.

These days, I'm always present with a sharp witty comment.  When I'm with my friend, Melissa, I will often hit her with a barrage of comments, when I see someone in my peripheral who's musing at my quips.  I can't recall any of which I can share right now, but I assure you, if you ever have the privilege of meeting her, you can ask her yourself.  She's not shy about sharing those moments.

I wasn't always that way, though.  I actually have been painfully shy at times.  Even today, I find myself stressing out about uncomfortable situations.  I had some people over to my house a few weeks back and stressed about that, even.  Back when I went to university, I was no different, despite my going away to a new city, with new surroundings, I looked at it as a chance to re-invent myself, then when faced with the opportunity to do so.  I caved.  Things got so bad, that I soon found myself ditching classes and in the evenings driving off to be alone at the movies.  I had ample opportunities to hang with classmates, but I found myself overwhelmed with anxiety and fear.  I'd come to my film class, quietly seated in the back, never raising my hand, never offering any input.  This was a class that, academically, I should have been superior to most of my classmates, but the fear of all eyes locking on my fugliness, was scarier than any bully I'd faced off with on the playground.  No witty remarks or jokes would overcome this brood of students, I felt.  Eventually the school year would come to a close, my marks were fair, but not nearly as good as if I'd have sacked up and joined the group.

I'd come home that spring, a failure in my own eyes.  Eventually, I'd need work and sadly the only work I could get was that of door-to-door sales.  To be a success at sales, you can't be f*cking shy for one moment.  It was here that I learned to mask my insecurities and push my personal envelope of comfortability.
Success as a salesman would elude me, however.  I was good at it, to a degree, but personal feelings and thoughts about honesty would overcome the sleaziness of sales and ultimately my demise from the vocation, although it was a car accident that would get me out of that line of work.

The next few years I worked retail, which helped me come out of my shell a little more, as well as add to my arsenal of being a smart ass.  My ultimate downfall, has always been, acting like a smart ass to the wrong people, supervisors and managers, to be more precise.  In an effort to avoid being uncomfortable or that scared little boy, I opt instead, to be a smart ass.  I guess, it's easier for people to hate me because I'm an asshole, than it is to deal with their hating me because of me.  Who knew being a dick would be a safeguard?

It Goes To Show, You Never Can Tell

On November 30, 2014, a Sunday, the gentleman pictured above was witnessed robbing a Best Buy in Langley, British Columbia.  At knife point, he robbed the store of an XBox and a Playstation 4, and was seen departing with a white dude in a Caravan.  The assailant is described as an East Indian.

I don't really give a rat's ass about this f*cking crime.  It doesn't affect me one way or the other, but what does affect me, is that a "Facebook Friend" posted this news article, then when I made suggestions as to the apprehension of the fellow, I was blatantly called a racist!  This pisses me off!  No one's ever had the balls big enough to call me such a horrific name before.  Not ever.  While I do harbour some ill-will towards others, I wouldn't label it as racism.  I tend to hate everyone equally.  In the simplest of terms, if you're a f*cking idiot, then there's a good chance that I'm going to have a strong dislike for you.

So as to not dispute what I had written, I've copy and pasted my comment  here: Obviously he's Middle Eastern. Start checking all the mosques in the area. It's not racial profiling when you have photographic proof.  I fail to see how this would be construed as a "racist" comment, when all the facts point to my being correct.  She responded with the following:  It IS racial profiling when you are making the assumption that:  1. He's Middle Eastern, not Canadian, and 2. That you are assuming he's Muslim.

I'll kindly ask you not to post racist nonsense to my wall.

In her comment, plastered on her timeline, open to everyone to read, she claims that the fellow pictured above, is not of Middle Eastern decent, as I had described him;  However, if she had taken the time to actually read the f*cking news story that she had posted so prominently, she'd see that the suspect IS Middle Eastern.  I could give a shit if he was born in Canada, chances are he probably was, but it doesn't change his appearance any.

If she wants to call me an asshole, then fine.  I'm an asshole.  I can agree with that statement.  I'll own the fact that I'm an asshole.  This isn't news to me, nor would I consider it an insult.  I do, however, take great offense to being called something that I'm not.

Considering her past, I'm a little surprised at how easily she plays the name game.  I mean, I've never judged her on her transgressions.  When she lost so many friends over it, I was willing to look past and still maintain a degree of friendliness.  Perhaps I was wrong to befriend a thief.

As Chuck Berry says "It goes to show, you never can tell."  It looks like, to me, if I don't get a proper (public) apology, I may be deleting another "Facebook Friend".

If you currently reside in the Langley area and recognize this piece shit thief, and I mean the dude in the picture, please report via the following:

If anyone has any information that would assist police with this investigation, call Langley RCMP at: 604-532-3200. Should you need to remain anonymous, call CrimeStoppers:

Talk:   1-800-222-TIPS (8477)

Type:   www.solvecrime.ca

Text:   BCTIP and your message to CRIMES (274637)