The Beat Goes On

Imagine that!  Believing in something so strongly that you're going to show your support by marching and waving your signs.  Maybe you even have a chant that you all can repeat, vocalizing this credo that you share.  Personally, I've never believed in anything so strongly that I was going to exercise to further my agenda.  If I'm not going to strap on a pair of running shoes to improve my own physicality, I doubt I'm going to do so for anything else.

Yesterday on my way home from buying gas, I made a stop to pick up my lottery tickets.  A guilty pleasure that gives me hope that maybe one day, my life may improve..., monetarily, but this isn't about that pipe dream.  At the fueling station rest stop, I noted a gathering of people clamoring off in the corner of the lot.  I gazed over at them, curious about what they were protesting.  In recent years, there has been a shit-ton of people peacefully protesting by marching across the province or even the country.  Streams of people walking, picking up tributaries of more supporters at every stop until you have a massive flow that warrants a police escort and media attention.

The crowd I noticed yesterday warranted neither of these things.  It was just a small band of folks, gathered around their vehicles, a menagerie of new cars and beat up old trucks, every one of them, adorned with Canadian flags of varying sizes.

I can barely walk across the street on some days.  I can't imagine the horror of marching across the city or the province.  Especially in a crowd of people.  Everyone is so congested, tripping over one another.  The thought is overwhelming to me, almost claustrophobic.  I'd much rather just toss a few bucks at the problem and let someone else deal with it.  Show my support that way.

Showing up in masses looks good for the media, but I've seen news stories where some people, when asked, have no actual idea as to why they're out there, but only that they're showing their support.  This seems disingenuous, if you ask me. 🤔

I would soon discover that the people gathering at the Flying J rest stop were not going to be walking, but driving to promote their cause.  I don't know what it was, but it made me curious.  With fuel prices skyrocketing as much as it has in recent weeks, what could possibly mean so much as to waste fuel by driving across the city or province in protest?  No matter the cause, I fail to see how that would prove anything. 🤔 It doesn't prove anything.  All the money you're going to waste paying for fuel, could have simply been donated to the cause.

A few days ago, it was reported that actor, James Cromwell, best known for uttering the words, "That'll do pig! That'll do." in the movie Babe, was protesting the cost of vegan cream at his local Starbucks.  He did so by gluing his hand to the counter of the popular coffee house.  I don't quite understand this protest.  If you don't like the price of cream, which would be a couple of cents, maybe, then go somewhere else!!!  Or bring your own.  Why do you need to complicate everyone else's nice day with your bullshit protest?!  I mean, reading his shirt, he's protesting animal stuff, but also the price of vegan cream.  It's all quite confusing and sounds a lot like bullshit!

Just because public gatherings are allowed, I don't believe the right should be abused.  Legitimate causes only.  Bitching about paying an extra nickel for a coffee additive is completely bonkers, especially when you should be able to afford that nickel and if you can't, what the f*ck are you doing in a Starbucks to begin with?

I have my own beliefs and things I don't like, but I'm not in a position to do anything about it.  When I can, I contribute money to animal and children charities.  I hate the state of our country as it stands today and, frankly, for the last few years.  I do my part by showing up on election day and casting my vote for change.  If my guy gets in, cool, let the changes begin.  If my fella fails to get into office, then I protest in my own private way.  

Money Grubber

Someone got f*cked out of their money.  I don't know who it was, but someone f*cked up and an innocent person lost almost two hundred dollars.

I went down to the bank to make a substantial payment on my credit card.  It's a ScotiaBank card and I wouldn't even have it, if it weren't for the fact I earn points that go towards FREE movies at any Cineplex-Odeon theater.  I applied a few years ago, when the program first began and I've been earning a shit ton of free movies ever since. I'm not the most responsible guy in the world and often forget to make regular payments, forcing myself to make large payments when I'm finally reminded via a pressing letter from the bank's head office.  Today, I made such a payment.

As I was readying myself to exit the bank, the teller, a Middle-Eastern fellow named Rishi, expressed that I owed a $20 overdraft fee on my checking account.  I was flabbergasted as I don't have a checking account with this bank.  My dealings with the bank is expressively with regards to the credit card, in which I earn points towards free movies.  I had no use for a checking account, nor do I ever recall opening such an account.  I pressed for more information and with a nervous look washed across his face, Rishi began feverishly tapping away at his keyboard, looking for an explanation.

According to Rishi, the account had been opened in 2011 and had exceeded to just over $193, at it's highest at one time.  I explained that there's no way that I would have parted with such an exorbitant amount in 2011, as I was unemployed and could not have parted with that amount, especially into an account that had laid dormant for the past four years.  He began typing again, further delving into the bowels of the banking records.

"It was opened with sixty dollars," he said, "In December of 2011.  Then another sixty dollars was deposited in June of 2012, then $153.12 in September."

I don't claim to be the most intelligent man in the world.  True, I consider myself smarter than most, especially those residing in Kentucky, but the math on what this frail little man just reported to me, fails to equal the amount that he claims the account maxed out at.  60 + 60 + 153.12 =$273.12, nearly a hundred dollars more than what he'd claimed.

"Is it possible that someone else tried to deposit money into their account and someone messed up and typed in the wrong account number?" I asked, to which I was sternly informed that human error is not possible.  "Bullshit," I thought to myself, "All humans ever do, if f*ck up."

I couldn't understand how such a blunder could occur.  Furthermore, I couldn't understand how if the account allegedly has so much money and hadn't been touched for four years, how could it be delinquent now and in arrears?  It was explained that ScotiaBank charges $3.95 per month as a service charge.  "Service for what?" I asked, adding, "If the account was never touched for four years, what are you guys servicing?"  Rishi explained that in exchange for the 'privilege' of having a checking account with ScotiaBank, a monthly service charge was withdrawn from the account.  This is when I began to question the authenticity of the television commercials I see daily, boasting how beneficial banking with ScotiaBank is.  It's a stinky load of bullshit, I tell ya.

I expressed that the account was never opened by me and that I'd like to close it.  Rishi assured me that this would not be a problem, then requested how I was going to pay for the delinquent amount still owing.  I explained that because I never opened the account, don't recall ever opening the account and that he's yet to prove that I did open this account, that ScotiaBank should eat the outstanding charge.  "It is only $20, after all.  ScotiaBank owns everything, nowadays, so they can afford to wave the charge."

Rishi was of a dark complexion, but this request made him turn grey.  Nervously, he excused himself from the kiosk to go chat with his supervisor, who agreed to wave the charge.  All I had to do was sign a document closing this mysterious account and all was done.

I don't harbour any ill-will towards ScotiaBank or Rishi.  No one will ever know, exactly, how this account had come into being, but someone out there, somewhere, must've deposited some money, then forgot about it, thus f*cking themselves out of some cash.  I know it wasn't me.  I have no use for ScotiaBank, other than to earn them points for free movies.  When they cancel that program, ScotiaBank and I will part ways, as well.  Adios, f*ckers!!

Bullshit!!

There's a whole lot of hype, right now, calling for the closure of Sea World, due to it's unethical treatment of their marine life.  CNN aired the documentary, Blackfish, this past weekend and as bad as people thought the treatment of the orcas was, the reality is a hell of a lot worse.  Everyday people are up in arms about the cruelty bestowed upon dogs, cat, birds, turtles, snakes and a menagerie of other creatures great and small.  Barnum and Bailey recently announced that they'd be phasing out the animal acts, due to mismanagement and poor treatment of animals, although I would venture a guess and say that it's more financial than anything else.  Whatever the reason, it's nice to get out of subjecting these animals to unusual behaviors not displayed in nature.

Calgary Stampede is one of the largest spectacles on Earth.  All cowboy-related events.  I've never attended the Calgary Stampede, nor would I ever.  I can't wrap my head around the logic (or illogic, rather) of riding a horse really fast around barrels or roping a f*cking calf.  The latter may be necessary for large cattle ranches looking to catch offspring for branding or tagging, but why make a big f*cking show around it?  What are those poor calves thinking?  Constantly running and up down, up down, up down.  F*ck off, already!!

Bronco busting....  Okay.  I'd imagine manly men since the beginning of time have been egging each other on, waging money and honour to those ballsy enough to climb on the biggest baddest steed and ride that motherf*cker until it's spirit is broken and can be ridden from that point on, but bull riding?  When and where, in time, was it ever necessary to ride a motherf*cking bull?!?

All these butt-reaming idiots, with their ten gallon idiot hats pulled down under their chins, desperately clinging on for dear life for eight seconds.  Eight f*cking seconds.  These cowboys march around with hubcap belt buckles, acting like they're the manliest of men, but they're willing to only hold on for less than a sixth of a minute?  Firemen are frickin' lunatics, but they're more manly because they  run into fires 'n' shit, but no.  Cowboys are the toast of the town.  Bullshit!!

Nowadays, I see those stupid motherf*ckers have cast aside their gay-as-f*ck cowboy hats, for full on helmets with full face shields.  Afraid of injury.  Full helmets and body armour, all to avoid injury.  Ya wanna avoid injury, hero?  Don't f*cking ride a bull, ya dumb bastards!!  Organizers even blunt the end of the bull's horns, for the avoidance of being gored.  Where's the danger, now?

As a naive child, the lion and tiger acts were always my favourite circus acts.  Later, as I aged and matured, I came to resent the trainers and organizations who exploit these poor animals.  One year, at the summer fair in the city, here, they had a tiger act.  The show was outside, which was fine, but between shows, the tigers could be seen locked up in cramped metal cages.  Their tongues wagging outside gaping mouths, heavily panting in the midday sun.  It was horrible.  The people I was in attendance with, wished to stop and watch the show, much to my chagrin. While the crowd encompassing the show area, oohed and aah'd in amazement, I silently wished the tigers would conclude enough is enough and lash out against the trainer, killing him in the process.  Sadly, though, if this were the case, officials would blame the animal, not the human-element.  Blame the wild animal for acting and reacting as they would in their native kingdom, and pay the price with their lives, ultimately.  Given the lives they lead in captivity, perhaps suicide by proxy would be the way to go for these otherwise stunning creatures.

Establishments, like Sea World, would be fine, in my opinion, if they acted more as an educational institution.  Catch and rescue sea life in distress.  Nurse them back to health, educating the public in exchange for monetary gain, to assist in the recuperation of the sickly animals, but shy away from the bullshit dog 'n' pony shows of having the Killer Whales swimming in circles, waving their fins and splashing the crowds, like dancing bears.  Stop the bullshit!!

#ShutDownSeaWorld
#ShutDownCalgaryStampede
#ShutdownAllAnimalActs

T-Minus 21 And Counting

I worked this morning and as it does on most occasions, my mind wandered away from the monotonous task I was doing, to a subject a little more interesting.

Today is December 1st and if the Mayan calender is correct, we, as a collective, only have 21 days remaining in existence.  Pretty shitty, considering I just celebrated my birthday and Christmas is just around the corner, but the premise got me to thinking.  Not to mention, I have to work until the twenty-first of this month, before the seasonal shutdown at work.  It would definitely blow, if I have to work every day then my first day off marks..., nothing.  OBLIVION!!

IF the world actually does come to an end, how might one want to go out?  When asked, a majority of the consensus tends to lean toward "going out with a bang", and I don't mean a "shoot 'em up" kind of scenario, but more of the intimate variety.  A minority would opt for spending it with family.  I don't really have much for family.  My sister has her husband and kids and I believe that if the world were coming to a violent end, they'd rather spend it with themselves alone, and rightfully so.  

That leaves only one option left for me, and sadly I am without a "beneficial friend".  Although, with time quickly counting down, beggars may not be choosers and mutual copulation may be easier than initially thought...

It was at this point that I had the song "Sex & Candy" pop in my head, by the band Marcy's Playground.  A stupid name for a band, but no worse, I suppose, than Meat Curtains.  One of the lines of the song specifically states, "I smell sex and candy, here."  Disgusting!  Candy would be alright.  Every time I walk into the Pine & Fancy Candy Store at the mall, I'm mentally teleported to a far away fantasy land where everyone is happy and sweet.  As for sex though...  Yech.  Unless there's scented candles or lotions, the smell is anything but wonderful.  Or at the very least, not nearly as enjoyable as the act itself.  All musty and sweaty...  I don't know if I'd want to spend all of eternity with that reminder on my mind.  If the End of Days comes on December 21st of this month, and I do find a partner to spend my last fleeting moments with...  I hope she's wearing a Vanilla-based perfume.  Mmm.  Vanilla.

Frankly, I think it's a load of malarky.  Just like Y2K and those retards last year who thought a flying saucer was coming to pick up the human race.  A bunch of bullshit.  It is my belief, and I've been stating this for years and years, since first learning of the Mayan calendar and prediction of Armageddon.  I think the Mayans simply got to the end of the page or the stone tablet.  Whatever they were counting out the days on and never got a chance to carve out another tablet.

It's written that the Mayans existed between 250 and 900AD.  Nearly two thousand years ago.  Why the hell did they need to carve out a calendar so far into the future?  If they knew the world was going to end on December 21st, 2012, wouldn't it have just been easier to simply carve out a statement?  "Hey future people, as of December 21st of 2012, you guys are all f*cked!!"

It's just a scheme to get people into a panic.  The survivalist stores are all raking in the bundles of cash as scared desperate people spend what little money they have remaining from the recession, on rice, canned beans, gas generators and handguns.  Even I had hatched a scheme to make some cash from all the hype.  I wanted to fashion a 2012 calendar that showcased a different natural disaster in every month, then in December, I was going to number it up until the 21st, then leave the remaining days blank.  F*cking HILARIOUS!!!

Creep Creepin' Along

There is one school situated between my workplace and home.  One school zone in which the speed limit is reduced from 50 kilometers per hour, to a snail's pace of just 30 km/h.  Understandable it is, that the speed should be reduced as children are often seen jetting out into the street, in a streak of excitement at another day done and one day closer to the weekend.  There are no children where I work, but come quitting time, there's a mad rush into the parking lot and an even greater mad dash to exit the parking lot.

It was just a few years ago, that on his way to school, some small child cut across the street, in the middle of the block, and found his short life cut even shorter, as he was struck down by a passing automobile.  From that day forward, the speed limit was cut in front of schools.  Whether they be schools still open or not, for that matter.  I once received a speeding ticket while passing a school that had been closed down for some years.  A stupid loop-hole that even the cop admitted was "bullshit", however his hands were tied and I was summoned a pricey ticket.

The speed limit, to me, literally is a snail's pace.  My truck is barely at an idle as I creep down the street.  I still glance to the side, making sure that no children come darting out in front of me.  Kids can be pretty stupid sometimes, just like that little peckerwood all those years ago, who failed to see the cars heading for him.  "Check both ways, stupid!!"  Today, though, I realized that this low speed also seems a little creepy.  Oodles of drivers creeping past schools, looking for delinquent kids?  That sounds (and looks) really offbeat.  Probably the only real saving grace is, most everyone are not driving unmarked panel vans, and I'm pretty god damned sure that no one behind the wheel, is sporting a clown suit.