Young At Heart Don't Mean Shit!!!

I've always believed that we are as young as we feel.  Hell, I've been twenty-nine years old more than once.  To be honest, I literally have to do math when asked what my chronological age is, I've celebrated twenty-nine so often.  That withstanding, my real age is beginning to catch up to me.  My knees hurt every winter, as do my neck and feet.  I frequently get migraines and my back hurts almost all of the time.  As well, there's a whole host of other ailments 'n' shit creeping up on me.  Yep!  It's true;  Young at heart, doesn't mean shit, anymore!!

The latest medical test that I've just learned that I'm going to have to endure, is something called a Cystoscopy.  For those not familiar, I didn't know what the f*ck that is, either.  Thank goodness for the interweb, as I quickly got  onto Google and looked it up.  The definition of cystoscopy reads: An endoscopy of the urinary bladder via the urethra.  That's a shit load of medical speak for what translates to: My lying on a table and medical professionals applying a freezing agent on my junk then shoving a tube up the pee-hole of my ding-dong.  The pamphlet that was sent with the notice I received in the mail, claims that I'll feel very little discomfort, if any, during the one-and-a-half to two hour procedure.  I call "bullshit" on that...!  Especially, when you consider that the aftermath is the feeling of pissing fire and blood for the duration of a few days.  Holy f*ck!!

So in mid-summer, on the morning of July 28th, while all of you are enjoying the hot summer weather, lying by the pool or in the shade, sipping on an ice cold lemonade or mint julep, I'm going to be flat on my back, in a funky-smelling hospital examination room, enduring the nervous shaking hands of a medical student rasping my dick with a pipe cleaner.  It's fun-f*cking-times, for Jeffy!!!

Black Hawks Are Huge

I understand that the Black Hawks are huge in Chicago.  The Black Hawks have been pretty popular in Chicago for decades, but today, especially, they're huge.  I mean, the Black Hawks are really huge.  I heard that the Black Hawks are SO huge in Chicago, that one should not be surprised if the City of Chicago throws a big parade in celebration of how huge the Black Hawks are in Chicago.  It might even be difficult to distinguish what's bigger.  The Black Hawks or the celebration.

It would not surprise me in the least if people, coming from miles around, were to flock to Chicago because of how huge the Black Hawks are today.  I've always heard that size doesn't matter, but after last night's showing, I'd venture a guess and say, size DOES matter.  After all, it's not every day that Black Hawks win the prestigious Lord Stanley's Cup.  That's big for anyone, especially a Black Hawk.

This blog may offend some people.  Not everyone is a fan of the Black Hawks,  I've even heard it mentioned that the Black Hawks scared some folks.  That they were bigger than expected.  Calgary fans, maybe... The Flamers as they're called, I believe, may be fans of the Black Hawks, but that's merely speculation.  I wouldn't want to assume.  I, myself, not a fan of the Black Hawks, I don't "play" for that team, based on a nut allergy...  Plus, I'm not gay.  I'm not saying you necessarily need to be gay to be either a Calgary Flamer or a fan of the Black Hawks, who, by the way, are really huge in Chicago, today.

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All kidding aside, CONGRATULATIONS to the Chicago Black Hawks for their Stanley Cup Win!

The Affable Behemoth

A fond memory from childhood, was watching the children's television program, "The Friendly Giant".  It was a mainstay of the CBC, first airing in the fall of 1958 and remaining on air for twenty-seven years.  Entertaining children, and then their children, and their children, then their's and their's and so on, with fun songs and stories.

At the start of every show, Friendly would position some wood chairs around a fireplace (as shown in the center picture), suggesting that a viewer and their family might like to come for a visit, to enjoy the festivities firsthand.  As a small tyke, I'd hoped on more than one occasion, that our family might take a vacation, traveling the vast distance to Friendly's castle.  With my nose pressed up against the TV, I'd choose which chair I'd be seated in and determine where my parents and sister would sit.  Even though I was awash with the magic and fantasy of it all, I did question the position of the chairs and fireplace with regards to where Friendly and his friends put on their show, often remarking how awkward it would be to have crook our necks all the way back to look virtually straight up.  The way Friendly handles those "over-sized" chairs, they still dwarf in his hands, therefore his size is much larger than that of a regular giant. We were like ants to him.  I'm certain that the fabled giant, who faced off against Jack when he climbed that beanstalk would appear quite puny if standing side-by-side with The Friendly Giant.

It wasn't just my small brain that questioned the logistics of the show.  As I grew older and smarter, I started to question everything about the show.  For instance, Friendly's sidekicks.  A giraffe and a chicken.  Growing up on a farm, I did get to see some large roosters and hens, but I've never seen a cock of giant proportions like Rusty the Rooster.  There was definitely some radioactive testing or some kind of shit going on in the late 1940s and early '50s in whatever far off land this was where Friendly and his gargantuan brood lived.  The one thing that badgered me, though, all the way through my childhood, adolescence and straight into adulthood, was: Why was the rooster kept in a burlap bag, hanging on the wall?  

The fifteen-minute program, aired commercial free, twice between ten o'clock in the morning and half past ten.  At 10:30am, was Mr. Dressup.  A former understudy to Mr. Rogers, Ernie Coombs had moved to Canada, eventually creating the longest running (29 years) children's program "Mr. Dressup".  Four thousand episodes which would eventually bridge the gap between "Friendly Giant" and "Sesame Street".  I never much cared for the show, myself, but we only had two networks to choose from and CTV never aired kids's shows, so "Mr. Dressup", it was.  Now, if you thought I questioned a lot of stuff about "The Friendly Giant", well I found "Mr. Dressup" was really f*cked up.

Mr. Dressup was a man who was in his forties who lived alone, but hung out with Casey, a redheaded child, who was NOT his son, nor related to him in ANY way, who lived in a tree house with his dog, Finnegan, for a number of years.  (Both Casey & Finnegan, were puppets, so some suspension of belief is supported).  Mr. Dressup entertained viewers with arts and crafts and songs and even some plays, complete with costumes that mysteriously and magically would appear in his colourful chest that he fondly referred to as the Tickle Trunk.

Twenty-two years after the show's debut, Judith Lawrence, the puppeteer who worked both Casey and Finnegan, retired.  Rather than replacing Lawrence, the story was told that Casey, along with his dog, began going to school, thus explaining his absence.  A much more sinister and suspicious mind would believe that Dressup simply grew tired of his young playthings and disposed of the bodies in a ditch somewhere.  Although, upon closer inspection, the Tickle Trunk might have disclosed a few more secrets than just colourful costumes and props.

As for the whereabouts of the cast of "The Friendly Giant".  Gerome the Giraffe passed away, shortly after the shows final airing in 1985.  Though he possessed an amazing singing voice, the giraffe had a three pack-a-day smoking habit and died from complications due to throat and lung cancer.  Bob Homme, the actor who portrayed Friendly, passed away in 2000.  Rusty the Rooster survived them all, retiring to a small town outside Toronto, with his same-sex partner Calvin the Cowboy, before passing away in 2011 at the ripe old age of 56, which is quite old for a chicken.  Here's a picture of Rusty and his partner of more than forty years,   As you can see from the photo, Rusty was into rough sex and was the bottom in the relationship.

Jurassic World - A Brief Thought

"One for Jurassic Squirrel." I said, plopping my card down on the counter.  The girl at the kiosk paused for a moment then giggled.

When I first heard that there was going to be another entry into the Jurassic franchise, I guffawed at the prospect.  I was a fan of the original, recalling the awe I felt experiencing that cinematic magic for the first time.  The second film, "The Lost World: Jurassic Park" even had some moments that were enjoyable.  The third installment sucked balls.  So naturally I thought a fourth would be worse.  What has transpired, however, is completely the opposite.

I began to get on-board with the concept when it was announced that Star Lord.., er, I mean, Chris Pratt was going to be the main star.  Following that, the previews began to whet my pallet.  So with great earnest, when the opportunity arose to see an early showing of the movie tonight, one day before "Jurassic World" is unleashed on the planet, I jumped at the chance and let me tell you what.., I was not disappointed.

Nowadays, most movies are spoiled by the theatrical previews, which tend to show most of the movie highlights within the preview, which most often leaves intended audiences disappointed.  That is not the case for Jurassic World.  If the previews have impressed you thus far, I don't want to spoil the fun for you, but what you've seen in the previews and commercials, occurs within the first half hour or so, leaving the remainder of the film to surprise and shock and impress the heck out of you.  The version I saw tonight was in 3D.  I don't think it's a movie that necessarily requires you to don the annoying glasses, but it didn't hurt the experience, either.  SPOILER ALERT...  I flew out of my chair more than once, rising about a foot or so, straight up, accompanied by a yelp then followed by laughter.  "Jurassic World", shocked and frightened me, much to my delight.

These days, it's rare to go to a movie and be completely surprised by what I see on the screen.  This movie completely surprised me and I love it for that.  On my FOUR STAR Rating System, I give this movie a SOLID FOUR STARS.  I'd give it a higher rating, if I could.  So go see this movie this weekend.  You will not be disappointed.

Bill Cosby Can Eat Shit

I don't know if it was the sudden untimely deaths of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and "The Big Bopper", J.P. Richardson, who all died in a catastrophic plane crash on February 3rd, 1959 that began the rumour that celebrities die in threes, but during my short tenur on this earth, I've bore witness to many triads of celebrity deaths.  They may not always occur on the same day, as the did on that fateful even in early 1959, but rest assured, when one death is announced, two more are sure to follow.  This has always seemed to be the case, as far back as I can remember.  Memories have grown foggy and I can't seem to recall many specific examples, but I'm sure if you Google this fact, many familiar names will jog your memory, as I'm sure it would mine, if I were to take a moment to look.

With every death announcement, I've always, secretly, and sometimes not so secretly, hoped the next name announced would be that of Bill Cosby.  I've never liked Bill Cosby.  Always thought him to be a giant gaping asshole.  A snarky f*ck, sporting a holier-than-thou attitude,  He claims to never swear, but that snide look he wears on his face like a mask, always screams "F*CK YOU!!"  So, with every celebrity passing, I have always hoped the Grim Reaper would come a knockin' on Bill's door, but alas, Mr. Cosby always slips by, like the greasy piece of shit that he is.

In 2009, when the passing of Johnny Carson's long-time sidekick, Ed McMahon, was announced on June 23rd, oh how I crossed my fingers for the next personality's name to be that of Bill Cosby, but sadly, it was 70's blonde bombshell, Farrah Fawcett and The Prince of Pop, Michael Jackson, who would be named next, both dying on the same day, June 25th.  Bill Cosby was overlooked on that occasion, but at least a child molester [Jackson] was taken that day.

In April of last year, within a few days of one another, Bob Geldof's daughter, Peaches, comedian John Pinette, and legend of the silver screen, Mickey Rooney, all passed away.  Another trifecta that spared Mr. Cosby.

I may seem a little harsh towards Bill Cosby, but as I've stated, my dislike of the man has existed for decades.  I've never ever liked or respected the man.  I've always viewed his time on this earth as a complete waste.  It's only recently that the truth about this man has come to the fore-front and everyone can recognize him for the piece of shit that he is.  It's only now, that I've come to understand why the Grim Reaper or the "Powers That Be" have chosen him to remain upon this realm, and it's for the man to stand up for his (alleged) sins.  We have to say "alleged", but we all know the truth.  Fifty-plus women coming forward isn't a coincidence, but evidence of a sociopath.

Today, we mourn the passing of three more celebrities.  The first is an actor named Ron Moody, who won a Golden Globe Award and was an Academy Award Nominee for the role of Fagin in the movie, "Oliver!"; The second personality who passed today was professional wrestler and Hall of Famer, "The American Dream" - Dusty Rhodes, who was a legend among his peers and will be sorely missed by friends, family and fans, alike; Lastly, but not least, a true Hollywood legend, Christopher Lee, who was best known for his role as the infamous Count Dracula, but made notable appearances in the James Bond film, "The Man With The Golden Gun", as Saruman in the "Lord of the Rings/Hobbit" movies, and as Count Dooku in Episode Two and Three of the Star Wars prequels.

All have left a huge wake with their absence, but fingers crossed, we can only hope that Bill Cosby won't be too far behind.

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!!

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