In the News

I normally don't like to get busy addressing anything so topical and transitory as current events. My natural style tends towards a more timeless elegance than news reports allow for. Nevertheless, despite my best intentions, now and again a story will come along that it is absolutely imperitive that I comment on.

As I perused the double sized weekend edition of my local free newspaper, called "The Weekender" by no one but myself, I was relieved to see that the curtain had closed on the okanagan's latest, real life political drama. Former mayor of Vernon, Sean Harvey, was found guilty this week of charging $13 800 in personal expenses to the city.

Now, I've never been any kind of fan of this perpetually wet and doughy man; I'm glad to see him go down in a hail of shame. Not only his conduct shameful and embarassing to the reputation of good mayors everywhere, but it is even more shameful and embarrassing to evil mayors as well. Not only did he steal a meager, paltry amount, but he also wept and blubbered once caught. No doubt this sort of rediculous display plays well with the histrionic ladies and homosexual constituents, but an informal survey conducted by yours truly finds that such behavior is widely considered repulsive and loathsome.

But perhaps Mayor Harvey's most greivous ineptitude at playing bad mayor was his negligence in invoking his mayoral authority to avoid prosecution within the city limits. It's like diplomatic immunity for mayors. The law has no ability to cause the mayor toabdicate his throne. Unless it went down like this:

Trouble in a Small Town

Act 1, scene1:

3 police officers stand at the front door of a large white house. One of the officers, CHIEF O'BRIEN, knocks solidly upon the door three times. A momment goes by before the doors opens slightly, and an OLD LADY pokes her head out.

CHIEF O'BRIEN - Good Evenin' to ye, ma'am. Might yer son be at home?

OLD LADY - Goodness, of course... it's past his curfew. Just a moment.

The Door shuts quietly.

CONSTABLE 1 - You sure this is the right thing to do, Chief? It doesn't feel right.

CHIEF O'BRIEN - Aye, it don't feel right to me either. But a crime has been committed anyou're all good lads... with a job to do.

The door opens again. This time, it's the MAYOR.

MAYOR - They got you on foot patrol again, Chief? I didn't know this house was on your beat.

ALL laugh.

CHIEF O'BRIEN - Nay, Mr. Mayor. I wish it were as simple as all that. 'Tis be a serious matter that finds me on yer doorstep.

MAYOR (sweating) - Oh? What would that be?

CHIEF O'BRIEN - For monies fraudulently gained, and breach of trust with the good folk of Vernontown, in the name of the law,I hearby place ye... under arrest.

MAYOR - The law? I AM THE LAW!

CHIEF O'BRIEN - Well it was worth a shot. Come on boys, drinks are on me!

(From off stage) - ALLAHU ACKBAR!!!

A dishevelled man with dark hair and desert coloured skin and clothes streaks across the stage towards the others. He is wearing dynamite around his waist.

CHIEF O"BRIEN - Get down, lads!

The MAYOR, and CONSTABLES 1 and 2 get down on the ground. Chief O'brien throws himself on top of the suicide bomber as he draws near. As they hit the ground, there is an explosion. The MAYOR and the CONSTABLES get up and gather around the smoking crater where Chief O'Brien met his fate.

CONSTABLE 2 - He saved our lives.

MAYOR (teary eyed) - Yes. He has nobly sacrificed himself so that we may live. And for what? So that I may go on stealing from the good people of Vernontown? No. I will submit myself to your custody. The courts will decide the rest.

The MAYOR and the CONSTABLES bow their heads and raise their voices in song.

ALL -

O Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen and down the mountain side

The summer's gone and all the rose's falling

'Tis you, 'Tis you must go and I abide.

That's how I figure it must have gone down. But when it comes right down to it, really, who cares?

Attention, Ladies

I was having a seat on my steps the other day, caught in a quandary of simultaneously enjoying and despising a cigarette, and watching all the bugs crawling around.

As I did so, it struck me how peculiarly deficient insects are in terms of sensory perception. So many of them seem completely oblivious to anything, regardless of how harmful or helpful, going on more than a bodylength away. And yet, by virtue of sheer quantity, a few of each kind, purely by chance, manage to get it right, and their respective species carries on.

I guess it's no different for humanity, really, except that people are also equipped with the ability to make excuses.

I, however, make no excuses. Even though I blunder this way and that, it can hardly be said that I am one of those who are "getting it right". As my therapist once so succinctly put it " You're not here because you're any kind of role model."

Harsh... But also fair. As Doob LaVey devotees can readily atest to, my own personal affairs are a frightening mess. Doob LaVey's owes it's existence to this fact. I would have had little personal need to reveal the details of my existence here, if they all tended towards median experience. But I digress.

In my latest bit of social incompetence, so greatly have I despaired in my lonliness, that I felt compelled to do the unthinkable. So say hello to the world's newest rapist.

LOL! Just kidding! Actually, rape is no laughing matter and I recommend to everyone now reading this that, when you're done here, you go google up some results for "rape" and then look at all the nudie pics that purport to be "rape" but are in no meaningful way distinguishable from regular, non-offensive pornography.

The unthinkable thing that I actually did do was, horror of horrors, I placed a personal ad in the local free newspaper.

I swore to myself once that, no matter how bad things ever got, it'd never come to this. Personal ads, I thought, were a thing for people who are stupid or old. But what I didn't know then was how acute the pain would become. So I folded.

Besides, it's still better than on-line dating. As everyone knows, all the chicks on the internet are actually men just trying to get your credit card number. So don't even talk to me about your tight, virgin pussy, sir, cause I'm on to you.

Also, this way I only get local responses and thus avoid the awkwardness of determining who's paying for the greyhound ticket that makes that first visit possible. Personally, it doesn't particularly unreasonable to say to a girl "Look, you're the one who wants to meet me, okay? So maybe you should fork out." (and put out, and get out ;)

However, haggling over finances before you've even met face to face, bodes nothing healthy for the future of your relationship.

Anyway, getting back on track, the ad reads like this:

SWM, early 30s, smoker, seeks F.

Age and appearance not important.

Mental illness prefered, drug addiction

an absolute must. Call xxx-xxxx.

So I figure that pretty soon my phone will be ringing off the hook. Keep in mind that the real ad has my actual phone number in it, not a bunch of "x"s. I just don't want to reveal it here so I don't get any more calls from that guy who says his teen cunt is so tight it's like getting a blow job from a boa constrictor. Whatever that means. It might have made sense if he'd said it was as tight as a coil job from a boa constrictor... or maybe not.

Or maybe my phone wont ring at all. I'm prepared for it. There's all sorts of thins that could go wrong. Maybe my target demographic doesn't read the paper, can't read at all, can't spare a quarter for the payphone, or can't find a payphone.

At worst, I'll be only as alone as I was before. Which, now that I think about it, is actually pretty depresssing. I hope someone calls.

TTYL!