That's news to me

 
  Attention dear reader, we interrupt the ongoing chicken saga for this special news update, as apparently things happen in real life, dark things........disturbing things. Did you know that Celine Dion still sings? That is enough to make me crawl under my news desk and stay there till the zombies come. The following are just a few news stories that have developed in the past few days;

  I'll Give it a shot

   Police were involved in an altercation at Memorial university last night.  Plain clothes officers, as opposed to those snappy dressed officers, were staking out the parking lot after reports of cars being broken into. Police sat tight until they saw someone smash a window, they were unsure at first because it appeared to be a white ma....ke  of car, but once they were sure, they proceeded on foot to chase him, and he proceeded to almost run them over, and fire shots at them. The suspect managed to escape the scene when Mun campus enforcement asked the officers if they needed backup and the officers doubled over in laughter. Once they were able to compose themselves they chased after the suspect finding the vehicle he had been driving set on fire, witnesses from nearby Buckmaster's Circle were overhead saying "Hey a car on fire, it's not Thursday yet." Despite the further decline of morality in this city two silver linings emerged. The first being that police apprehended the suspect, and the second being that at the moment the shots were fired a track meet was being held inside the field house. One runner hearing the shot sped out to a giant head start and set many new records. Despite the controversy and cries for a rematch, the runner simply said that he would choose not to run.

   Thumbs (broken) up

    Get out your pitchforks and baseball bats everyone it is Roll up the Rim season once again. This year Tim Horton's is trying something new and different and actually remembering to put the hash brown in the bag on drive thru, er I mean they are giving customers two chances to win with a new bonus roll. Because if there is anything that loyal Tim Horton's customers like seeing it's the words please play again not only once, but twice, why they don't just cut out the middle man and rip your heart out at the counter when you order your drink? While it is a way of celebrating their 50th anniversary and a way to say thank you it has led to an undesired result, many Canadians are complaining that the extra rolling has led to their thumbs and hands being locked in a permanent rim rolling position. In a mere two days since the contest began tens of people have complained about their livelihoods being ruined because of lack of thumb mobility. In an exclusive you won't find anywhere else I was able to see one of the angry email from a frightened, seemingly male customer:

  Dear Tim Horton's,

  I have been typing these email for two days because my pinky is the only finger that I am able to move. These new two roll cups have destroyed my life, after drinking 7 cups in a row to try and win the bonus car I was stricken with immobility of my hands and thumbs and the overwhelming urge to urinate. I can't tell you what a bad combination this is, and I will spare you the messy details but long story short you owe me a new pair of shoes. I lost my job because I was not able to work, and the only other work I could find was holding cigars at a cigar store, and the Native American man I took the job from just keeps staring at me with an unrelenting wooden glaze. I have to go now as my pinky is starting to cease up and I haven't eaten in two days because I have been typing, for shame on you Tim Horton's, for shame

 That's entertaining

  In shocking Hollywood news, the director of the new Robocop movie was arrested for murder, as he butchered the classic original movie. In the wake of seeing the new movie, original Robocop Peter Weller actually took his own life so he could turn over his own grave.

  Early Oscar Buzz has breakout hit Wolf of wall street one of the favorites to take home the big prize at this year's awards. It is the story of a ego maniacal drug addicted lout who rises to a position of power. it is Rob Ford's favorite movie. It's main competition is Twelve years a slave which is counting on white person's guilt to push it over the hump.

 Sports shorts

  Denver Colorado are still investigating the mysterious disappearance of the entire Denver Broncos football team during Superbowl weekend. The lead investigator was quoted as saying "I've never seen this many people disappear at once, one or even two is normal but not this large a group." When asked if they were using all their resources, the investigator responded "well of course I'd love to find them, I had five hundred bucks riding on that game."

  In local sports news, there have been rumblings of a new MMA gym opening in the capital city, finally guys with barbed wire and tribal tattoos will have a place to go.

  Game of Thrones weather

  Winter is coming. Sun will make for a fine day but the night will be dark and full of terror

  Well there you have it folks, all the news that is not fit to print. And remember folks, if it's news to you, it's news to me.

The Chicken Hero saga Chapter 12: Two can dine........IN HELL

 
  It had been a quiet few months for the chicken hero. With the Deboner left completely flaccid at his hands, he toiled away at the daily doldrums of the chicken harvest.  During this time, the harvest had seen some new faces, and some returning ones as well. The chicken hero was happy to see the return little Jamieus the magical elf, an often happy go lucky fellow thanks to the help of his magical plant, well some say it was magical, others say it was cursed, for it caused a need to latch on to others at will. Often times when the sun started to sink in the west and the sundial read IV the wenches of the harvest would find themselves in his embrace.  Also there was a new Tylerus, he was taller in stature than the previous Tylerus, and never used his name in sentences. Tylerus as a boy was raised by racoons and adapted their ways, wearing the black mask that they do, and often eating whatever scraps he could find. There were also the old faces still present, ruler of the harvest Petrus the second, who was well loved but ruled with an iron fist, his son Petrus the thrice, who smoked many cigarettes and ruled with an iron lung. There was the brother of the chicken hero Robbieus whose strength was legendary, as legend has it when little Tylerus had to leave for schooling he missed his wagon, so Robbieus picked him up and hurled him to his destination...........he was never seen again.

  Yes, life was quiet at the chicken harvest. Another harvest had opened across the country, and there was another being constructed atop Pearl Mountain, so it was interesting to the hero where the townsfolk would go for their food.  It still amazed him how they came in droves every day, he had been at the harvest for many moons and still did not know why the villagers didn't have their own fire pits. To kill time when not at the harvest, at the request of Jamieus the magical elf, the hero took up a sport called bowling, in which competitors hurled rocks in an attempt to knock sticks over. They comprised a team with the youngest son of Petrus the second, Stevius the Minstrel, and Brendanus the Gronk, whose mighty screams of his "LOOK AT THAT CURVE" could be heard for towns over. Yes, life was quiet, perhaps a little too quiet, the chicken hero always looked over his shoulder, for his epic battles had been known throughout the land. He had heard the rumors of chickens being deboned in other villages, but he was certain that he had vanquished the Deboner, and he would never rise up again.

  Just then he saw a magical bird swoop down into the harvest, it was a messenger pigeon, though this one was darker than most, oh, it was a homie pigeon, he should have known by the needless amount of gold on it's beak and talons.  After dropping the scroll down, and stealing a roll(they often stole rolls) the bird flew off, and the hero rolled down the parchment to read the words, but he was not prepared for the words that he read. The high council of chicken elders had decreed that not only one villager, but two villagers could come in and dine at the harvest for mere schillings, it was like giving away food, something that Bogeyus the Seldom would not approve of. Bogeyus the Seldom was a man of literature and numbers, but he was seldom seen by the boys of the harvest, it was foretold by the ancient chicken prophecy that when the chicken was high, Bogeyus wasn't nigh, but if the chicken was low, Bogeyus would show. Despite that the chicken hero was fond of Bogeyus, for he often helped him, and he admired his undying loyalty to both his sons.

  Petrus the second had heard word that messengers had been sent out to deliver the pieces of paper to the townsfolk, and he urged his men to stop them at all costs, for if the townsfolk got wind of this, there could be a riots in the streets. The hero packed up his thin yet impenetrable chicken string and set out to stop the the messengers, but he feared it was too late, for off in the distance, over the hills came wave after wave of people, the dust rising to the sky resembled the massive fires that Petrus the thrice would have in the fire pit, or the cloud of smoke coming from Jaime the magical elf's wagon. Two by two the people descended on the harvest, waving paper after paper at the serving wenches, poor Marias the ancient(who many moons ago had been hexed with a curse that made her have to say hello to everyone) almost fell over from running to greet and serve everyone. Just then as the hero and his band of men set out on feeding all the ravenous patrons, the hero saw a man off in the distance, smoke was rising off him and he appeared to be floating. "Ah, Jamieus must back from his break" he thought, but Jamieus was in fact next to him.

  The chicken hero ran as fast as he could, but he found that no matter how fast he ran he could not catch up, once he realized he was running the wrong way, he muttered some choice words for the town people for re-organizing the roads and went off into the right direction. As he neared where he had saw the strange man, he rubbed his eyes, for he could not believe it, the man was actually floating, this was not the work Jamieus the magical elf's special plant, this went beyond anything he had seen. Before the hero could speak he was cut off "Now listen, I am King Cluck, lord of the underworld......and the dance. For centuries I have watched as your people have devoured my minions, and come back for no more. Well I say it stops today, it was I who sent those papers around, it was I who will swoop in and take the souls of your townsfolk, and they will be too full and tired to do anything about it." The hero stood confused, he hadn't even asked what his evil scheme was, what was about him that made villains divulge their evil schemes? Was it because he had a trusting face? He would never know.

  Regaining his focus, the hero screamed "You want those people, you will have to go through me!" Just then King Cluck floated right on through him, the hero was taken aback at the very literal answer to his threat, he had been shown up, nobody ever showed him up before, had he just been violated? cause it felt like he was just violated. He had no time to wall as just then two flaming chickens started kicking their way towards him. "It's time to turn up the heat with my kickin chickens, feel their wrath." The hero was trapped, these chickens were mean, and they smelled delicious, but he knew he had to eliminate them, rolling out his trusty chicken string he bobbed and weaved, jumped and dove, tying them in such a way they were now kicking each other. "Impressive" said King Cluck "but you will not be the Victor this day."

 "My name is not Victor, it's the chicken hero" and with that he charged, but as he did the ground started to open up in places. What King Cluck didn't know was that he been used to the holes in the ground at the chicken harvest and new how to dodge, with a mighty leap the hero jumped and wrapped his trusty chicken string all around the evil king, that is he would have, had the King not vanished like a tray of baked desserts around the serving wenches. Suddenly a voice filled the air "You win this round hero, but mark my words, you haven't seen the last of me!" And the chicken hero knew this to be true,  for he had forgotten his cape.

  Returning to the harvest, the hero placed the cape into the lost and found strongbox, as he sat to relax he caught a whiff of the strangest smell, it appeared to be sulfur but he wasn't sure. The hero asked Christoph the dish ogre which way the wind was blowing, he replied "Southwest, huh huh huh" and walked away, Christoph was a man of few words indeed. The hero looked at the western skies and they were black, like Kennyus' the cook's wings were black, and it was then he knew the quiet was shattered, and harvest would not be at peace for very long more.

The self destruction of Frank Martin

   Ohhh a triathlon, that should be fun.


  That was it, that was the sentence that turned my life upside down. Before we get to that let's rewind to last year, it all started with the mid season finale of Breaking Bad. Yes, that's right Walter White you get the blame for ruining yet another life. After the episode aired it dawned on me that there were only eight episodes left, and when they were finished I would have a hole in the lump of coal that is my heart. How would I survive? I needed to find something, anything to do, I needed a hobby, my god I needed to go outside. Perhaps I could fill the void left by Heisenberg and start manufacturing crystal meth myself, but then I remembered my chemistry experiment back in grade eleven, sure I blew up the lab but on the bright side all our classes were outside for the rest of the year.  Perhaps I could develop a crystal meth addiction, but that would be impossible as I usually freak out after eating a whole pack of pop rocks. With a life in the drug business out of the question I set out for something, anything I could do.

  As a child I always had big dreams, one doctor told me it seemed as if I had stars in my eyes. Another, better, doctor told me it was actually styes in my eyes and prescribed some eye drops. I had heard about this triathlon a few weeks back, and I thought to myself "I can do this, or at least I can cheat enough to make a passable effort." I trained whenever I could, sometimes I ran places instead of taking a car, which since I can't drive is the safest bet anyway. I ran everywhere, in the words of esteemed war veteran and marathon runner Forrest Gump "I just kept on running." It seemed I was always running from someone, from something. I thought maybe if I kept up running I could stay out of trouble, for a few minutes anyway. In the days preceding the the triathlon I felt that my stamina was finally where it needed to be to compete, dare I say win the thing, but as always nothing is ever that simple. These days it seems that trouble can find me anywhere and everywhere.

 Have you ever had a day where you felt like a left handed person? No not a freak, but you can't do anything right. The day of the race got off to a bad start when I missed the bus to the start line. Here I was outside my house, wondering how I was gonna get to my destination, I asked myself WWWWD(What would Walter White Do?) I was desperate, I needed to do this race, I needed to prove myself, I needed to steal er I mean borrow a car. I guess I didn't need to stea......borrow the car but there was one right there and why the hell not, it was time to live a little. After getting the car started, I was on my way, I knew the race was starting soon, with no time to spare I disobeyed all traffic laws, which is quite easy when you actually don't know the traffic laws. Something happened to me when I stole that car, a little piece of me died, and it seemed like the harder I tried to get to this race, the more I died, over and over, till all I could do was start over.

 With karma being the female dog that she is, the car that I had borrowed began to get very low on gas. I knew I wouldn't have enough to make it to the race so finding the nearest gas station I could I pulled in to fill up and get on my way. Now this next part may be too graphic, and there may be kids reading so I am going to make this as PG as possible. When I went to pay for the gas I realized I had left my wallet home, so being in a bind I had no choice, I had to pull out my.....ahem...puppy rifle and take the gas. The African American man behind that counter was caught by surprise, I think mostly cause this time he was not the robber but the robbee(PG racism). He pulled out his sawed off cat gun and went to fire at me, but I was faster and launched two puppies in his chest. As I fled the gas station, something came alive in me. For the first time in a long time I had stars in my eyes, not styes this time, actual stars. I fled as fast I could, but glory was fleeting, soon the stars were gone and everything was quiet again. The triathlon was about to start, I had to get there.

 I was getting closer, I could see the start line, people weren't running yet, phew I thought, I was going to make it. I swear I don't know where that person came from, I didn't see them till it was too late, until they went barreling over my car, I had no time to check, it was proving ground time, the start line was near, but the sound or sirens was also near. Some stooge had phoned the police, begrudgingly I had to drive past the start line, there was too much heat, I couldn't slow down, but I couldn't let them stop me from reaching my goals. With me refusing to pull over they took drastic measures, they started firing. sticking my head out the window there were bull......puppies whizzing past my head, I knew I couldn't run anymore so I stopped the car, walking into a hail of puppies I decided to go down in a blaze of glory, puppies rained down from the sky like it was Armageddon. I took out many of them but I caught a few puppies myself and my life flashed before my eyes. Luckily miracle doctors were able to fix me up, and after a small bribe I was able to flee scott free, yep that would be my new identity.

 Mine is a cautionary tale, people often ask me if I could do it over would I try another way, find another mission in life. Perhaps what I need is to find less stressful hobbies, maybe take up golf or tennis, or darts.  Those are all good hobbies, but where's the excitement really? Being idle often leads to trouble. I guess if I could do anything different, I would try and help the many people I refused to help before, try and meet new people, every new person is a question mark just waiting to be answered and see what they have to offer. Is redemption possible for me? Can I be a good person again? I feel like I could be, if only I could try harder..........if only I knew the right path...

If only.............I could stop playing Grand Theft Auto.

The convoluted backstory of El Franco Magnifico

   El Franco Magnifico was born into hard times.  His birth was a typical Mexican affair, upon his arrival into this world he was immediately wrapped in a warm blanket and a luchador mask.  He was born to loving parents, father Pepe, and mother Salte, he was the youngest in his family. Now being the youngest child certainly has its advantages, but when you are the youngest of 17 kids you tend to get lost in the shuffle.  As the 17 kids suggests, Salte and Pepe loved each other dearly from the moment they met, it was a quick courtship before the birth of their first child Juan, then along came the second child Two.  As the years passed more kids filled up the rapidly cramped home, there was Jose and JosB, Rosita, Margarita, Pablo, Marco................Polo, Debbie, their 11th child Juan Juan, Hernando, Fernando, Consuela, Dora, Hugo, and then there was little Franco.  Franco always joked that they saved the best for last and that is why they never had any kids after him, he would learn years later it was because Pepe and gotten an instant vasectomy at the hands, or should I say hind legs, of a disgruntled donkey.

  Space was limited in the tiny home, but Salte and Pepe made sure that all their kids had places to sleep, with all the beds and floor taken it was a struggle to find a spot for little Franco, but then a light bulb went off over the head of Pepe. While changing the light bulb Pepe noticed an old pinata was hanging over the ceiling, this was it, this was where Franco would sleep, Franco would later credit all the times being woken to his siblings beating him with sticks in hope for candy as a leading factor in his toughness. It was hard to form attachments to the rest of his siblings, maybe it was because the whole family wore masks, or maybe it was his Mexican nature to not want to work hard enough to introduce himself to everyone, he just found himself different from the others. He loved his parents, good hard working people, his father was a discount sombrero and poncho salesman, his scream of OHHHH PONCHO became so famous a foreign man used it as part of a television show, but Pepe never saw any money from it.

  Franco could tell times were hard so he didn't mind having to wear hand me down clothes or playing with hand me down toys (just don't give him no hand me down world, he had one already). He pretended to be surprised every Christmas when he received a "new" toy, the same "new" toy he had seen his brother's Jose and JosB playing with the week previous. He also received many new hats, although usually the hat he got for Christmas was too big, I mean it was nice but his sombrero was too big, leading to a scary stint in the hospital after receiving pneumonia when he fell three times in a river.  Falling in the river not only made him sick, it also lead to a fear of water, which was a detriment to his father Pepe's plan to take his family and leave Mexico to enter the United States. Obviously they did not have the money to buy every seat on the plane so Pepe and the older boys spent all their spare time building a house raft to try and take them to the promise land.

  Franco was opposed to the travel, he liked his life and his house, well the part of the house that wasn't used to build the raft. Franco would later credit having to jump up the stairs because certain steps were now part of the raft as a factor in his strong leaping ability. He often asked his papa Pepe why they had to leave, and Pepe would explain to him how America was a wonderful place, people there loved oranges, they even welcomed you by shooting in the guns in the air and yelling in celebration.  Franco was unsure but he could swore he often heard his papa mumble something about finding the makers of a television show and killing them, but he could never be certain. After weeks of anticipation the big day came and the family arrived to the river which would take them to their new life, all except Franco who froze on the shore, remembering the time he froze in the river. Despite the screams of his mother and father and siblings Franco did not sail that day, he ran, and he kept running as far from the river as he could, back to his home, back into his pinata bed, and with no sticks to beat him he slept for a day and half.

 Franco wondered what his next step in life would be, he was young and had to fend for himself.  How would he support himself? Maybe he could be a magician, like most Mexicans he was good at making things disappear, not just wallets, but actual magic trick like things.  While walking the streets of the local town one night he saw a group of kids running towards him, getting ready to flee but seeing no Police around he wondered what the commotion could be, it was then he saw the kids surrounding a hulk of a man, his muscles had muscles and the shiny belt around his waist was very cool.  He went up to the man and asked him who he had stolen that belt off, to which the man replied "Mil Mascaras, he wants a rematch but he will lose that too." It was then Franco figured it that he was a luchador, a Mexican wrestler, and suddenly he knew what his calling was.

 Franco knew what he wanted, and he started to train, he wanted muscles on top of muscles and he wanted that shiny belt, after weeks of pushing himself to the limit(and standing on the razor's edge) he knew he was ready.  He had the look, he had the mask, all he needed was a name, it needed to be flashy, it need to be catchy, it needed be quick cause his first match was in 5 minutes, just then a fellow luchador complimented his mask, saying it was magnificent, and then a light bulb went off over his head, he quickly changed the bulb and thus El Franco Magnifico was born.  After winning his first match, a hard fought battle, he couldn't help but wonder how his family was doing, he had hoped they were doing as well as he was.  As the months went by he wrestled as often as he could, steadily climbing the ranks until it was time for the big match, against the man he had met months prior, the man who inspired him to become a luchador.

 He trained harder then he ever had before, when he got to the arena he was ready, he was confident, he was.............scared, for he was not prepared for what he saw when he got there.  The ring was surrounded by a swimming pool, it turns out the champ had discovered his fear and asked for the ring to be placed over the water.  The roar of the raucous crowd was drowned out by the knocking of his knees, he was frozen in the corner like he was almost frozen years ago, and as the bell rang the champ took advantage. Most of the match was a brutal one sided affair, everyone in the crowd was concerned, not for the fact that a middle aged man beating up a kid who was no more then 15 was illegal but because they weren't getting their money's worth. They started to boo, and his and throw things. El Franco Magnifico knew he was in trouble, he looked at the crowd, expecting to be hit with another projectile, but what he was hit with was the image of his sainted mother and father.

   They had come to watch his big match, after seeing this he blocked everything out and fought back.  He beat the champion from pillar to post, staggering him and finally knocking the hulking beast of a man down.  With his opponent weakened he climbed the top rope and jumped like he had never jumped before, falling as fast as he did when his siblings busted open his pinata bed he crashed onto his opponent and became the new Mexican heavyweight championship.  Caught up in his celebration and the admiration of the fans he fell into the water, but the fear was gone, and he swam, and he swam some more until he reached his parents, his father gave him that big familiar smile and placed a new sombrero on his head, it was still too big but he did not care.

 El Franco would go on to have a storied career, he was idolized by kids everywhere and statues were built in his honor, he retired into a secluded life and has not been heard from since, legend has it he was the voice of the Taco Bell dog but it was never confirmed. He kept in touch with his family when he could, and was there when they needed help,such as his sister Consuela the maid who had a lemon pledge addiction. His sister Dora would later become an explorer, his brother Hugo would win the lottery but leave on a trip to Australia and never be heard from for years, muttering on and on about some island. His mother and father would design their own line of spice dispensers, and even long after their death Salte and Pepe would be on the tables of people all over the world.

  ***No Mexicans were harmed in the making of this story............a lot were offended, but none were harmed****

A dog's life

 This is the story of a dog named Tocc, my father's faithful and loyal friend for the past 12 years.  Actually, we should have always included the number 2 in her name, as she was named in tribute to the first Tocc, and English setter and loving and loyal member of our family for 13 years.  After Tocc the first passed away my mom and dad were heartbroken, they had seen their kids grow and move away in the years prior so Tocc, and our other dog Bear(where my dog gets his namesake) were good company, who they could look after, and let's face it they probably kept the house cleaner then we did growing up.  When Tocc the first and Bear unexpectedly passed away in the year of 2001 there was a void in their home, and with that enter Tocc the second, another English Setter puppy that bore a frightening resemblance to Tocc the first, so much so that she would growl at the picture of Tocc the first that mom and dad had up on the wall, with that the picture had to come down for a while, as to ease the mind trip that was surely happening to the young Tocc the second.

  Tocc was immediately spoiled, and the love that was showered upon Tocc the first and Bear was easily transferred to her. She was an easy puppy to love, as they all are, content to nestle in your neck, and so easily amazed and curious at all the new things surrounding her, and like most puppies she couldn't wait to experience them, and in most cases pee on them.  While the dogs that came before would never be forgotten Tocc did what she could to fill the void, and gave back every bit of love that was doted upon her, the treats, well they were just a bonus.

   It was two years after Tocc entered the household that mom said goodbye after a long hard fight, and as much as you try to prepare for things like this, you can never truly prepare.  My dad, like all of us, and her friends lost a part of us that could never be brought back, and he now had to adapt to life on his own, but he was never truly alone, as Tocc made it her mission to make sure he always had company.  Dogs are a truly wondrous animal, they have an ability to sense a person's emotion like no animal I know.  There were times when Tocc, who would be in a completely separate room would sense dad when he was missing mom the most and would always run to his aid, jump in his lap, and give him a warm kiss on the cheek as if to say it would be okay, she was here.

  The bond between Tocc and dad grew ever stronger, she was more and more spoiled as time went on, it was the running joke of my brother Robbie and I that for supper Tocc would have steak while dad would have a hot dog, not knocking hot dogs, they are delicious, and I am sure Tocc would eat the hot dogs, hell she would eat the hot dogs and the steak, but dad never cared as long as she was looked after. Like most dogs, she tested the limits of what she could away, often defiling the place or chewing things while dad was working to support her expensive steak habit. Dad would scold her of case, and there would be multiple instances of her tucking her tail between her legs, but the steaks never stopped coming, and there was always a place on his lap for her to sit.

  Last October Tocc said goodbye to the home she grew up in, it was torn down to give dad a smaller, sleeker, more comfortable home.  I went out a couple of days before the house was torn down to say good bye and take any reminders I wanted, and I took Tocc with me to give dad a little more time to the the house full of so many memories, and the life he had built.  We were all looking forward to the change that was coming, and what it would mean for dad, little did we know that we would be getting more change then we bargained for.

  Tocc died this past Monday....... finally succumbing to a fight that she could never win.  She had developed a tumor on her mammary gland that if operated on would only buy her maybe six months at best, and because it never seemed to bother her, she was still so playful and full of energy, we just let her live out her days as comfortable as possible. Last week the infection set in, we took her to the vet on Friday thinking it was probably her last trip, but we were relieved to bring her home with some antibiotics with a promise to bring her back on Tuesday for a follow up, but on Monday she decided she didn't want to fight anymore. Dad and I were with her, what's funny to me is that she had stopped breathing while dad was in the bathroom, I lifted her head and she started to breath again just as dad came into the room. She would not go until she saw him, and fittingly he was the last thing she saw when she took her last breath.

  It is hard to see dad so lost, and it is hard to look over in the chair where we she so often laid, I take comfort in knowing she is not suffering anymore, and she is somewhere where there is a lot of bones and chew toys. I don't know if there is a dog heaven but I would hope that it is just one endless belly rub or ear scratch or one big field where she can run and play, rest easy pretty girl, thanks for taking care of dad.

Oh for the love of God

*may not be picture of actual pope*

                                                



   Today marked a historic day as the world has seen the election of a new pope.  The Cardinals(who choked in playoffs last year but get to decide a pope, go figure) came to a decision rather quickly, probably because they were locked in a room for days and one or more most likely had to use the bathroom.  After the pomp and circumstance that goes with the naming of a new pope, the world was introduced to Jorge Boogaloo who apparently is the cardinal of funk..........wait............what's that........not Boogaloo........can't even dance.......well this is embarrassing my sources are telling me that his actual name is Jorge Mario Bergoglio of Argentina.  Bergoglio is not only the first pope from the Americas, but he is also the first Jesuit pope, his people's legendary frugalness obviously and enticing factor for the Vatican to save money.  I imagine the new pontiff calling home to his stereotypical Jewish mother and instead of getting congratulations getting a condescending "How come you never call me anymore? Oh sure the big man, Mr. Pope, has no time for the woman who gave him life, Oi."

  In today's social media filled world, it is rare that news about such a big event doesn't slip out. I mean you can go on Facebook and see who is doing laundry and when but nobody, not even Tom Hanks, was able to get behind the walls and figure out who had the advantage.  The only way people could get updates was from the type of smoke that was coming from the conclave chimney. Now watching Lost has taught me that when a group of people in a tight location see black smoke, there is trouble coming and someone may not make it out alive. I can't help but wonder how intense these conclave elections get, I know that each cardinal drops a vote in to a big vat, but what if it is in fact the eliminated cardinals that are dropped in to the vats, hey the smoke has to come from somewhere and what better way to show that the Vatican means business then using the losers as firewood.

  There were a few main candidates being tossed around for consideration, and maybe literally, if the election got physical. One candidate was from Canada, Quebec if memory serves me correct, I hear he lost interest in the position when he was told he couldn't substitute Labatt's for holy water.  Another top contender was from Africa, and would have been the first elected pope of color, his strong love of Jesus rivaled by his strong love of fried chicken, he did not win any fans when he showed up with a blinged out crucifix, and diamond encrusted pimp stick.  Finally, another strong candidate was from America, I wanna say Boston, but honestly I am too lazy, though can you imagine a pope from Boston, "This is gonna be a wicked pahdy, let's get tanked..........Yankees suck."

  As I was saying before, it is rare in this modern work a day world where on old ritual still stands up at its basic core, and the process of picking a new pope has barely changed. One couldn't help but wonder if the Vatican changed with the times and went more modern, creating a reality game show as a way to choose a new pope. If it ever happened that I would be the one in charge of picking a new pope, that is what I would do, make a game of it, and here are a few of my ideas:

- The Amazing Grace: in which two cardinals race all over the world, first team who gets to the Vatican wins, then fight to the death, winner gets pope.

- So you think you can pope? Cardinals filled with love of Jesus and soul bust out dance moves in an attempt to impress the judges.

- Cardinal's got talent: cardinal's show off their unique talents to a panel of judges, which includes Howard Stern for some reason.

- Big Father: all the papal candidates are locked in a house surrounded by cameras, backstabbing and plotting commence until the last cardinal remaining is elected pope.

   In closing, I would like to congratulate the new pope, and give him props on taking the name Francis, cause now his name is like my name.  Being the leader of the Catholic church is certainly not easy, and he has a lot of questions to answer, can he restore trust in the church? Can he relate to a younger more modern group of people? Does he in fact poop in the woods? Only time will tell and for all he roadblocks he must face, he must remember one thing, he has an awesome hat now.

Diggin up bones

  Go ahead, try and read that title without singing digging up bones by Randy Travis. Go ahead, try and sing a Randy Travis song with out getting drunk and naked and driving your car down the road, you can't do it can ya? Maybe one of them, but not even Randy Travis can't do both of them.  Well, it has been a while since I did this, the amount of dust around this place suggests that it was September of last year since I wrote anything, okay it was the computer machine that tells me it was September, the amount of dust tells me I really need to clean more.  That is not to say that I never clean, in fact it was cleaning that brought me back here, and a discovery of an old blast from the past; although, really what else could a blast from the past be but old, it couldn't be a new blast from the future could it, unless Micheal J. Fox is at it again, and I hear these days his attempts at time travel are shaky at best(note to my two readers in Poland, don't worry if you don't understand that last joke, someday when you get 1980's American television you will understand).

  Today while cleaning out my closet (and not rapping about it like Eminem) I discovered a paper I wrote from my university days. As I perused the pages of yore a couple of things happened to me. First, I discovered that my grammar was pretty good back then, or the professor's grammar was terrible because she rarely corrected me for grammatical errors.  Secondly, the itch came back, now it might have been just all the dust causing the itch, or reminiscing about using massive amounts of hyperbole to make it seem like I knew what I was talking about, but whatever it was, it led me back to here.  I don't get weepy when I think back of the old days, in fact I didn't cry when my own father was hung for stealing a pig(by stealing a pig I mean taking the last piece of bacon during breakfast, and by hung I mean stared at disapprovingly). However, I did get to thinking about how times have changed since then, a time when the world had not yet crushed my spirits, just dampened them. It was a simpler time, Jean Chretien was prime minister, and much like his face he never moved from that position for a long time.  In America, kids went to school and shot basketballs and not each other, and I know you young people will by shocked by this one, but non-white people could fly without persecution.

  While thinking about where we've been, one can't help but wonder about where we are going, and what people will be like in the years to come.  You hear of many schools that plant time capsules, as a way for newer generations to see what the people who came before them were like, I hope for hope's sake that no teenager ever puts a screenshot of their Facebook page up, it will take a team of analysts to dissect the vagueness and passive aggressiveness of today's youth.  I asked myself if I were to ever create a time capsule, what would be somethings I would put in there, what would show people years or decades from now what it was like during my time, so here it is, a list of things I would leave:

- Bananas, just in case our future really is ruled by apes

- A T-shirt that reads "You dug all this way and all you got was this lousy T-shirt

- Twinkies, nothing outlives Twinkies.........except maybe Keith Richards, and no one wants to eat Keith Richards.........do they?

- Next, a pile of vomit after picturing Keith Richards

- A bomb, talk about a blast from the past

- Ben Stiller, not cause I want to have the people of the future to endure him, I just think he belongs in a box, deep deep underground.

 Finally, I would leave a letter hoping that they learned from our mistakes, I hope they found ways to abolish the evil things like poverty, war, and Oprah. I hope their kids weren't like a lot of today's kids and have respect for their parents, hey when my siblings and I did wrong we were chased by our stick wielding mom, and we turned out fine........except for our collective fear of sticks.

 Finding that paper today I was reminded of all the lessons that I learned coming up in this world, and I learned something else very important, I really really need to learn how to throw things away.