http://news.ontario.ca/mto/en/2012/02/statement-from-minister-bob-chiarelli-on-public-transit-in-toronto.html

…continued from previous part.

One of the most iconic images of the G20 riots a couple of weeks ago was the that of the burning police car. You know the one:

… Continue Reading

Out of TCL’s loyal following of at least three readers (hi mom!), I’ve recently received a comment that made me think that I need to clarify things a little. It has to do with veracity; the veracity of these posts. The truthicity of the blog.

In other words, do I make stuff up to fill in the spaces between the photos?

The answer to that is complex. I like to think of the question as an open-ended one, like religion or Marxism. Or the purpose of the chicken in crossing the boulevard. So the answer is, yes, I make up nonsensical sentences to sandwich between photos. Or are they so sensical that they’re BLoWINg yOuR MiNd?!

Okay.

However, I only make up stuff real-sounding stuff when it’s easy to verify as being made up. Like me being friends with George Clooney. I mean, if anyone took that seriously … I found that jerk passed out on my couch one Saturday morning, the whole place trashed, underwear of every gender on everything, I don’t know how many condoms on the living room table; I told him, if he’s gonna self-destruct, he’s not taking me out with him. He basically spat in my face for an answer. Friends, we are not.

Anyhow, I don’t feel it’s fair to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes when I talk about the day. If it was boring, I’ll just resort to writing a post in which I explain the factuality of the blog or some crap like that.

To confess, I do sometimes embellish. A little. A difficult woman with a large heinie may, for example, be described as a backside as gelatinous and stark as shrieking horror itself. But I don’t think the embellishment’s that extreme. And I think it helps get the point across: that the big-bummed woman was unpleasant.

I guess it’s the high school semester I spent hunched over the junior writer’s / gofer’s desk at the prestigious Scarborough Mirror, but that *umph* for journalistic integrity stuck with me. Journalistic integrity with irritable bowels. Sometimes uncomfortable and cramped, but relax and it’s party time in your pants.

So, since I’m on the ugly truth thing, I guess I should come clean about something. I didn’t care to see Natalie Portman today because something distracted  me. And it had something to WITH THIS!!

… no, wait. WITH THIS!!

To begin with, what’s with the giant blogTO plug? Who nibbled on who’s private parts to get that in there? This is the kind of thing that makes my inner journalist vomit internally.

Can you imagine TCL in print on the street? What a rude way to use to use a dead tree. Seriously.

Then, you’ve got this teeny-tiny format tabloid newsed-paper that looks suspiciously like the National Enquirer. It’s being handed out at strategic locations by … not my words … retro-branded “Newsies”. I shed a tear every evening watching them stand there on the corner pretending like the thirties are relevant to anyone. And for the dumb hats they have to wear.

When you visit the website of the paper, it’s suspiciously void of any information. Owned and operated by “three Torontonians”? That narrows it down to everyone here. Seems shifty. Real shifty.

And with all the free publications around town, t.o.night is stepping into a snug alley. I’m pretty sure that Now Magazine and Eye Weekly aren’t above administering a mugging.

Good luck, t.o.night. Because there’s an ass-kicking scheduled for t.o.morrow.

Alas, dear reader, I also have my slow days.

Aside from the production being shot across the street from me…

…it’s been a drab day. It’s kinda soggy and April-y and it’s still that time of year when it’s better to stay indoors with a couple of kick-ass kung fu flicks and something nice and warm to drink. Or do something else to keep oneself warm. I certainly hope the cast and crew of  “The Bridge” brought their galoshes.

Hmmm. I guess I just broke news on that, didn’t I? It’s Canadian made so … that’s … always … something … isn’t … it? (face grimacing with discomfort). I’m hoping it’ll be good, let’s just leave it at that.

But what I really wanted to do was to go on a little excursion into the local news to do some skimming between the headlines. Of course, a link is presented to each story, but I’m pleased to summarize them all for you as well as to boil them down to their essential component in the true and neighbourly spirit of brevity. Also, so I have something to write.

National Post -> Flu fears halt travel plans for Some Canadian schools

Summary: This one time, at band camp, they cancelled our trip because of an outbreak. So the tuba player…

One word: mild.

Toronto Star -> Can 56 angry Tamils save one girl’s life?

Summary: Seriously? You could only find twenty Tamils? Did no one bother to look outside the window or, like, lift their head up when walking home? You’re here, they’re here. Jeez.

One word: seriously?

Toronto Sun -> This is prepared?

Summary: Durham region: memories of short-longs, “racing” pickups with flames down the sides, and the smell of freshly turned manure in the mornings. Here’s Port Perry. OH FUCK! THEY LET THINGS SLIP! THE VIRUS IS EVERYWHERE! PORT PERRY FUCKED US ALL! — Calm down, Michelle. Take a deep breath. Everythying’s going to be okay.

One word: chill

Globe and Mail -> Not just us: Cockatoos have rhythm too

Summary: Rhythmic spasms in avian species are the primary indicator of Avian Influenza. Look like Mexican parrots too!

One word: fluff

I know, it’s all fluff. But that’s okay, it’s a fluffy kind of day.

Now I’m going to retire to my fluffy pillow to think fluffy thoughts. Perhaps to masturbate. We’ll see where the evening takes us.

I suggest you do the same (take your pick); unless it’s sunny outside where you are, in which case get the hell outta here!

Why is the weather report such a secret?

It really doesn’t matter which station you watch; CTV, City, Global, Omni; there’s an incredible coverup underfoot to hide the truth about the weather from the public. How in the world was this conspiracy allowed to happen?!

Need proof? Just think to the last time you watched the 11 o’clock news…

…but, sadly, the kitten couldn’t be saved.

Tragic story.

It certainly is, Anne. Now we switch over to Michael to tell us what the weather will be like tomorrow. Michael?

Thanks, Gord. I’ll be telling you all about the doozie of a weekend we’ll be having. But first, here’s Kathryn Humphreys with the sports, and I must say, Kathryn, you look like you’ve gained some muscle.

Sure have, Michael. But enough about me. The Leafs. Whole team: dead. Plane crash. More after the messages…

Yadda yadda. Buy stuff, etc. Back to the news…

…police are now looking for the fugitive infant. If you have any tips, call Crime Stoppers. Gord?

Thanks, Dwight. Boy, is it me or are they getting younger and younger?

Hard to understand. Now we go over to Michael with the weather. How’s our weekend shaping up, Michael?

Well, Anne. It was looking a bit dodgy around noon but from the data we’re receiving from our two-hundred-thousand weather stations around the GTA, I would revise my earlier estimate. Things are going to change drastically!

Uh oh! Sounds ominous, Michael. Or is it swinging to extreme good weather?

Well, Anne, now you know I can’t tell you at this moment otherwise I’d have to sneak into your bedroom while you sleep and place a single drop of poison on your lips via a suspended thread, being held by me, a vague shadow somewhere on your ceiling. That is, if I was even there at all. It’s not like I would leave any evidence behind. How about I tell you the full weather picture after the commercial?

Sounds good, Michael. Please join us after the commercial break as we unveil the weather forecast for your weekend.

I’m pretty sure I missed a couple of breaks and segments in there, but you get the idea.

When the weather finally comes, it’s an orgasmic explosion of weather facts. Michael tosses them to the camera benevolently. Ahhh. Now, at long last, we will know whether to hang on for one more weekend or just end it all on Friday.

Wow. Imagine the power in that guy’s groin. He’s probably the belle of the ball everywhere he goes. Women would go to great lengths just to spend one night with him and, perhaps, bring news of the following week’s weather back to their people.

How was this allowed to happen? The weather should be free for everyone! We should all have the right to know whether to wear galoshes or sandals to work tomorrow.

Or tune into the Weather network where they apologize out their ass for not having that shit in front of you, on a silver platter, every ten minutes.

Stone cold pimpin’