Trusty Dundas and Sherbourne. Holla if you’s holdin’ or a hoe!!

…what crime these three are accused of committing?

Hint: Others rounded up in the police sweep included a priest and a scout leader.

Here’s the answer: http://www.thestar.com/news/crime/article/903516–7-gta-men-arrested-in-international-child-porn-probe

And there you have it; stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason.

Okay, so before we begin, I have to come right out and say that this is an interactive blog post so I have to insert some caveats right up front.

First, make sure you’re physically able to perform a moderate jumping motion. To those of you who mock this warning, you’d be surprised. To those of you not surprised, I urge you to consult with a physician first.

Next, make sure you’re wearing comfortable athletic footwear and clothing and that the area around you is clear.

Stretch your calves, hamstrings, quadriceps, biceps, triceps, glutes, and anything else that stretches or jiggles. Especially if it jiggles.

Now get ready to do a little leaping!

Right down to a little village on the border between the U.S. and Mexico, a spec of mud on a dusty plain known as “concluçions”. The English pronunciation is, as usual, bastardized.

You see, in this lawless land, a man must carry the scales of justice in his own back pocket. I do. Nice, shiny set engraved by my pappy. And that can be a euphemism for whatever you like, darlin’.

I’m using the scales on old Vakhtang Makhniashvili and they’re tellin’ me this guy’s a scoundrel.

If you don’t know the guy, the original story or subsequent events, or how to pronounce his name, I can sum it all up for you in a paragraph.

The name is pronounced: “Vak-zHTeng-toænGgH   (K-CHT)   MЋë-Shnee-Shmia-Shmeely-Vooly”. The “K-CHT” is an optional clearing of the throat following the first name. He was initially famous because his daughter went missing from her high school just over a year ago (still no sign). And ‘cuz he stabbed someone ‘cuz the dude got too loud.

At that time people were all, like, “he’s under a lot of stress and he’s probably having trouble fitting in anyways on account of being an immigrant, and blah blah blabbidy blah.”

Well I ain’t from around these parts neither, missy, but I’ll tell you whut … that’s horse manure out where I come from.

So, daughter’s missing and he’s languishing in jail, seems like a crappy sitch, no? What I’m getting at is that I wouldn’t stab the people who bailed me out of there, ya know? Like he did to his neighbours, pretty much strangers until they put up the money.

So now Vakhtang’s stuck three people like so much spicy Georgian sausage and I’m starting to think to myself, hmm, you know, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit to think he might’ve stabbed his daughter too.

Is that such a far leap? I dunno, how did it feel for you?

Alls I’m saying is that most oftentimes, the obvious is correct. Occam’s razor et al. And speaking of knives, who told buddy that slashing your way out of a fight is the “in” way to resolve your differences? Knives can do a lot more damage than a pistol can so if you pull one in a fight, one of you is liable to not be walking away. Pretty sure that’s true anywhere in the world.

Stress? Pshyeah right! One stabbing, maybe … but three? Is this how he relieves stress? Well, fuck, I’m glad he’s not doing it for the sexual pleasure.

Basically, it’s summed up by that famous quote from George Bush:

“There’s an old saying in Tennessee – I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee – that says, stab me once, shame on – shame on you. Stab me – you can’t get stabbed again. Heh heh.”

Do you remember David Chen, the Chinatown grocer who kept getting ripped off by the same guy so he decided to make a citizen’s arrest? Except that the cops slapped the cuffs on David instead with bullshit charges like forcible confinement and kidnapping.

Nearly a year later, all the charges against David have been dropped.

Justice!

…continued from previous part.

Okay, it’s now been well over two weeks and I’m just about ready to put this puppy to bed.

But before I do, let me round out the G20 weekend for you, dear reader. Let’s start with the Black Bloc, the attention whores of the summit.  While I was trying to figure out who they are and where they came from, a few glaringly obvious pieces of evidence jumped out at me with a, “zut alors!”

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Doesn’t it seem like the west end is always getting new stuff?

Like just the other day they got new pay shitters. On top of the novelty of $0.25, self-cleaning toilets, residents get the added bonus of getting to watch tourists peepee dance as they hunt for change.

On the east end alls we got now is scrub brush, mounds of dirt, and a bunch of factories.

Kinda ironic considering this section of town predates the west end. And over there they’ve got the Island Airport which Porter Airlines has nicened up considerably (so far, it seems, not abusing their monopoly), the Music Garden, not to mention the Harbourfront Centre and all the artsy shit it barfs up on the shores of Lake Ontario.

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Newstalk 1010 is starting to grow on me again.

The downtown AM radio station was part of my regular morning schedule. I’d wake up, shove an energy drink into my face, and get good and worked up to Bill Carroll’s latest rant.

As the weekday morning guy, Bill was on top of local topics before most people, and he’d always deliver them with an abundance of vociferous opinion. Sometimes he’d be so wrong that I’d have to stand up in protest. At other times Bill would say something so accurate and poignant that I’d have to rise in support. Either way I’d be out of bed and into my day with a tank full of caffeine and indignation.

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Generally speaking, that’s a good rule. I usually just smile and ignore, but I was sucked into this one. Why? I offered my seat to a kid. Oi.

Two brothers, I dunno, ten and and eleven, were escorted to the back of the streetcar where I was sitting, by their dad. He sat them down and suddenly realized he’d forgotten to get transfers. The one kid was buzzing to look out the back of the car and he kneeled on the empty seat between me and the matronly, scraggly-haired woman on the other end. His dad sat him back down. Guess he thought the kid would be pestering us.

There were two empty seats across from me – the back  is a half-circle facing each other – so I offered to give the kid my seat. I knew the dad would want to sit with the kids anyways (correctomundo, btw), so I thought the kid might as well have a few seconds of fun gazing out the back of the streetcar. I loved looking out through the front of subway cars when I was young, so I get it. And I honestly didn’t see the harm. The boy was polite, he was obeying his dad, he was keeping his feet off the seats, backpack neatly to the side – damn if that kid didn’t deserve an ice cream sundae!

So shit, peeking through a greasy, filth-covered window for ten seconds seemed appropriate for a young man of that calibre.

Offered it to him twice. Twice he refused.

Scraggly-hair to my left says, “good for you!”, to him. “You listen to your dad!”

Okay, guess she had a point. But you know, not like he’s gonna roll up his sleeve, tie off a vein, and start hitting the dragon back there. Plus, potential weirdo ends up in a seat farther away from the kids. Where would be the downside?

Dad came back, seat gladly accepted. The opportunity was gone.

Oh well, the kid did refuse. And that should’ve been the end of it.

Scraggly-hair pointed at the kids and said to the dad, “You shouldn’t leave them alone like that here. This isn’t a safe neighbourhood.”

Internally, I begged to differ. Oddballs? Painful piercings? Imaginative body modifications? Yes, yes, and yes. Dangerous? No. But, this was still just between her and the three of them. :)

The dad replied, “I teach my sons well and they know how to handle themselves.”

The buzzing kid popped erect, beaming a smile, and immediately added, “We take the streetcar by ourselves all the time. We walk home, we take the subways, we take the buses. I know what to do if I get lost. On this streetcar, if I got lost, I would get off at St. Andrew Station and …”

It went on for another five minutes with the other boy interjecting excitedly in sporadic bursts to further heighten the tales of their prowess. The dad finally stopped them when they got on the subject of late-night taxi rides (if only he’d let them look out the window).

“You never know who’s around them down here. All sorts of people”, responded scraggly-hair after a short pause. “It’s just not safe.”

Then she looked over at me. For fucks’ sake!!

“I didn’t mean to imply that you’re a criminal”, she explained sheepishly.

Steady, old boy, I thought to myself. Not a problem, a broad smile and that’ll be my reply. No problem. I never felt myself to be a criminal, so ho harm no foul. And no statement. :)

“But don’t you think it’s dangerous?”, still looking at me. :(

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Did you ever see Purple Rain? You know, the one with Prince — or the more endearing TAFKAP, as he’s now known? I didn’t either. Well, kind of … I vaguely remember a scene in which Prince was on stage, dolefully strumming out some sort of thin-moustached melodrama, and in the foreground were a couple of people talking about him, and to dissuade the one from approaching Prince the other said, ”He’s in one of his moods again.” Maybe I’m thinking of the Princess Bride. That was a good movie :)

Anyhow, I believe I’m in one of those moods today. It was one of those lurching days in which clarity decides to rear its ugly head – a light was cast on a vexing situation that’s been festering on my mind for a few months and – to be blunt – both shocked and pissed me right off. I probably shouldn’t go into detail because I have a feeling I’ll be wielding the business end of legal prosecution pretty soon; I can think of no other word than fraud, or something very close to it. Certainly some very odd dealings that I just can’t explain. You know? Stuff just doesn’t add up, like 1 and 1 is supposed to equal FF in hexadecimal. Yeah, that’s not even the same numbering system.

There are lots of fiddly little details that, hopefully, I’ll be able to share once it’s all done with. I think they’d make good reading if you have a few minutes on the shitter (get a netbook—best investment ever ;)). However, droning on about some vague misdoing is boring my tits off and I know the details, so let’s let’er rest a while there.

Besides, some things don’t need to be discussed because they kinda stare you in the face, you know?

Take the story about a young mother who was murdered in her car while tending to her two-year-old daughter. Yep, no way to put a frilly ribbon on that story; shot right in front of her little girl. The story is tragic no matter how you spin it; that kid’s just been handed a life sentence. Who’d argue with that?

But just beneath the surface there are things that aren’t quite right.

To begin with, Detective Sergeant Pauline Gray is quoted as saying, “I think the careful thing is not to look for a reason, because as far as I’m concerned, there is no reason.”

Did I read that right? The careful thing is not to investigate the motive because there isn’t one? Okay, well, for an officer to be making extrajudicial pronouncements at a press conference probably isn’t a great idea, but it also shows that the good Detective has been compromised. Clearly am emotional basket case. Hey, can’t blame her, but don’t we owe the mother and kid a proper, thorough, and unbiased investigation? The careful thing to do is to look for a reason, because as far as I’m concerned, there’s always a reason. I believe that’s the difference between first and second-degree murder — planning requires a purpose, or a reason, as they call it out west.

I also subscribe to Occam’s Razor which bluntly states that the simplest and most direct explanation is usually the correct one. Don’t over-complicate shit, I believe, is the original expression. If she had a jilted ex-husband, my odds are on him. But there’s another possibility; please allow me to connect a few dots…

She’s from Columbia where her parents still live. Upon moving to Toronto, she started a successful container shipping company. Initially she was sending a container or two a year (was that enough to live on?), but recently business had picked up to the sum of one or two per month. To and from South American countries. Do we need the white connecting lines here?

Okay, that’s just rampant coke-fuelled speculation, but any investigator worth their salt should be knee-deep in blow by now. To dismiss some possibilities because they may harm the reputation of the deceased person does them a disservice. And the little girl too. Even if some dark details are revealed, who knows what the circumstances were around those details?

If you’re a keener and read the story, you’ll note that I took most of the drug runner scenario from the Star piece. Almost verbatim, except that I took out a bunch of expletives. I still don’t know why The Star swears so much, it’s really off-putting. But the facts remain about the same. Possibly manufactured for my benefit. However, I still stand by my argument that a thorough and unbiased lookseeinto is the way to go.

It’s the same with the McCormack case. That’s the former police chief’s son (and also a cop), accused of pulling money from club and bar owners in exchange for favours. Hehe, no, not sexual ones. Although, you know, I shouldn’t judge … who knows? Definitely the accusation of money exchanging hands for services of some sort (no, no jokes about hand services, that’d be crude and never proven in a court of law). Impropriety on the one side, corruption on the other, but either way it was looking meaty.

I guess we’ll never know for sure how meaty because the case was thrown out of court for taking too long. If proceedings extend for five years, I believe, the court is obliged to remove them from before its just gaze. “And don’t let the door hit you on the way outtay”, in Latin.

Wow, my head’s really gone over to the lawyer side of the force. Maybe I’ve been spending my time in that headspace for too long and now I just zero in on any little litigious thing I see. I probably just need a good sleep – I mean, who knows, maybe I’ll dream up an out of court settlement. Or maybe cast a dark habeas corpus upon them from my slumber — the sleeping subconscious mind has mysterious powers, possibly even occult. I guess that path will be determined by my mood. Prince or Princess Bride?

Bill Carroll implored me not to rush to judgement about the Toronto Humane Society scandal as I was throwing my clothes on this morning. I silently promised I would, but I have to be honest, my happy side disappears pretty readily when I hear about people abusing animals. It’s like beating up on kids or midgets; I don’t need to explain why that’s wrong. And I’m pretty sure most people would agree with me.

The scandal centers mostly around allegations of abuse and mistreatment of the animals in the King Street shelter:

You know, all the sad-eyed kitties and puppies that make me wanna punch whoever hurts them in the friggin’ face!! How does that feel, huh?! HUH?!

*breathe deep*

*exhale slowly*

…

Everything’s good! :D

So yeah, I really don’t approve of that kind of behaviour. But Bill brought up a good point, many of these animals are brought to the shelter in this state. Of course some of them will look abused, that’s why they’re here. And yes, sadly, some of them die or have to be put down because their injuries are too serious. The shelter makes no secret of this:

However, three things have come together that make me look at the situation with a whole lotta suspicion.

First is my own, albeit single, interaction with the Humane Society in Durham. The facilities were nice, the animals healthy and clean, so nothing bothered me on that end. But the staff, I dunno, didn’t really seem to care a whole lot about animals. And I thought it was odd that they seemed to be dissuading me from taking home a cat: “that one’s not very friendly, that one’s very sick, she’s blind and tends to break stuff, he’s had the most vile diarrhea for months…” In some cases, the conditions for adopting a pet seemed a bit steep: no going outside, no interactions with other animals going outside, no other animals altogether, no flats, no rural homes, no children, no balconies, and a few other things.

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