The Amazing Atheist - It's Only Sexist When Men Do It

How very sad. How very true.

Two legs and a vagina - good.

Three legs bad.

Faith No More - We Care A Lot (Video)

Sometimes, I feel like singing this song out quite loud.

Because there are days when the world really could piss you off.

The Occasional Rant: Bummertime

So here I sit in my living room all alone again, naturally.
Typing away like a confused madman,
while the heat rises up to my crib from the floorboards.

A year ago I would've chilled with my woman,
made plans to go some place where we could see boats going by
into the North Atlantic Blue.

But this summer is different.
I no longer have a woman in my life.
Not that I'm complaining.

And it isn't as if I could've lived my life better.
Yes, I would've lived it better,
but what's done is done and can't be undone.
So I'm learning to do it better every day,
one day at a time.

I've had my relapses - yes I'm human and I can stumble.
I can be articulate but I can also mumble.
I can think of bigger things to happen
but instead I prefer to be at least humble.

So I'm moving on and looking forward
even though it will not go beyond the next hour or two.
At this time it's way past my bedtime
since I ended my shift at quarter-past-two.

But here is something that you should know.
I am here. Here to play. Here to stay.
I'm neither robot, superman nor demigod,
demagogue, religious fanatic, right-wing douchebag,
nor liberal ass-lick, hate-baiting psycho-blogger
who spends virtually most of his time online
reading other people's blogs, watching silly viral vids
or downloading the latest album/tv show/movie via torrent.

I'm just your average, poverty-stricken,
mellowed-out, aging, balding, horny
and thoroughly diabetic romantic hater
who's looking forward to either a decent summer
or a bummer of a summer.

I'm for real. I'm not a bot.
If you see me around and about
on the streets of Halifax, Bedford,
Sackville or Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, Canada,
say hi, whassup, yo, dude when you can,
for I do exist.

There's at least one thing I cannot change
and that's my anger at things that are sometimes
beyond my control,
things that I should've done,
things that I shouldn't have done,
things that others shouldn't do
and the lies presented as truth.
Thank god I can still write.

Right about now, I'm beyond tired.
Shall I crash or catch a second wind?
I'll soon find out.

Have a great summer. Stay tuned, Romantic Haters.

The Occasional Rant: As True As It Is Now As It Was Then

Over 2 years ago I posted this ranting on a CBC forum. I believe that it still makes a lot of sense.

So here we go...

On any given day, you can ask any Canadian celebrity on what Canada and being Canadian means. Almost all of them were reading from the same book of peace, love, diversity and socialized medicare.

But all of them miss the point.

This country started out as a cash cow for the ancient tribal empires until more people moved in and slowly displaced the First Nations who were there since Day One.

We did have a bloody history. We had slavery. We had our spats with the ingrates to the South. Had we been more tenacious, the Alamo would be flying the Maple Leaf (or maybe the Fleur-de-lys).

But we prefer our wide open spaces, the freedom to roam and the ability to invent - and re-invent - ourselves.

Sadly, I would hear people take pride in what we're not, as in "We're not as cold-hearted as Americans" or "We have a better health system, not like the Americans". Because for the most part, we have descended from Americans - United Empire Loyalists who believed that Mad King George had the better idea than George Washington or Ben Franklin.

But let's not nitpick over technicalities. Canada is still a young nation... in fact, more of a concept rather than a nation. Canadian is a state of mind, rather than a nationality. The land, like its contemporary society, is a mosaic. Each province and territory is a nation in its own right. We work, create, procreate and sometimes deviate in our own way.

But most of all, we live.

We are humans living in a land that that was cultivated by the First Peoples and bound by Celtic ferocity and tenacity, Gallic pride and joie-de-vivre, Anglo-Saxon resolve and good old American know-how.

Collectively, we can be the mouse that roars, the gentle giant, the silent beacon of hope.

Yet we are not perfect. Our medicare costs money. Some people carry ancient grudges and use our freedom to stoke their fires. And our politicians try to be everything to everyone, satisfying no-one.

But as long as the human species remains flawed and the polar icecaps keep melting, I am and shall always be a Canadian.

I'd like to hear one of our celebrities come up with something better.

Even to this day, I never hyphenate myself: there's no point or logic to hyphenation. A man is either this or that, black or white, alive or dead.

In the end, being a Canadian means simply being, in the here-and-now, in Canada.

Happy Canada Day, Romantic Haters.

If Osama bin Laden is dead, why am I not drinking with Satan?

On September 11, 2001, I woke up in Esquimalt, BC to get ready for another day at work. I got myself tuned to CBC Radio because at the time Victoria’s morning DJ’s were a little on the lame side, and I needed something a little more intelligent.

It was then when I heard news of the Pentagon and the World Trade Center being attacked. And I thought to myself, “Great. Now my day is complete.”

Actually, it didn’t really start of that way. I woke up hearing President Bush railing against evil foreigners on American soil and how they were going to face retribution. And I thought to myself, “Great. Another fucking day in Paradise.”

So I got washed up, dressed up and walked all the way to the ship where I had to train all these sailors-to-be. And as soon as I got aboard I headed off to the main cafeteria where virtually every lower-deck denizen was glued to the tv screen showing a blazing WTC building. Then a huge jet plane swooped into another building. Minutes later, they fell. And I thought to myself, “Great. The End Times are here.”

From that point on, Osama bin Laden killed my buzz, divided peoples, triggered wars and exposed the dark side of a religion that can only be explained – and worshipped in – Arabic.

And now, 9 years, 7 months and 21 days later, justice has been meted out.

Or has it.

Before we high five each other, drink ourselves silly and have dogs and cats living together, allow us to think real carefully about what may, or may not, have transpired.

According to news reports, US special forces (or it could be JTF2, Spetznaz or Mossad – these things don’t necessarily happen on their own) raided a compound in the little Pakistani hamlet of Abbotabad where they encountered a firefight. In the end, bodies were carried out, identified, then disposed according to Islamic customs.

Now, if you were the president of the Most Powerful Nation of the World, you would do anything to see someone like bin Laden tagged-and-bagged, dead or alive.

If you were the World’s Most Wanted Person. you would pull out all stops to make like a hole in the water.

Now let’s extend that a little further. Let’s suppose if you were a world leader who appeared to be getting it from the Left, the Right and even the Centre for attempting to be everything to everyone and pleasing no-one in the process, whose approval ratings were sinking faster than the Titanic, whose country’s economy was showing signs of multiple-personality disorder and whose detractors were demanding to see your birth certificate, baptismal record and signs of your first bowel movement in the country of your birth, you would do anything to gain their trust, confidence and respect.

And let’s suppose if you were the World’s Most Feared Terrorist Leader who was sick and tired of being sick and tired of running and doing nothing, who claimed to have united a religion yet because of greedier warlords had fractured itself further and wanted to pull just one more big operation before succumbing to kidney failure, you would do anything to attain anywhere close to Godhood.

The events leading up to bin Laden’s demise, and his eventual burial at sea, appear too good to be even remotely credible.

The least intelligent amongst the masses would celebrate in the streets.

The more intelligent civilians would acknowledge the feat, yet remain vigilant.

The more intelligent and sceptical would demand answers right from the start.

But it will always be the cynics amongst us asking, “What?”

I can count myself as one of these cynics.

Is bin Laden really dead? Did he really wanted to go out as a Shaheed? Was he willing to risk his life by living at a relatively open mansion? Was it really his corpse getting dumped into the sea?

Or was it all make believe?

Could Osama have used many different body-doubles so he could make a safe, hasty exit?

Could Barack Obama have staged the whole operation to prove to the sceptical world that he is a true leader of his nation?

Did all this stuff really happen?

If I were Osama, I would make sure nobody would get me, dead, alive or otherwise.

If I were Barack, I would make sure that I have Osama right in front of me, dead, alive or otherwise.

If everything did happen, and if the stories were true, then given the way sectarian wars go, things will get ugly.

If everything were a lie, things will get ugly.

I guess that’s the way God wants it .

But suppose Osama’s really dead. If that were the case, I’d be having breakfast with the Devil, for He wouldn’t stand the eventual competition.

Even Satan has feelings, too.