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That's Canada

February 16, 2007 @ 08:23

The story of Stephen Fernandes is so Canadian. He's the stupid 23 year old kid who was caught pissing on the National War Memorial in Ottawa last summer.

On Wednesday, he had the charges against him dropped, and this has caused a bit of an uproar. Many believe he should be used as an example to other to not denigrate any National Monuments, let alone a war memorial.

But hey folks, this is Canada. We don't act in extremes. If this had happened in the United States this kid would down in Gitmo stark naked and barking like a dog for the amusement of any soldier who took offence.

But not in Canada. In Canada, Fernandes' lawyer actually used intoxication as an excuse. He was so drunk he didn't know what he was doing, and to some extent the judge actually bought it which is dangerous because it could provide a convenient precedent for the next guy who gets nailed for drunk driving. It's crazy, but that's Canada.

But here's what makes the story truly Canadian. Apparently Fernandes donated 200 dollars to a veteran's hospital and then went directly to a Canadian Legion where he apologized to veterans. The veterans thanked him for his donation to the hospital, and then readily accepted his apology with approval that charges be dropped.

That is really Canadian - forgive and forget - and in a twisted way I guess veterans feel they went to war to preserve the right for stupid kids to piss on whatever they want.

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What A Prick

February 6, 2007 @ 17:22

And speaking of commercials is there a worse one on right now than the Tim Horton's hockey spot featuring the Asian family?

What the hell is that all about? It's got to be the stupidest bloody commercial I've ever seen. It raises so many questions.

First of all, why is the old man such a prick? Secondly, when the old man arrives at the rink and the conversation starts, do they actually expect us to believe that the son had no idea his father knew what hockey team he played for or what position he played?

Who paid the kids registration? Who bought his goddamn equipment? And if it wasn't the old man, why would they make a commercial "based on a true story" about such a miserable old bastard.

And there's another part that bugs me. The flashback part when the old man sneaks into the rink to watch his kid's game. Why is he hiding? What kind of a fuckin' loser doesn't want his son to see him at his hockey game? From what we gather, the kid would have been thrilled for dad to be there, but this crusty old arshole wouldn't give an inch.

Listen, I'm not a big fan of Tim Horton commercials to begin with, I think most of them are stupid - including the current one about the berries - but this hockey spot has got to be the all time worst.

"Based on a true story?" The story of a king sized prick!

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Trouble At The Border or The Bra Caper

February 2, 2007 @ 16:12

Yesterday my sweet wife Delyse and I drove to Niagara Falls, New York. We went to that godforsaken Outlet Mall on Military Rd.
The main reason for going was to buy Delyse some bras. Apparently she really likes the ones they sell over there and can't find the same thing in Canada. Yesterday she bought six which totaled about 120 U.S.

Problem is, you can't just visit for a few hours and haul 120 dollars worth of anything back, let alone bras.

But that wasn't all. I went into Old Navy and they had these sweatshirty things on sale for 3.99. Unbelievable, so I bought five.

And then there was underwear for my son Danny, and just before we left we whipped into the Gap and my wife bought two pairs of Capri pants for 11 dollars each.

This was a lot of stuff for a two hour visit, so we had to plan our strategy for get back across the border. With a little consultation from a clerk at Old Navy, we decided rather than lie completely and say we had nothing, we would claim the cheap things and cram the bras in the trunk underneath the thing that covers the spare tire.

Everything seemed fine as I approached the border - and when I volunteered to the fine gentleman in the booth that I had indeed bought some shirts which amounted to a grand total of 40 dollars he seemed satisfied.

But then it was obvious he was taking too much time and he was scribbling something on a piece of paper. And then he handed it to me. It was a yellow piece of paper, and he told me to pull ahead and make a sharp left and someone would inspect what I had bought.

Shit! What if they look in the trunk? Shit! They were going to find the tit-slings.

I pulled up to the office and I went inside with the sales slips hoping this would be enough, but unfortunately it wasn't enough. The guy inside told me to wait by the car and someone would come out to have a look at what I had bought.

As I went outside almost directly on my heels was an inspector and even though I opened the back door of the car to show him the bags I had claimed, he had something else in mind, he asked me to open the trunk. Shit! He was going to find the over-shoulder-boulder holders.

At that point my mind scattered. I had never been in this situation before and I didn't know what was going to happen. If he lifted the spare tire cover what would the consequences be? Would I be arrested? Or was it just a fine? And if it was a fine, how much is the fine? Jesus Christ, why did she need new boobie traps in the first place?

But then, as I opened the trunk, I heard a wonderful thing. "Freddie P?" I looked at the inspector and he had a big smile on his face.

"You're Freddie P. aren't ya"

"Yes" I said. "I'm Freddie P."

"Nice to meet you Fred" he said. "What are you up to these days?"

"Not much" I said. In my mind I was thinking, not much besides smuggling lingerie into Canada from the United States.

The inspector was a great guy, gracious and polite. He told me he'd been listening to me since the early 80's and he once went to a CFNY Wankee game in Lewiston, he loves Peter Griffin and he loved CFNY's music and he was just plain happy I'd stopped by. Then he glanced inside the trunk, but he never lifted the tire cover.

I was a free man, and Delyse escaped with her 12 cups. And I will never "not" declare anything again.

*Portions of the above are fictional to amuse the reader.

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Personal Training Brampton Style

January 30, 2007 @ 16:02

Since the beginning of the New Year I've been visiting my local Brampton recreation centre to use an elliptical machine, and it's been very amusing. I won't name the facility t to protect the obese.
Like any city run rec centre they have all kinds of programs and one of the programs they offer is personal training. It's not cheap, about 450 bucks for 15 half hour sessions.

It wasn't until yesterday that I actually saw one of these "personal training" sessions taking place and it was all I could do from running out, grabbing a camera crew and shooting some of it for the Comedy Network.

I can't even remember what the trainee looked like, but the "trainer" was a sight to be hold. She was five-foot-nothin' with broken hair (Mike Stafford term) bad teeth and undersized spandex. A real Brampton Sal. (Another Stafford term)

The most shocking characteristic was her gut; it stuck out further than her tits. And watching demonstrate stomach crunches to her student was hilarious. Every time she leaned forward, or attempted to, she let out a grunt and her eyes bugged out.

From my perspective, the student who paid the dough appeared to be in much better shape than her trainer, and that was played out during the cardio portion when the trainer ran out of breath long before the student.

It was funny - however I know that anyone who knows me will be reading this shaking their head wondering how I could make fun of a woman whose gut sticks out farther than her tits, when I'm a man whose tits stick out further than his gut.

The difference is I'm not a personal trainer. However after what I saw yesterday, I might give it some thought.

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Saved By Jen, Ed And Ralph

January 1, 2007 @ 12:02

Turned out to be a fascinating New Years Eve for Delyse and I. First we had something to eat, then about 8:30 we went upstairs, threw ourselves on the bed and got into some power watching.

First we watched a movie called "The Breakup" with Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston.

I know it's old but I never got around to watching it till last night. It was an alright time waster with the highlight being the nude scene where Jennifer walks out of her bedroom, into the kitchen and back. Her bum is marvelous.

After that I watched portions of two shows that made my stomach turn. The CBC's idea of a big celebratory night was two comedy specials - the first being the Royal Canadian Air Farce and the second being Ron James stand-up act called Ron James Takes the West or something like that.

Anyway, they both stunk. Ron James is a nice guy and I've met him several times, but his stand-up does nothing for me. Check that, less than nothing, in fact it aggravates me. Is he trying to be a hoser or a farmer or a retard - I'm still not sure what that character is supposed to be. All I know is my buddy Doug can get more laughs out of me standing in my kitchen with a couple of beers in him.

And the Air Farce? We've held "national inquiries" in this country many times regarding many subjects - there has to be national inquiry into how this show continues to be produced. Questions need to be asked.

Like - how, why, what, who's paying for it, who's watching it, who's writing it, who told Luba Goy she's funny? On and on and on. Last night was so flat and so unfunny I can't believe they wasted the video tape.

When I think of all the good young comics I've seen and met in this country - including and a guy like Russell Peters - it blows me away that money is still being spent on the Air Farce. Once and for all please kill it.

And I know what you're thinking. If you're so repulsed by this stuff why do you watch it? Good question. I've always been this way with the Air Farce. I find it so unbelievably bad I'm drawn to it. I have to see what's coming next just to fully appreciate how bizarre it is that a show this horrid can survive for what seems like forever.

Anyway I spent just over an hour watching this Canadian garbage before watching the ball drop in Times Square. And then miraculously the night was saved.

WPIX New York started a Honeymooners Marathon at midnight. By the third episode I was cleansed of the Air Farce experience and I fell into my first deep sleep of 2007.

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Jen and Me

December 24, 2006 @ 11:40

When I was in Cleveland a few weeks ago with my buddy Bruce we were looking at a display of "Rolling Stone" magazine covers.

On the cover of one, the date escapes me, was Jennifer Aniston. It's the one where she's naked and lying on her tummy - the focal point of the picture is her absolutely perfect bottom.

I stood there for a few moments taking it all in and finally Bruce came over to me and said "you really like her don't you pal?"

I responded in the affirmative while Bruce put his arm around my shoulder and gazed upon the beauty of Jen along with me.

What a pleasant surprise yesterday when I opened a gift from Bruce and his lovely wife Lisa. It was a back issue of GQ Magazine from December of last year. The one you can see attached to this posting. Sweet little Jenny is on the front cover

It was the perfect gift for a fella such as I, yet at the same time it's frustrating. It's frustrating that I'm in Brampton while Jen's in Los Angeles hurting from being dumped by Brad Pitt and screwed around by Vince Vaughn.

It's frustrating to know that with just a little help from Mr. Fate, Jennifer and I could be brought together and once united I could become the man she so desperately desires.

The man who would treat her properly and not dump her for next beauty that comes along. The man who would consider and appreciate her traits, her habits and her nuances while devoting every waking moment to her needs. Yes indeed it's frustrating.

It's frustrating that she is there and I am here and with just a few minor adjustments, like me leaving my wife and kids, losing 60 pounds, having major head reconstruction, and finding a large cage she'll be comfortable in, we could be together forever.

We could be one.

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October 16, 2006 @ 10:18

It happened on Friday afternoon. My wife talked me into going to IKEA with her to look for a dresser. It was the usual shit.

I like to go to those places and get in and out as fast as I can, but my professional shopper wife likes to stroll and browse and think and compare and analyze and inquire.

Anyway, after about two hours of walking through the IKEA maze we exited to the restaurant area.

I've got to be honest, I've never paid much attention to the restaurant area because usually I'm in such a goddamn hurry to get out there not even food can slow me down.

But this time was different. As we emerged I saw a big poster promoting ten Swedish Meatballs with your choice of soup or salad and a drink. All for $5.49.

The temptation was too much. I was hungry and I love meatballs and they looked good on the poster and I had never eaten at freakin' IKEA before so I asked my darlin' if she wanted something to eat….. half kidding.

How surprised was I when she said yes. It was quite the dining experience.

We entered the restaurant by walking across an Arden Ruda Rug and grabbed an Arda serving tray before placing our order.

The woman behind the counter scooped our meatballs out of a Skanka Pot with a Delikat ladle and placed them on our Dinera Series plates. She then handed us our Parad cutlery and told us to go sit down on an Alfon chair, which was pushed under a Bjorna table which was under a Cesium ceiling spotlight. When I sat down, I almost banged my head on a Bjarnum shelf.

Silly me, no sooner had I sat down I had to get up again. I forget to fill my Rund glass with some diet Coke
After we ate we scraped our garbage into a Flarke waste bin and headed for the exit.

It was at that point that an otherwise bearable afternoon became stressful. As we were leaving the store that dog with the big pecker from the Ikea Catelogue came out of nowhere and humped my leg - and he left a mess.

Lucky for me, we had purchased some Nackten towels so clean-up was quick and efficient. But not before I chopped the fuckers balls off with a Exklusivt meat cleaver

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FreddieP's Graceland Tour

August 16, 1977 @ 15:30

There are eleven installments. They are all short so you don't have to invest a lot of time in this.
Hit the first video, and when it's complete, hit the next one. And so on, and so on.

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