Rob Ford and Pals
Ladies and Gentlemen, by now you’ve heard the rumour that Rob Ford, mayor of Toronto, has been caught on video smoking crack (and wearing unbecoming clothing). The owner of the video wants $100,000 for it, apparently not figuring that Ford would have that much hush money handy. That’s only three cents from each Canadian, so I thought it would make a nice exercise in national unity for us all to band together and buy this thing.
I sensed a need. I filled it.
Ladies and Gentlemen, presenting the IndieGoGo fundraiser: Buy Rob Ford’s Crack Tape!
Toronto Mayor Rob Ford has a lot of enemies. Do any of them have enough hatred to band together and purchase what editor John Cook of Gawker says is video of Rob Ford smoking crack?
Is it even worth $100,000? Maybe not to one Canadian, but to all Canadians?
This Victoria Day, let the nation band together, from sea to shining sea, from the far North to the southernmost reaches of Ontario, as one, united in their distaste for this mortifying homunculus.
For just three cents per citizen, we can assure the final ruin of Ford’s colourful, storied, allegedly indictable celebrity once and for all.
Are you with me, Canada? I SAID ARE YOU WITH ME???
*if we don’t reach the magical goal (asking price + 4% Indiegogo fee) we will make a bid of whatever we’ve gathered. If the bid is rejected, we don’t need your money after all.
Meanwhile, in Washington, DC:
Meanwhile, in Vancouver:
I haven’t exactly been circumspect on social media, but at last I put it all together in one big, impassioned rant, so here it is. And it’s on Boris’s site, as is only fitting after he wrote an elegy suitable to any PR agency in the Midlands.
She was brave, principled, electric, greedy, malevolent, and destructive. So what does that net us? Damage that is still being repaired, or indeed glossed over, by governments on boths sides of the Atlantic.
Margaret Thatcher was not, like Ronald Reagan, an amiable person who could be pushed around. She was indeed the Iron Lady, but sometimes iron can be miscast. The future she fashioned for her country was one of increasing servitude to global, free-floating wealth. By now we know the only thing that trickles down is the blame, and I for one am not entire sure Thatcher wasn’t smart enough to know that all along.
Boris, I miss the days when you’d post something so partisan it was a simple straw dog, and I’d whack at it with all the strength I had. It was fun. Politically, it was good exercise.
But the ultimate fate of Thatcher is so much more important, for both sides, than any of those recreational battles, and yet you are not here. Enjoy the ivory tower, or the glass scrotum as it may be. But we both know that the reason she’s being cremated is so that the body won’t be dragged through the streets.
Let’s review: in the last week I’ve become officially homeless, had my hours at work cut in half, and now, in the crowning glory, an attempt to install a simple chat client on my computer wiped the entire contents including the system management software.
This is what you call a head crash: when the head goes CRASH on the desk.
What did I do? What would anyone do? well, anyone who was me? I screamed all over social media until someone stepped up to solve my problem, that’s what I did. What do I ever do, right? So the far-more-competent-than-me Tim Adkins from Free Geek met me on his day off and did a complete reinstall, with encryption and a partitioned hard drive so that even if half of it wipes the other half is still useable.
After we met up at Turk‘s for the reinstall, the sun was shining and the day was gorgeous for once in Vangroover, so I took the opportunity to stroll up the Drive for an hour or so, picking up the perfect party top for Gin & Sin on Wednesday at 20% off, then hopped a bus to the Forgotten Value Village up at 49th and Victoria. Lest you think the nature of the universe had somehow changed in my favour, my bank card was declined there, and the Starbucks told me that my Paypal top-up of $25 hasn’t shown up on my Starbucks card.
So it’s not entirely #FML but it’s not all sunshine and roses.
Oh. Wait. Thatcher is dead.
Okay, Venezuela: wait for it. Once they get their troops back from Iraq and Afghanistan, you’re about to face the oldest, most PTSD’d army on the face of the Earth.
Fuck Sabu, Fuck FBI
If you don’t know who Sabu is, this post isn’t going to clarify a single damn thing, except that you, my friend, do not want to be Sabu right now, or ever, really. And you certainly don’t want to have been Sabu during the Stratfor hack, because reasons.
If you don’t know who Jeremy Hammond is, allow me to refer you to this post and this article, and now that you’re all up to speed, I’d like to paste in here for posterity a post I made over on the completely impartial Julian Assange Fancier’s Guild.
I resent Sabu’s turning more than Lamo’s because Lamo never actually turned. He didn’t betray a movement that he’d been part of. He wasn’t One of Us, as it were. He’s said that politically we are complete opposites.
Sabu could have been a great man if he hadn’t ratted out his brothers-in-arms. I honestly don’t care about his children. I don’t. He did more harm to the world they’ll grow up in than can be conceived of. And god help me, but he really HAD IT; he had what it took to fire up tens of thousands of people and create an inspired force working for the cause of freedom. And he turned. I don’t care about his reasons: I’m sure they’re nice kids, but in a hundred years they’ll be dust just like all the rest of us. And if the US is still a prison state, it will be in part because of his failure of courage.
Let him explain that to those children he’s doomed to grow up in that state.
Say it with me, my friends: Fuck Sabu.