The Strangemen

Chapter One: Homecoming

Simon Hall had grown up in Mill City thinking it was a dump, but since then he’d travelled the world and gotten acquainted with life in other countries. Simon had been through war zones in the desert where little stood but rubble under clouds of smoke. He’d been to the refugee camps in the barren mountains filled with the sick, the lame and the dying. He’d been to drug plantations where slaves slept in tin shacks too hot to touch. He’d been deep in the jungle where beasts preyed upon the tribes living amongst the trees. After all he’d seen, he knew Mill City was a dump.
There was no place quite like it on Earth. Once a prosperous beacon of industry it’d been in steady decline since the 50’s. As the jobs dried up, so did the population. Perhaps one house on an entire suburban block might be be occupied, but it couldn’t be called a ghost town. Scores of crack addicts and other users drifted between the empty buildings scavenging for any sign of copper, or a place to light up. Most folk lived in rat-infested apartment complexes near to the city core, were surprisingly there was still life. They even had a basketball team, who could count themselves fortunate to still have jobs, unlike most of the others who made Mill City their homes. The police, ambulances and other social services had abandoned the largest percentage of the city in favour of those who could still pay their taxes.
The house Simon had grown up in had burned down years ago. Surprisingly, Simon had not been responsible. His mother still lived somewhere in the city, but he wasn’t sure of the address. His sister might still be alive, for all he knew. His father had died in a fire when he was fifteen. He’d been responsible for that fire, at least.
After so many years, most of the streets were foreign to him. Most street signs had been stolen and sold for scrap metal. Houses he thought he might remember had been burned down, or boarded up. There were “For Sale” signs on every house, even if the house had been torn down. It was rare to see a car pass by, and rarer still to see one parked. He had taken to walking down the middle of the road simply because he could. It was near-to-pitch black, as the street lights hadn’t come on for years. It wasn’t clear as if was due to wire theft, or the power had been cut by the city. Eyes watched him through boarded windows and he could hear people murmuring to themselves. One drunk stumbled out in the street raving at him, only to be pushed down and stepped over. The was a sound of breaking glass as the bottle in his coat shattered under Simon’s feet. The man continued screaming at him as he went on, but he didn’t have the strength to get back up.
He was headed into the factory district, where things got worse. The factories were where the corruption had began.Mill City was once the fastest growing city in the country, until the first automaker pulled up stakes and shipped overseas. The steel mills closed down one by one. As the jobs fled, so did the people. The factories were still there, like a lost city. Most of them had been empty since before he was born. No one went near them, even the addicts. At best, they were a place used to dump bodies. He didn’t want to think about the worst.
As he passed under broken traffic light, a gang of hooligans approached from one of the nearby buildings. It might have been a shop at one point. An addict walked away with fresh-bought drugs stuffed into his pockets, telling him that it was still a shop of sorts. There were three black cars parked in front of the building with at least three different ethnicities surrounding them, and he briefly wondered if they had any connection to the party he was trying to meet. His suspicions immediately subsided when he saw their black and white gang colours. He had no idea who they were, but he had an idea they were going to tell them. He wondered if he should just simply ignore them and keep walking, but he knew the would just chase him down. He did his best not to sigh and stopped as a kid with a visor turned upside down and sideways approached him with a bat.
“What you doing here, son?” he asked, although he looked ten years younger than Simon. “Trick or treating?” He was wearing as much jewelry as possible, with about four chains around his neck and five about his wrists. There was at least one ring on every finger. He looked as if he had a skin condition. Simon could relate.
Simon sometimes forgot he was wearing a mask. It’d become like a second skin to him, after he lost his first. He reached up to scratch his face beneath the fabric. The others all laughed as they circled him. The kid was the only one openly armed, but he knew there had to be some guns and knives hidden under those baggy clothes. Frankly, the larger, obviously steroid-abusing gang-banger with teardrop tattoo concerned him more than the kid with the bat. “Something like that,” Simon said as he absently looked down at his watch. He was one of the few people he knew that still carried a watch. It was his dad’s, and he wasn’t likely to part with it. The look in the kid’s eye told him he should consider it. He still had about fifteen minutes before his meeting.
The mention of, “Trick or treating” reminded Simon it was close to Halloween. It was almost Devil’s Night, when his father had died all those years ago. Kids would start fires and break stuff until the cops chased them off as an annual tradition. It wasn’t really, “Devil’s Night,” without a few deaths. He’d participated in his fair-share of the holiday when he was not much younger than he was now, although it seemed liked ages ago. No doubt the kids before him were getting geared up to try their hand at the event, although he wondered how much different it was than any other day of the week to them.
“So where the treat, huh?” the kid got in close with the bat. He could smell the weed on his breath and clothes.
With one smooth motion, Simon snatched the aluminum bat from his hand and jabbed the but of it into his throat. He then put the front of it into the face of the kid with the teardrop tattoo. That staggered him back enough to give him room to swing. He went for the kneecap first before finishing with the head again. The kid next to him was struggling to pull his weapon out of the back of his pants when he brought the bat down on his head. By this point, the bat was already dented and streaked with blood. A knife was drawn behind him and the wrist it was being held by snapped as he swung around and upward. The blade went clattering onto the cracked pavement as he headbutted the fat kid in the nose. There was a commotion over by the cars, and he could see guns being drawn. They would have fired if they weren’t afraid of hitting their own. There were still three more kids within reach. One tried to tackle him, but Simon sidestepped and hit him at the base of his neck with the butt of the bat as he was lunging forward. One of the girls turned and ran back to the cars, crying for her boyfriend as he swung one-handed, striking first one head, then another back and forth like the chime in a bell.
The others had backed off enough to allow one of the gangbangers at the car to fire off a shot. It went wide and struck the building across the street. Two more shots followed, each missing. Simon reached out and grabbed one of the kids trying to run and strangled him with the bat as he pulled him in close. He used him as a shield between himself and the opposition by the cars as he slowly crept backwards towards the abandoned building behind him. One of the kids fired a shot over his head as a warning, which he didn’t take, while the kid in his grasp tried desperately to escape. Simon lifted him fully off the ground and let his feet dangle as he stepped backward. He glanced absently at his watch before peering back over his shoulder at the doorframe he was inching towards. The kid tried to knock back at him with his head, but Simon merely ignored him. He decided he was close enough and threw the kid forward into the street as he ducked inside and through the main room of the building. The kid decided to make a break for instead of pursuing, as the others fired blindly into the building. Bullets penetrated the plywood covering the windows of what must have been another shop.
Simon was already out the back door and running before the first of them made it in the front door. By the time they came out the back, he had already disappeared.
From his vantage point on the rooftop, he watched as they desperately searched for him in vain, shouting out threats upon his life.
“Was that necessary?” Rook asked him with arms crossed over her breasts.
Simon caught his breath. “No, but it was fun,” he smiled at her in the dark.
“You didn’t kill any of them, did you?” she asked in a hushed tone as she looked over the other side into the street.
“Do I ever?” Simon realized he was still holding the bat. He threw it down into the street and waited as the gangbangers took the cue to follow the noise. The gathered around the bat, looking helplessly around the empty back-alley. He looked at his watch again. “Sorry, we don’t have much time left.”
“We could have drove,” Rook complained. “You know that, right?”
“I wanted to get a feel for the city. Anyway, my license is expired. At least I think it is.” He looked over at her expectantly.
She glared back at him. “I should leave you here to deal with those punks.”
“I already did, or as much as I feel like dealing with them. Damn, I don’t even know what gangs there are anymore. I mean, who are these kids? Some of them don’t even look like they’re out of middle school, if they ever went. Whatever happened to the Beatdowns or the Cruds?” he said longingly.
“The who?” Rook was at a lost. She shook her head. “Anyway, we’ve got to book it. Here, you can carry this from now on,” she unslung the duffle bag from her shoulder and tossed it to him. It was heavier than it looked. “Are you okay, by the way?” she asked with sudden concern. “You didn’t get hit, did you?” she reached out in the darkness to touch his cheek.
He batted her hand away absently. “I’m fine,” he assured her, although he hadn’t bothered to check. It had gotten eerily quiet in the alley below him. He glanced down, but he couldn’t see any movement. He thought he saw one of the kids laying face-down in the alley, but they were all wearing black and it was made ever darker by a cloud passing over the crescent moon.
“No more of this stupid thrill-seeking,” she warned him. “We’re goddamn professionals. We don’t need to be starting trouble if we can help it.”
“We can’t help it, though,” he reminded her and patted the duffel bag.
Without warning, Rook took to the air, spreading out her eleven-foot long wings blacker than the night. She blotted out what was left of the moon as she perched herself on his shoulders and dug in her claws. In a moment, they were both airborne and she dragged him along after her in her tallon feet. He barely had enough time to sling the bag over his shoulder and grab on to her ankles. With each beat of her wings she wafted her perfume down at him. It was a heady scent. With her birthday coming up, he absently wondered if she needed more of the stuff. They flew for several blocks over the rooftops before setting down. Rook hovered in the air for a moment or two to allow him to touch the ground with his feet before letting go. She drew in her wings and dropped down beside him. They were in the shadow of one of the old factories, although he couldn’t say which one. There had been plenty of businesses that went under. There was a signpost still standing with no sign on it. “Is this the place?” she asked him, ruffling her feathers and then folding her wings behind her back.
The building opened into a courtyard where a single black truck was parked with the engine running. The headlight illuminated the darkness. “Has to be,” Simon said and checked his watch again. “Damnit, we’re late. Be a dear and scout around for me. I should be good for a few minutes.”
She reached out and kissed him on the cheek before silently taking flight. He could barely feel it through his mask.
He checked the bag one last time before approaching the vehicle, making sure to keep his eyes on the empty windows surrounding him. There was a man sitting on the hood of the truck talking with two others standing before him, but they were impossible to make out until he got closer. The two on the ground were wearing all black, with bulky bulletproof vests and helmets with sub-machine guns slung under their arms. The door of the truck was open and music was blaring out. They were smoking and joking until the saw him. “Oi, there! Is that you, Arson?” called out the man on the truck. “Come a bit closer.”
Simon immediately recognized the accent. “Blasted,” he forced himself to smile. The two other men pulled back. They didn’t go for their guns, but they made sure they were there. One extinguished his cigarette while the other reached into the truck to turn off the radio. The truck itself was armoured, but it could pass as a regular vehicle on the streets. A gold, “M,” emblazoned the side of the door.
Blasted hopped off the truck and slowly approached. “Is that really you?” he asked in his thick British accent. “Been a while, hasn’t it. ‘Ere,” he pointed at him with his one hand. “Why not lift up the mask and let me get a look at you here in the light.”
“If that’s necessary,” Simon said. Walking a few steps over, he lifted up his mask briefly to show the scar tissue underneath. The cool night air hurt his skin, and he quickly pulled it back down again into place. Blasted, like him, wore a mask, only his covered his entire mouth. The top was open to let his brown hair flow free. He had a helmet that went with the getup, but he never wore it. He claimed it messed up his hair. His eyes were covered by a pair or red goggles sewn into the insulated fabric. Even with the mask, there was no question it was him. His mechanical barrel arm was his name tag.
“Oi! What did I tell you,” Blasted said to his two companions. “A right ugly bastard if there ever was one.” They chuckled among themselves and Simon kept smiling  his fake smile. “You know the good doctor could fix that up for you in a jiff, right?”
“I’ve had enough of the doctor to last me a lifetime, Blasted,” Simon said.
“Nonsense. You can never get enough of the doctor. Why look at ‘ere,” he held out what had been his arm at one point. It was now a mess of machinery in the form of a gun barrel dyed metallic green like the insulated mask he was wearing. “The doctor’s made some improvements to the old design. Let me show you.” Holding out the barrel towards the building, he fired off one shot without looking. Simson rubbed his eyes until his spotted vision came back. The flash of light had blinded him momentarily. The wall he had aimed his gun-arm towards was now a smoking pile of rubble. Steam seeped off the backpack Blasted wore over his shoulder, which was connected to his arm by a thick tube. Pigeons were flying around wildly in the dark after having their rest disturbed. “What do you think? I can do that all day now without having to change my pack.”
“Impressive,” Simon admitted.
“Like I said, you’ve been gone too long, Arson. Just think of what ‘appened while you were gone. We’ve moved up in the world, while you’ve been off galavantin’ around. Where you’ve been, anyway? Last I heard you were in the jungle takin’ care of that bit o’ business,” he leaned casually back against the grill of the truck.
“That was a few assignments ago. I’ve working for Lou, dealing with his suppliers,” Simon explained as he unslung the duffle bag and set it next to Blasted on the hood of the truck.
“That’s a right dangerous business, it is,” Blasted said. “Working for Lou.”
“Oh?” Simon raised a quizical eyebrow, although the expression was lost under his mask.
“Like I said, you’ve been gone a long time. Lou’s on the out with the bossman, especially after what ‘appened,” Blasted elaborated.
“I hadn’t heard,” Simon said, and he quickly checked his surroundings once more. He wasn’t liking how the conversation was going. “This is my first time Stateside in almost a year. I’m not exactly in the loop on these things.”
“You want to know why you’re the one here, givin’ me this bad instead of some no-name?” Blasted unzipped the bag with his one human hand and sorted through the contents with disinterest. There was enough cash in there to live the rest of your life off of. To him, it might as well have been last week’s garbage. “Lou’s gone rogue. Or rogue enough. Not really my place to say, either way. He’s been ignoring direct orders for a long time now. You can see how that can be troublesome for us. Especially when he’s got someone like you under his thumb. You’ve been with us for a while now, but you’ve never really been in the main circle. We want to know where your loyalty stands on all this.”
“Where I stand?” Simon repeated. “On two feet. I work for Lou, it doesn’t mean I’m his man.”
“So you’re with us, then?” Blast pointed to his chest.
“I work for you, it doesn’t mean I’m your man,” Simon said.
The barrel of the gun came up ever so slightly. “Freelance, then? That’s not what I want to ‘ear. There’s no neutral ground anymore. Bossman wants total control now that the Royals are gone.”
“What?” Simon looked warily down at the barrel. “What do you mean, the Royals are gone?”
“Aw, you missed it,” Blasted told him, lowering the barrel again, “and we sent you an invite and everythin’. You didn’t get it?”
“Get what?” Simon demanded.
“This is too rich,” Blasted laughed to himself. “Guys, get a load of this,” he told the others, who chuckled too. “Bossman wanted you in on the whole operation. It was supposed to be your time to move up in the rankings, so long as you could get the job done. He called Lou to call you, since you were off the grid. Message either didn’t make it through, or else you didn’t answer. Bossman isn’t someone you ignore.”
“But what are you saying about the Royals? He took them down?” Simson was confused.
“They’re dead,” Blasted said sharply. Simon knew he was beaming under his mask. “Every last one of them. Dead.”
Simon took a moment to absorb the information. “That’s not....”
“Possible? Oh, it is,” Blasted assured him. “I was there. Bossman has the Crown’s cape decoratin’ ‘is office. Still has the blood on it.”
“Wow,” Simon didn’t know what else to say. The Royals had been such a major part of the scene, that it was difficult to imagine the world without them.
“Which brings up another point,” Blasted looked over at his two cronies, who were listening to something on their headsets. “Bossman is cleanin’ his plate. The Royals were just the first move, but they’re not the last. ‘E’s got big plans and Lou isn’t in them. So I’m goin’ to ask you again who’s side you’re on?”
“My own,” Simon told him plainly.
Blasted nodded his head for a while, then shook it once. “Wrong answer.” Touching the side of his headset, he spoke into the mic under his mask. “Eagle.”
Simon hissed inward through his teeth and took two steps back. He scanned the skies for some sign of warning. He didn’t have to wait long. The moonlight was blacked out momentarily as Eagle swooped in. His wingspan was over twenty-feet wide and carried a massive bulk of muscles. He’d been over six feet tall before the doctor started his work on him. Now, as a human and animal hybrid, he was closer to eight. His pale skin was dotted with tufts of white feathers that got denser until they covered his wings. His hands and feet were talons sharp enough to tear through flesh and strong enough to pierce skulls. He wore only a pair of dusty jeans. As he set down, he tossed a limp figure onto the ground before Simon. He could see Rook’s blood on his talons, but not where she had been hurt. She was motionless as she lay there and he wanted to go to her to see if she was even still alive, but he couldn’t afford to give up even an inch of ground to them. Eagle stretched his wings as far as they would go and threw his head back to screech through his inhuman beak. In the echo off the walls, Simon could hear another sound of guns being cocked. Red lasers dotted the ground around him as the windows filled up with snipers. He couldn’t tell how many, but he knew he’d be dead if he moved.
Blasted stepped forward and reached out to grab him by the lapel of his jacket. With his cybernetic strength, he easily lifted him off the ground. He put the barrel of his other arm into Simon’s face. “That’s two. So where’s the third one, then?” he asked.
“There’s only two of us,” Simon told him without flinching.
“You’re a rotten liar. I know you always travel in a pack. Better fess up, or lovebird gets it,” he turned his gun on Rook.
Simon weighed his options and realized he had few left. He’d walked into a trap. Rook might already be dead. Still, he didn’t give an answer. Blasted obliged him by powering up his gun-arm.
“Something’s wrong,” Eagle said suddenly. The words were barely distinguishable out of his beak.
“What now?” Blasted said, looking around. “Is it the other one?”
“Don’t know,” Eagle replied and flew up to one of the sniper nests in a gust of wind that blew Blasted’s hair back. He perched himself in the opening of one window and stuck his head in. His body and wings took up the whole space. “Guy in here is out cold,” he said as he pulled his head back out.
As Simon watched Eagle, he saw out of the corner of his eye one of the red dots in the windows blink out. Then another one. Eagle, with his enhanced vision, saw too. He flew over to one of the windows, then another. At third, he put his head inside and spent a long while looking around. Then, he suddenly gave a shriek that hurt Simon’s ears. Sparks of blue electricity arched off his back and wings and he fell limply three storeys to the ground with a sickening thud.
Blasted wasn’t exactly sure what happened, but he didn’t waste any time responding. He fired off three shots in rapid succession until the entire walls caved in, raining rubble down on where Eagle lay. He watched for a moment, then motioned for his cronies. “You, go up there and check,” he said to one. “You, go and check Eagle,” he said to the other. Turning his attention back on Simon, he turned his gun around. “As for you, you can die.”
“You can burn,” Simon told him. Making good on his threat. Simon opened his mouth and and spewed out orange flames into Blasted’s face. There was a reason, after all, they called him Arson. Blasted screamed, although the flames didn’t penetrate his mask or insulated clothes. He’d been wisely chosen for this mission due to his choice of attire. He had one weak spot, however, and that was the top of his head. It was the only place he wasn’t protected, and his hair caught fire. Within seconds it had burned down to his scalp.
“Kill you!” Blasted screamed mindlessly as he fired blindly. Simon could feel the heat from the shot, but it didn’t touch him. A piece of wall fell away far behind him.
Simon raised his hands up, ready to unleash Hell, when a sensation struck him. Looking down at his chest, he saw a red wet circle spread out through the fabric of his shirt. Not all of the snipers had been taken out. The pain set in and he felt himself stagger. He fell to his knees before Blasted, who was likewise on his knees, clutching his burning scalp. Without realizing it, Simon found himself down on the cold pavement. He struggled to stand back up, but he didn’t know what direction up was in. He gave in and lay down, cursing himself silently. He saw Rook laying not far away, but it was as if she was spinning around.
“Bossman,” Blasted choked in pain as he rose back up to his feet, “told me to bring you in alive. I’ll just tell him you… Who the hell are you?” his voice suddenly changed to that of surprise. Lying as he was, barely able to move, Simon couldn’t see who he was talking to. Blasted fired off a shot, then another. They streaked right over Simon. He saw a pair of boots leap over his face and heard them crunch the ground opposite him, then a muffled cry from Blasted. “No! It can’t be!”
“Tell your Master I’m coming for him,” was the last thing Simon heard. The voice was somehow familiar.

The Occultist

While watching youtube on my 360, I saw a corner advertisement for a seperate, unrelated video. I was watching a video about the Gamecube and it was trying to direct me to an "ad" for this:

The text for it read: "The Occult: Black Magic, Ghosts and Dungeons and Dragons," all of which is awesome, but you'll notice that the inclusion of, "Dungeons and Dragons" at the end is a dead-giveaway. This is a re-hash of the idea from thirty years ago that Dungeons and Dragons = SATAN! 

The arguement is this: If you've ever rolled a 20-sided die and crit an orc, you're definitely going to Hell. The people spouting off this argument have clearly never seen the game played. The objective is to kill the ever-loving shit out of anything resembling Satan, which would at best make him wary of recruiting you for his army of Hellspawn.

Also: This "ad" is over two hours. That's not an ad. That's a movie. It shouldn't take over two hours to tell someone Satan = Bad!

Quite frankly, I'm just upset about the misleading title. I expect a 1000% more awesomeness and maybe some boobs when you mash enough words together like, "occult," "witchcraft," "ghosts," etc. together.

The entire "video," is just this bullshit image. And one of the side-bar websites listed, "muslimhope.com," is a pro-Christian/anti-Muslim site bordering on hate-speech. Going to this site probably puts you in a goverment watch-list, or rather a more-specific government watch-list. That's the legitimacy of what's going on.

Looking at the comments section, I couldn't find one overty-ironic or negative comment, which means that the close-to 100,000 people "viewing" this are dead-serious about what a man with a name similar to "Weasels" has to say. Just like they're dead searious about this:

Apparently I was wrong this whole time. It's not, "Astral projection," it's, "Astro Projection." 

Like so.

Seriously, it's like a virgin trying to explain sex with all this junk about Ouiji boards and witchcraft. At least try to conjure one demon before passing yourself off as an expert. 

Holy Hollywood Hacker

The world was recently treated to unsolicited -but very much desired- nude photos of some of the most attractive women on the planet thanks to one enterprising individual, or individuals. The FBI are currently looking for those involved, but it's unclear as to whether or not they're going to arrest them or give them a medal. It's like Christmas for your penis.
Meanwhile, various news outlets are trying to play the blame game using every possible angle about the violation of rights and privacy. No one's really stopped to consider that we've pretty much seen these women 99.99% nude. Kate Upton's claim to fame is being as close as one can be to a centerfold without technically getting nude. She's something of an oddity in this day and age where anyone can access porn at any given time. I've been confused as to why people are obsessing over one semi-clothed woman in a sea of bare tits and labias. Obviously, I see the appeal, (her tits) but it's kind of a retro-hipster obsession. hearkening back to a Baywatch era, or maybe even Mariyln Monroe. The difference is that Baywatch stars and starlets like Monroe still did porn. Kate's kept clean, despite showing her nips through a wet T-shirt and such. Going from a semi-transparent top to no top isn't that drastic of a change for anyone.
As for Jennifer Lawrence, she was Mystique. She was basically nude already except for some blue paint. There's very, very little left to the imagination.
So why all the excitement? It's like the Kardashian, or Hilton scandals in reverse. Does anyone still look at those two and think about the cocks they've seen them take? Of course they do, but not 100% of the time. Most of the time they're just laughing at how fucking stupid and annoying they are. Jimmy Fallon isn't going to suddenly blurt out, "I saw your tits!" when he's interviewing Jennifer Lawrence, or call her movie, "Mocking BJ." Give people some credit.

Bumtown

Are homeless people in tents still homeless? They're still technically living somewhere.
The homeless situation in Abbotsford is noteable for how audacious and long it's been going on. I remember getting on a plane to go to Calgary and reading about the homeless camp, and thinking, "Thank God I'm leaving," only to return a week later.That was eight fucking years ago. The camp moves around like a malignant tumour around the town, but it's always there in some form. Last I heard it was in Jubilee Park, which is like Abbotsford's Pigeon Park. I've literally seen a crackhead get beat up by a big black dude there, and I KNOW he was a crackhead because he dropped a bag of crack while it was going on. Still, there's a "Jam in Jubilee" festival going on in that park right now, which sounds like a good way to lure people into getting stabbed.
Where'd all the homeless people go? Homes? No, they moved back across from the Salvation Army in the really shitty part of town. It used to be the site of an old, abandonded supermarket and an old, abandonded building that looked like something out of Fallout 3. Those building have been replaced with shiny, new government office buildings, but the crackheads remains. There were at least seven tents along the road... and then another three or more down the way directly across from the Salvation Army. I guess those guys weren't cool enough to hang with the big crowd. It was the same spot the city recently spread chicken manure to get them to get the fuck out, then apologized for. I wasn't for using chicken manure, but still I thought that it wasn't really fair to the locals (most of whom have packed up and left their unsellable homes), that they were living there.
First thing you need to know is: They have a fucking teepee. I can respect that. My grandpa was raised in a teepee... then he got a job and built a fucking house. Teepees aren't even fucking from around this part of the country. Native used pit houses, wigwams and lodge halls. Fucking hipsters.
There was a couple crouched down inside the opening of one of the tents, with their asses hanging out, almost literally. People were acting all casual and conversation-like, as if theyr weren't living next to a road. The other camp down the road had people jaywalking in front of it, like it's fucking East Hastings. I've never understood that about homeless people. They have no jobs, nothing to do all day, but they still fucking jaywalk everywhere, and not the look-both-ways jaywalking either. They walk righ out in the middle of the road in front of traffic at any time, for any reason, assuming they have reasons. It's like the "chicken crossed the road joke," but with crackheads. In East Van, they had to lower the speed limit just because they couldn't fucking stop people from jaywalking. You can't ticket crackheads, because they don't have any fucking money. They just have your car stereo. So the laws are changed not to stop their bullshit, but to work around it. That's why Vancouver has safe injection sites right next to the places selling the crack. Anyway, I had to slow down and swerve to get around this guy crossing the fucking worst street in the world, just so I could get the fuck out of there.

How To Train Your Dragon (In Your Pants) 2

"How To Train Your Dragon 2" (The Quest for Curly's Gold) seemed a little over-hyped when the ads claimed it was "more fun than Frozen." Fuck that shit. Never compare yourself to Frozen unless you're "Frozen 2: Ice-Ice Baby."

Still, it was a good movie. I only have one weird thing to point out about it though: In a movie about tollerance, one character is alluded to being gay without actually coming out.

Seriously, every part of this moive is about accepting others. The hero even goes so far as to doom his entire village and his father just so he can try and reason with the bad guy. After the first movie, all the Vikings have fully accepted dragons, their former mortal enemies into theri lives, and it's all for the better. The hero wants to keep that going and expand that message to other lands.

Then there's one scene where a character says to the hero, "That's why I never married. Well... that and one other reason." Meaning: he's gay. He's gay and he can't even come out to one of his closest and most trusted friends. He lives in a world where literal monsters are accepted, but he can't like other men. He's followed the hero all the way through this change, but he can't even reveal himself, because it's a kids movie.

The hero might even be gay. He has a very obvious love interest, but he's not as into her as she's into him. He brushes off most of her advances, as if they make him uncomfortable. It could be because he's too distracted, or it could be because he likes the D. Who knows?

Anyway, it's kind of telling when we live in a world where characters in a kid's cartoon can only be alluded to as gay, and not openly gay. Rights and understanding haven't come that far.

REBOOT!

If you've read my blog in the past, you know I've talked a lot about Skyrim. Specifically, the glitches and fuck ups. Previously, I was playing solely on the 360, and was limited to that experience, but now I've expanded to my computer. In fact, I was able to transfer my save data to my computer and erase those bugs with new ones!
Using a transfer cable and the removable storage for my old, white 360, I was able to take those files over to my computer via USB and a program called, "Horizon," which frankly sucks. I was able to use the program properly the first time off the bat, but I didn't have the proper save file on that storage system. I had to transfer it from the cloud onto my black Elite 360 using the internal system, then transfer that into the removable storage system using the transfer cable. When I tried to transfer that back into my computer, none of the files would show. The only clue I had was that I had to run the program as and administrator, but I've never had to do that with a program before. I finally learnt how from a web tutorial, but that was only after viewing several others to figure out what step I was missing. Things went pretty smoothly from there. I had to extract the files using Horizon, and then saved them under my files saves for Skyrim on my computer. After that, I had to rename is with a ".ess" filename. When I booted up the game, the picture for the save data file was nothing but corrupted static, but it loaded perfectly.
From there, I could fix what I wanted, with a little tinkering. I wanted to resurrect my dead wife, Temba Wide-Arm, whom I killed in werewolf form because she frankly annoyed me and there's no such thing as divorce in Skyrim. I had to enter the appropriate command code. Surprisingly, when I set my command to move to her (moving her to me wasn't working), I found she was still located inside my house in Breezehome. Even though she wasn't physically there, she was still located right in front of the fire. There was nothing to click on to actually resurrect her, so I had to use a method where I locked in her name to the command, then entered "recycleactor" instead of the old, "resurrect" command. POOF! She's alive!
Only, we were no longer married. She acknowledged that I'd completed quests for her, but she didn't acknowledge me as her husband. So apparently there is a way to get divorced in Skyrim.
From there, I decided to use the same method to bring other dead NPCs back. I travelled to one of my homes where I had a dead thrall lying in the basement. I had previously used necromancy on the NPC, whom was killed in battle by the enemy, and kept them as my thrall, leaving them in my home for safe keeping afterwards. If you think that's creepy, it's better than leaving their dead bodies in the streets.
From there, I remembered an old Easter Egg I'd heard about called Wideadbodycleanupcell, which is literally a dead body clean up cell. It's accessible only by typing in "COC WIdeadbodycleanupcell," and it takes you to an unfinished-looking purple and green crypt made up of two joining halls that lead into oblivion. Jumping out through the unfinished halls into the blackness will only take you back to the room, and you have to type "COC" location to get back out. All the dead bodies that disappeared off the world map end up there, for some reason. They're naked and piled ontop of each other, with some missing heads. Their limp bodies materialize in the air and collapse when you first enter, so it looks like you walked into the world's worst orgy. One NPC was still on his feet, but didn't really articulate well.. He simply acknowledge me with a, "What do you need?" I couldn't recall who he was, but perhaps he was an old Companion.
My first attempt at mass resurection for the game backfired when I clicked on myself and typed, "recycleactor." That removed and eliminated some, but not all of my armour and weapons, and changed my helmet for some reason. I was now wearing a Dragonplate helmet, but no shirt or pants. I kept on going regardless.
The second person I resurrected was an old man, who proceeded to try to fight me. After 200+ hours of having played, I couldn't recall what I'd done to him, but obviously he was pissed off. I fought him bare-handed and drove him back to the door to the abyss before finishing him off with a cinematic.
From there, I resurrect a woman, who proceeded to walk at a bizarre angle out of the room. Before she left, I talked to her and she made some crack about being naked. That's when I decided it'd be a good idea to reload my save to get my armour back.
This second time around, I resurrected everyone in the first-person view so as not to target myself. I went through the pile of bodies typing, "resurrect," but some came back with errors complaining they weren't bleeding out, so I used, "recylceactor" on those. I did it all in one go, and when I finished, to no surprise, they all came back to life in full apparel wanting to kill each other and me as well. I booked it out of there. Hopefully they'll return to their homes on their own so I don't have to move them.
From there, I used a command to reset my marriage quest, since I was now an elligble bachelor. Strangely, I ran into Temba on the way back to Breezehome, and she was interested in marrying me again. Some people never learn. I almost went for it, but I think this time I'll play the market.

We Have to Move These Microwave Ovens

For some reason I've never cared to delve into, my wife always leaves the microwave door wide open, so the little bulb inside has burnt out. I'm not about to replace it, because why the fuck would I ever need to see inside the microwave? It's a small box. The food you put in there looks the same as the food you take out with the exception of popcorn.You're not fucking soufles bread in there. You're cooking pizza pockets. Besides, the door has that weird fucking screen on it to protect you from deadly microwaves. The only reason you'd ever need a light inside there is to see if your dinner blew the fuck up, and if it did, why would you need to see that, aside from the fact that it looks awesome? Are you magically going to go back in time and stop it from happening? It's already blown up. Let it go, America. If your food catches fire, you'll be alerted by the fact there is now black smoke coming out of your microwave when there was no black smoke before.You can write this observation down in your science journal as you work towards your degree, then get an extinguisher.
If you have a microwave with a spinning tray, you can watch as your plate of food rotates and perch your fingers together and say, "Good. Good. I can see it's spinning. I am well pleased."Otherwise, the most interesting thing to watch is the purple lightning you get when you fuck up and put something metal inside.
I think the only reason there's a window in there at all is because we're all fucking paranoid. We're afraid that some shit is going to go down if we can't see. You'll put in your pizza pocket, and when you open the door again it's asparagus. It'd break you.
What if you cooked something, and when you went back it was gone? You'd accuse your whole family, but they'd deny everything. You'd become angry and sullen towards them as you try to decipher who did it, but in time you'd have your doubts. You begin to wonder if you even put something in there at all, or if you did perhaps it was completely disintegrated. These thoughts would linger with you the rest of your life, gnawing away at you in the dark hours.
Or perhaps you put in a bowl of soup to be reheated, but when you close the door you hear scratching. Concerned, you open the door and see nothing but your soup. When you close the door again, the same sound persists, and now you hear a slight mewing like a kitten. Alarmed, you immediately open the door, but still there's only the soup. ARE YOU GOING MAD? You can hear it all the time now, whenever you're in your kitchen. You can't tell anyone because you're afraid of what they'll say. One day, you wake up in the middle of the night to make a snack, and you hear it again. You ignore it, but the sound grows louder and louder until it fills up your head. Then there's a whispering coming from inside. You tell yourself it's nothing, but you have to make sure. You open the door and it's your own head in there staring back at you! ALL BECAUSE THERE WASN'T A WINDOW IN THE MICROWAVE.

Tracy Morganed!

The tragedy surrounding the Tracy Morgan vehicle accident helps highlight something about celebrity. Tacy Morgan is a household name, but in terms of celebrity he's never starred in his own movie, or even had a lead role in a hit show. He's always been a supporting actor and comedian who was last in the news after making anti-gay comments and collapsing at a show. That's not saying anything against him, that's just how it is.
A man died and two others were critically injured in the same accident that Tracy looks as if he'll recover from. The only reason this is news as opposed to the countless other accidents that happen every day is because the one celebrity is involved. Imagine that, though, if you're the man who died. You've lived your whole life trying to build something for yourself, and in the end all you'll ever be remember for is the guy who died in the accident with Tracy Morgan. People will be talking about you, and someone will use your name, and the other person will say, "Who?" and then the first person will have to explain, "That guy who died in that accident with Tracy Morgan who died." Then they'll go on to talk about Tracy Morgan, because that's how fame works. It's terrifying, really. In a way, all you are to people is an image. That image can be overshadowed by anyone, but the bigger the shadow, the less you are. On the other hand, hundreds of thousands of people, if not millions learnt about this one man through the news story. They never had any idea he ever existed until the moment he was taken away, and the loss is made larger.

The Biggest Problem with the New X-Men Movie

Everyone is nit-picking the little details in the new X-men movie because of all the time-travel and cross-movie franchise going ons. No one has pointed out the biggest thing about Quicksilve. When Quicksilver (although he's never called that in the movie because of liscencing bullshit) has his big bullet-time scene, he stops to put on his headphone and listen to Pink Floyd on his walkman because he has shity taste and it's the 70's. Only, he's going so fast that it'd be impossible for him to hear even a single note by the time he's done, even if he has the tape going fast-forward.
Also, fucking walkmans hadn't been invented yet. The scene takes place in 1975, and the walkman is first released in 1979.

Everyone's White

There's the new music video out for Michael Jackson featuring a "live" "performance" by "him" as a "hologram." That's a lot of quotation marks. Like, a lot. On the plus side, a holographic Michael Jackson can't molest your children. On the other hand, by the time he died, Michael Jackson looked nothing like Michael Jackson, and the holograph is a representation of an ideal version of himself, namely: white. This is what I'm talking about:

Look at that. Who is that? It could be Chis Angel, for all I know.
This is what he actually looked like when he died:

No, that's not John Travolta. That's Michael. I can understand the liberties they took with the hologram, because quite frankly that version of Michael is horrifying.
This is Michael Jackson circa Bad:

Still: pretty white. He's not getting pulled over anytime soon, except by police officers that mistook him for a fine white woman. Still, he looks more akin to the hologram, but...
This is what he's supposed to look like:

There we go. That kid's black. With the technology we have, we could give Michael back his orginal nose, skin colour and bitchin' 'fro. We won't though, because we like white Michael better, and that's because we're racist.
Speaking of racism: GODZILLA! 
This is the cast of the new Godzilla movie:

One of those things is not like the other... Godzilla is a movie about a Japanese-made monster from Tokyo.... with a nearly all-white cast. The same thing can be said about the Mattew Broderick fiasco, but this is 2014. Could they not find more than one Japanese actor? Brian Cranston's got that Breaking Bad heat on him, but who the fuck goes to see a Godzilla movie for Brian Cranston? Are American audiences so racist that they need to see only white people in a foregin movie? The answer is yes. The orginal Godzilla movie was clumsily edited for American audiences and included a white male reporter who was suspiciously never on screen at the same time as Godzilla or any Japanese person.There's a tradition of making movies based on Japanese culture or films as white as possible. Look at 47 Ronin, starring a very-white and sad Keanu Reeves, or the The Last Samurai starring an even whiter Tom Cruise. They might still be working on a live-action Akira remake starring a ghost-white gajin by the name of Leonardo Dicaprio, despite that not making any sense, but what in this list has? Think about it: American Ninja = white. Karate Kid = white/black. Even that Ninja Turtles movie where they went back in time to Japan starred mostly white actors. By comparison, Japanese people are better represented by Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift (starring a white guy) and the Wolverine (starring a white guy). Even the recent Star Trek movies had a Korean actor playing a Japanese man. Sheesh.

Nintendo and Inclusion

Nintendo is vowing to be more inclusive in regards to homosexuality after a furrow about no including homosexual marriages in a game for children. Nintendo has always been WAY gay, though. Bear in mind that most Nintendo games are played by two sweaty, hormonal teenaged boys in a dark basement. that's just the start.
Their mascot is an Italian "bear." On his quest to rescue the Princess, Mario first rescues seven penis-shaped dudes, who are all very grateful. His kiss with the Princess at the end is very short and uncomfortable. Notice how long Mario has been rescuing the Princess, but he's never become Prince Mario. That's because Princess "Beard" is in denial, and Mario is in the closet. Sorry I had to break it to you.
As for Samus, kids had to furitively play through her games as fast as possible to see her in her underwear. You're encouraged to try harder to make your super-butch chatacter appear more feminine.
As for Link and Zelda... Is Link really a dude? Why are women better able to cosplay as him instead of men? Link's like Arya Starknpretwnding to be a boy, only hot for lesbos.

A Newer Hope

Now that the cast for the next Star Wars installment has been announced, can I mention something about the first movie? On the Star Destroyer, the Empire is having a meeting. Everyone in the scene is inexplicably white and British despite being space aliens who lived a million years ago, and mutton chops are very much in style. They're gathered around a conference table, and the one dude decides he's going to call out Vader, the magic murder cyborg with the laser sword. Her'es how it goes down.
Motti: Any attack made by the Rebels against this station would be a useless gesture, no matter what technical data they've obtained. This station is now the ultimate power in the universe! I suggest we use it.
Vader: Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force.
Motti: Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader. [Vader walks toward Motti, then slowly raises his hand] Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes or given you clairvoyance enough to find the Rebels' hidden fort- [grasps his throat as if he is being choked]
Vader: I find your lack of faith disturbing.
First off, Motti works with Vader, and must have seen Vader force choke a dozen people by now over something as trivial as taking too long with his coffee order. He must know not to piss him off. He also has to know the Force is real. The Clone Wars where the last of the Jedi were killed off was only about seveteen years prior to this scene. It's not some, "ancient religion." It's a relgiion that controlled the galaxy by the time he was graduating from Space Douche Academy. Plus, he fucking works for the Emperor. Did he somehow think that Vader got less magic since the last time he saw him? Did the Force just suddenly vanish. Motti basically is displaying stupidity on a cosmic scale.

Accentia

I read people were complaining about Peter Dinklage's British accent in The Game of Thrones and it made me realize that none of the character in the series should be using an accent to begin with. It's a fucking fantasy series set on a fantasy world. No one is literally speaking English, it's just a placeholder. Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit can get away with doing that because it was written by a British author and that's his native tongue, but The Game of Thrones is all-American. Then there's Star Wars where Obi Wan and the bad guys had British accents. Even Darth Vader had a British accent before George Lucas dubbed over it. There's a whole universe filled with white people speaking the same language and there's only two inflections? Then there's Star Trek with their translators. They can decipher virtually any language, but everyone aboard the ship still has accents.Kirk can understand what some half-black/half-white alien is saying to him about a half-white/half-black alien, but he can barely understand the two guys sitting in front of him on the ship. The characters are forcefully speaking English in their thick Russian/Scottish/Japanese/fine-ass black woman accents, but they don't have to. They can just yabber on in their native tongues and the translator technology will do the rest better than they ever could. When the universal language barrier is broken by technology, why would anyone ever bother to learn a second language, let alone speak it unecessarily?
The same complaint about British accents goes for historical films like 300, Gladiator, The Eagle, etc. These movies are set in ancient Greece, Rome, etc., but everyone talks with a British accent.

Saddest Deaths in Sitcoms

With the recent death of Brian Griffin, I thought it'd be a good opportunity to look back at something I always thought was fucked up: when sitcoms, cartoons and kids shows deal with death.
Cartoons kill off characters all the time, like South Park and Kenny. They're usually back before the end of the episode because, after all, it's a cartoon.
There's numerous reasons why otherwise lighthearted shows kill off recurring characters. In the case of Brian Griffin in Family Guy, it was probably to reduce Seth MacFarlane's workload.

In other cases, it's to nab ratings for sweeps by killing off an unecessary character, like when they killed off Maude Flanders in The Simspson.

Maude was just the most memorable character, but there's been dozens of others, like Bleeding Gums Murphy, Dr.Nick Rivera, Snowball II, etc..It's a simple formula: take a character no one really likes and kill them off, base the whole episode on the characters dealing with the death and you've got an Emmy.
King of the Hill pulled the same shit too as a rating booster when they killed Luanne's boyfriend with propane, or the Cleavland Show where they killed Cleavland's cheating ex-wife, Loretta. Those deaths didn't really effect the show, but allowed them to explore the grieving process, which isn't particularly funny. Since these are cartoons, it's like they're trying to explain death to children with puppets, which isn't their job in the first place.
South Park sometimes has dozens of deaths per episode. When Chef was killed off (only to be brought back as Darth Chef)  it turned out to be bittersweet, mainly because of the fake-out. The episode initially dealt with Isaac Hayes leaving the show due to a conflict of interest (Scientology), but with the chracter reappearing early on it made it seem as though he'd somehow come back. It quickly became apparent that they'd intentionally dubbed his voice in as badly as they could. It was a classic episode, but it took on a different tone once Isaac Hayes died in real life shortly thereafter.
M.A.S.H. has a half-dozen examples of characters being killed off, which is little wonder because it's spun-off of a movie that begins with a dentist commiting suicide. The theme song was written by a fifteen-year-old and has the lyrics, "Suicide is painless and it brings on many changes." (It doesn't ryhme well.) Pick a character like the Colonel or Radar on the show and the either died off-camera or saw someone die. ("IT WAS A BABY!")
Remember in Seinfeld when George's fiancee died because he was too cheap and bought tainted envelopes? That was dark. It single-handedly saved the show from evolving. It could have gone off in a whole different direction with George becoming a husband and possibly a father while hanging around with his single friends, but instead they up and killed his fiancee. They managed to get a few extra episodes out of her death too as George tries to con her parents into thinking he has a upscale second home when he doesn't, and another episode where he tries to find an applicant he likes for a tuition set up in his former fiancee's name.
Then there's the last episode of How I Met Your Mother where the real identity of the "mother" was revealed. Surprise! She's dead, and Bob Saggat's voice has been telling his kids the story over the course of the series to explain why he wants to move on and bang their aunt. Classy.
Sometimes characters have to be written out of the show as the actors who play them quit or are fired. Take Two-and-a-Half Men after Charlie Sheen goes on an world-famous bender and has the most public breakdown since Britney Spears. They had to write him out somehow, so the chose to have him explode like a bag of meat after being hit by a metro train. Don't cry for him, he made more money being fired than you'll ever make working your whole life. You and your children and your children's children. who by then might also be Charlie Sheen's children. Charlie was the main character, though, so it was a little odd for the show to keep going.
It was just as odd as when John Ritter died during the ongoing production of 8 Simple Rules. John was basically the show, and he died, but they kept it going for FUCKING 45 more episodes. It was ballsy in the first place to keep the show going, especially after such a dark turn, but John was only in 31 of 76 episodes. That kind of takes away a lot of the brunt of losing him.What a way to honour a great man's legacy than to prove how unecessary he was to begin with. If a fictional character is that replacable, how replacable are we?
Then there's sitcoms where chracters died because their real-life actors died. This happened to News Radio and Suddenly Susan, two light-hearted comedies about journalism. In News Radio, the legend Phil Hartman was inexplicably muredered by his wife and the whole cast had to come back for the season premier and do an episode where they share memories about his character. The tears were real. They had to bring in John Lovitz, one of his closest friends to replace him, which was off because he'd already played a suicidal separate character in a previous episode.
In Suddenly Susan, the character of Todd Stiles died after the actor, David Strickland committed suicide. Simmilar to News Radio, the cast had to come back after a break and reminisce. The cast shed real tears and could barely make it through their lines. Hilarious! The series itself was light on humour, despite being a sitcom, but that was particularly dark.
So yeah, shit gets dark. Go watch your favourite show tonight and imagine your favourite character dying and how you'll keep watching that show. You fucking weirdo.

Gravity with Gravy

To be fair, Gravity was not a good movie. Much like the space it portrayed it was full of space itself. It felt empty at it's core with one of the smallest casts for a major production. The two main characters (out of three chracters total) felt distant from each other even while sharing the most intimate possible details.Minutes were spent just watching Sandra Bullock trying to breathe. Plus, while trying to be as visually reaslitic as possible, the film was still farfetched. Sandra Bullock escapes an exploding spaceship (SPACESHIP!) to make it to a second exploding spaceship (SPACESHIP!), which she then has to escape and make her way to a third exploding spaceship (SPACESHIP!) which much like Goldielocks and the Three Bears is just the right kind of exploding. The ending was a little agrivating as well. You were already out of your seat and walking back towards your car before you realized how angry you were.
But did it even happen?
Given the unlikely outcome of the ending (she safely lands on earth after supposdely exhausting her retrorockets) and her previous encounter with a halucination, was this all just a dream?
She confesses earlier to George Clooney (Batman!) how she would drive around and listen to the radio, because that's what she was doing when she found out her loved ones had died. Later, she listens to the radio as she contemplates giving in to the cold of space before she hallucinates Clooney showing up outside the window of her escape pod. Clooney is just an oxygen deprived dream she's having, so is everything a dream then? The backstory about her losing her family reminded me of the original ending to Descent where the lone survivor halucinates that it's her dead daughter's birthday while the Gollum-things narrow in on her.
Then there's the scene where she tries to get Huston on the radio and ends up listening to a Chinese man sing a lulaby to his grandaughter and make doggy sounds. WTF was that? What does Carl Sagan have to say about that shit? That ties back in to her and the car and the radio. Really the whole movie is about her listening to the radio.Even Clooney makes his exit while listening to country music on the radio. For all we know he's listening to the same song she was when her life-changing moment happened. He could just be a representaion of her own psyche.

Animation Sequels

While watching Rio 2 in theatres today, I realized tha a lot of animated sequels follows a specific trope. Namely: the main character of the first movie is the last of something and eventually discovers that there's more of his kind in the sequel. That's exactly what happens in Rio 2. Blue thought he was the only blue macaw left, or rather one of the few remaining, and he finds a female, falls in love and has three children. Then, in the sequel, he meets his significant other's father and the rest of the "tribe," only he doesn't quite fit in at first and has to prove himself.
That's EXACTLY what happens in the Shrek series. Shrek is a lonely ogre who meets a princess who turns out to be another ogre. He meets her mother and father in Shrek 2, then has three children by the end of the movie who become part of the main plot in Shrek 3. In Shrek Forever After, he discovers more ogres, but doesn't quite fit in and has to prove himself.
Some of this applies to more movies too. In Kung-Fu Panda, Po thinks he's the last panda. By the end of Kung-Fu-Panda 2, we learn his father is still alive and there's a secret hidden tribe.
It goes on. In Madagascar, we have a set of domesticated wild animals who end up back in the wild. In Madagascar 2, Alex the lion is reunited with his family, and the rest of the animals discover more of their kind.

The Town I Live In

My town just lost it's AHL team, The Heat, which was the only "major" sporting attaction it had for it's $65+ million arena. It was originally labelled the Abbotsford Entertainment and Sports Centre, and will now lose the "Sports" section of it's name as it's rebranded. Attendance for Heat games was the second lowest in the B-Leagues, and for good reason. I'd been to about four or five games during the five year run, when I recieved free tickets through various sources. People filed out midway through the third period of one game with dismal attendance, with one spectator doing nothing but swearing explitives the entire time in front of me and my then five-year-old stepson before stumbling off in a stupour. Another game I attended was jam-packed, but everyone had turned out to cheer the opposing team. Abbotsford is Canucks country, and the Heat was a seed team for the Calgary Flames. The Wolverines they'd been playing were the seed team for the Canucks. Imagine booing your own B-league team because the opposing team is a pre-school for your favourite A-league team. That's convoluted and stupid at the same time. Now people are hoping the Wolverines will move here, but that's not likely to happen. Why would anyone move here willingly? Also: why watch the B-Team when the A-Team is an hour away?
Briefly, the arena was home to it's own lingerie football team, which is exactly what it sounds like. The non-controversy was how Abbotsford is a conservative town known more for it's churches, if it could be said to be known at all. I've had to explain, in detail, what Abbotsford was to clueless people living two towns over from one of the biggest cities in the province. Attendance was poor, and the team folded. The arena can't even keep what's essentially a roller-derby team.
That's no the worst of it. The worst, of course, is the people. Rob Ford is slowly changing the perception of what the world thinks of when they think of Canada. It's not that far off. An Abbotsford man was recently arrested and decontaminated after attempting to cook meth in his BBQ on his patio of his apartment
...
You're probably wondering if I made that up, or if it's possible. No, and no. Yes, he tried to cook meth in a BBQ in a wildly open space in a downtown area. He was arrested after getting into an argument with his neighbours, who were probably complaining about the smell. No, it's not possible, as far as I know, to cook meth in a BBQ, but then I've never watched Breaking Bad.
Abbotsford has a drug/crime problem. It boasted the highest murders per captia in Canada for two years running a while back. It's so bad that even the drug dealers have moved on. The dealers and gangsters all moved out to Kelowna becuase of the better housing market. I shit you not. Even drug dealers won't live here.

The Incredible Rob Ford

If I could be anyone, it'd be Rob Ford. Not one is more untouchable. If I was him, I'd walk into my next press conference, point to the first reporter, and before he could speak tell him. "Whatever you were going to ask, 'Yes, I probably did that.' Next question? Did that to. Oh, should I let you speak? Let me quess, though, you were going to ask me about smoking crack? Yes, I smoked crack, but I was too drunk to realize it. There you go. You're all up in my business about crack, but really it's the booze you should be worried about. I get so drunk I do drugs. Liqour is the real gateway drug, but do you know what I do when I get high on crack? I drink more. I drink, I get high, and then I drink until I forget I'm high. Drugs are like the side order to my liquid lunch. You know what else? Between the drugs and booze, guess what's going to kill me first? Probably the booze. I have a sickness, and you're shaming me for it. Don't you feel bad now? Also, here's my dick." *Drops pants*

Beards and Evolution

I thought about how ancient depictions of cavemen in cave paintings, while crude and basic, never depicted a hunter with a beard. Hunting was an inescapable right of passage for young men, and beards are the !most irrefutable sign of adulthood, but the two never crossed. Flat forward to ancient Egypt, and the only depictions of beards are the ornamental ones of the Pharoh's. Even mummies from that era who retained their hair had no beards.  This would mean every other male had access to a razor blade, or else was naturally beardless.
Older and ancient Bablyon, however, depicted men with big, curly beards without exception. Geographically, and in terms of time, the two weren't far off.
The Greeks washed themselves by scraping olive oil off of their skin with a blade, but still sported beards. Many statues of the era depicted males with no body hair, but beards. There are exceptions, though, which meant that men shaved. This is the first recorded instance of this happening.
First Nations, when full blooded, are unable to grow facial hair. Either they're more evolved than modern man, or they've retained their natural properties.
Is the beard, then, a relatively recent evolvement? If we evolved from apes, why don't apes sport the same fascial hair? Why, also, is it exclusive to men? If it's beneficial, both sexes should sport it.