Archive for February 24th, 2010

A Quiet Riot, Eh?

Wednesday, February 24th, 2010


I felt a little bad the other night when the Americans beat the Canadians in their hockey game.  It just meant so much to our northern neighbors – and they’re so reserved about everything else.  Did you know the Canadian Prime Minister asked his nation to cheer loudly and wave Canadian flags during the Olympic  events?  He didn’t want them acting like they were at the PGA.

A few years ago I actually saw a Canadian “riot” on the news. When I heard the announcer say “riot in Canada”, I immediately started to pay attention. Really – what could possibly shoot up a Canadian’s blood pressure enough to riot?  The answer was embarrassingly obvious: hockey.

When that particular game ended, the Canadian fans oozed into the street. They didn’t want to go home drenched in depressing , degrading defeat. So they milled around fueled by too much of the fermented national beverage. Soon a department store window was broken – and the crowd decided to “riot” – Canadian-style.

It was hard to watch. The Canadians didn’t know what to do. Some danced to music only they heard. Others walked on the hoods and roofs of cars balancing with one hand as the other clenched a can or bottle. Many drunkenly smiled and waved at cameras and camcorders guaranteeing their place in oblivious-nitwit history. (“No dear, that’s not Mommy. I was at University that day and we all watched this debacle with disgust.”)

One inspired rioter-trainee managed to mount heavy electrical lines a good 20- or 30- feet over the crowd and began an impromptu tightrope walking show with real sparks popping. The confused Canadians, either to keep the dolt from electrocuting himself or to show off their superior target shooting skill, began to hurl bottles and cans at the guy.

Most of the containers missed, but, of course, crashed on the heads of the mob on the other side of the wire. This prompted massive, retaliatory can and bottle throwing from that team. Finally, someone scored. The dope took an impressive dive onto the pavement and it was about that time when all the police arrived. Lots of police; seemingly hundreds of them.  While the police began lining up in an impressive formation, a loudspeaker blared a woman’s voice, “Would you please disperse? You must leave this area! Would you please disperse?”

The Canadians seemed to get annoyed that anyone in authority would even speak to them like that. So no one moved and their taunts grew louder. That’s when the first tear-gas canisters were shot at the street near the front line of demonstrators.

Now, everyone in the world learned in ‘Rioting-101’ that a tear gas canister should be picked up with a gloved hand and thrown back at the police. I mean, that’s basic; you’ve seen it dozens of times on TV, right? But not these newbies. They just left the bombs where they landed. Then, while most of the crowd moved back, a handful of chowder-heads actually hung around the gas-spitting canister and looked at it like it was just a large version of the smoke bombs they set off in the sixth grade. Surprise! Soon they started coughing and retching and falling down and making a terrible mess. It was just too embarrassing to watch.

I clicked off the television. Actually, I didn’t know quite how to feel.  I decided Canadians are best at being civilized Canadians.  If they want to see some real buffoonery, they’ve got 300,000,000 southern neighbors who are experts at it.

Is Paris Burning? (You Up?)

Wednesday, February 24th, 2010


Hero worship is a lot  different than being entertained by a celebrity.

I like Paris Hilton.  I think she’s funny and has fun being a character of herself.  I have finally figured out why you and the rest of America hate Paris: JEALOUSY.

“You’re wrong! I don’t like her because she has no talent and she’s famous because she’s famous.”

And your whiney, little point would be what? You’ve got to have talent to be famous? I’m trying to type this and not fall off my chair laughing. Switch on your TV or look at the movie listings.  Who’s got a surplus of talent there?

You hate Paris because she didn’t have to work for her money? JEALOUSY. If that were you, would you give it all away and move to Henrietta? You hate her because she’s beautiful? JEALOUSY. Has a great body? JEALOUSY. Women hate her because she’s a “slut.” JEALOUSY. Ladies, is she going after your man? Hmmm?

Hate her because she’s sometimes silly, gets drunk, high, parties in public, and doesn’t take herself very seriously? At 11:00 pm on any warm, summer Friday night, drive down East Ave. between Alexander and Scio streets. You can run over hundreds of goofy, Paris wanna-be’s with no effort at all. Hate them, too?

JEALOUSY is an ugly slime to wear – but you can wash it off. The soap is honesty. Next time you see Paris, smile and say to yourself, “You lucky little twit. You hit the jackpot in the lottery of life and I didn’t. Too bad for me – but good for you. Have fun – laugh – and party your little ass off. If I were you, I would too!”