Monday, April 30, 2012

Audio/Visual OxyContin

Since OxyContin is hard to come by unless someone just turned you into a eunuch, here is the next best thing brought to you by Blackie Lox.

Russell Brand and Lindsay Lohan got their taste, have you?


http://vimeo.com/41244718

Thursday, April 26, 2012

"Can't believe Boston just let a sand nigger beat them" #gobacktothejungle

Usually anything that is written by someone under the handle "@mastabates23" wouldn't catch my attention, but there is an entire thread of people calling Joel Ward, who scored the game winning goal last night in OT for the Washington Capitals to beat the Boston Bruins, a nigger for beating their team.

Joel Ward, a Barbadian-Canadian out of North York, took the Wayne Simmonds high route and played off the racist taunts.  Lo and behold, both Ward and Simmonds are both Black Canadians out of the GTA, and both played a significant role in both their teams making it to the second round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

Before I go any further, here are a couple links to the whole story and what people were saying.  ***Warning: the language is foul and even got under my skin.***

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/dc-sports-bog/post/fans-unleash-racial-garbage-at-joel-ward/2012/04/26/gIQA19lBiT_blog.html

http://chirpstory.com/li/6781#

I'm not going to go on here and talk about how backwards US society is, or Boston's racism, or the anonymity of twitter and social media, or the Obama right-wing backlash.  It's like me writing a post on the fact that the sky is blue.  Duh.

What I do want to say to all my fellow Canadians, specifically Black Canadians, who think hockey is a "White Man's" sport, name one Black Torontonian, or Black Canadian, that's playing on a NBA playoff team right now.  Exactly.

Put down that basketball and lace up them skates Jamal - it's time for igloo niggers to take over the NHL.

Furthermore, Joel Ward is the perfect example of Canadian multiculturalism at its finest.  A Black kid of West Indian parentage, growing up in the GTA, is front and centre in the Whitest of all White sports.  Don Cherry eat your heart out.

If I were Drake or Rihanna, I'd never perform in Boston again.

Racism is like herpes; can hide it with some makeup, but can never get rid of it.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

The Chronicles of Queen Rhodesia: March 1st, 2012 - The Time Machine

Five times a day DogMan takes me into a time machine.  Let me describe it to you:

We leave apartment 4P and walk about 20 metres down the hall.  There are two time machines on the third floor and two more on the 4th floor and each one takes me somewhere different.

Once we get to the door of the time machine, DogMan makes me sit while he presses a button and waits for it to warm up.  Before he used to let me walk to it without a leash on, but then one day I decided to chase down some old woman who I thought was breaking into another apartment, so from then on he keeps me on a leash when we leave apartment 4P.

Finally the big shiny doors slide open and we step into the portal and DogMan presses another button.  I think this is where he puts in what year and location he wants us to go, because sometimes we end up underground, sometimes in the dark, sometimes it's hot, sometimes it's snowing, sometimes it's raining, sometimes I see people, sometimes I see other dogs, so wherever crazy DogMan decides to go, he punches it in the mini computer in the portal.

I don't know why DogMan is always so relaxed in the time machine.  Maybe it's because I heard him on the phone one day talking to someone that made a time machine in their basement, so maybe he's from a family of time machinist. 

I get in the time machine and I sit.  Not because I'm being obedient to DogMan, but because I worry that whatever controls the time machine is gonna open the doors and vaporize DogMan, and I want to look as normal and as calm as possible.  But really on the inside I'm scared shitless of what might happen.

Sometimes I can see DogMan laughing at me and trying to rub my head in the portal to calm me down, but I want none of that.  This human/dog hybrid thinks time and space travel is some kind of joke, but I don't want to end up like the dude from that university in Australia with a rod through my chest. 

Plus I like how the vibrations feel on my bum.

After about 5 hours in dog time, the portal doors open and I'm somewhere else.  Sometimes I recognize it, most times I don't.  But I do know the time machine gives me gas and I always need to poop when the ride is over.

I hate time travel.

Monday, April 23, 2012

My Life Ambition

Somewhere between 3rd Year and 4th Year there's a "trying to get rich off writing the Chronicles of Queen Rhodesia - the life story of a dog" category.  That's where I'm at.


Sunday, April 22, 2012

The Chronicles of Queen Rhodesia: February 14th, 2012 - Ovariohysterectomy

Valentine's Day.  Ugh.

I hate Valentine's Day.  Why?  It all started way way waaaaay back seven years ago, February 13th, 2011.

There was this handsome victorian bulldog I had my nose on that lived somewhere upwind from 222 Central Avenue.  I don't know where exactly, but his urine smelled divine.  It had that smell of a ManDog (not DogMan cause his pee smells like he brushes his teeth with dirty bathwater from a Mexican prison) that still had both of his testicles.  It was the smell of an animal that I knew I wanted to mount me in the middle of a busy playground with kids all around asking their mom and dad what those two dogs are doing.

Every night I used to dream about this ManDog that I decided to name him Michael.  I don't know where I got that name from, but when I was a wee newborn pup in 2010, every time I heard about dogs, I used to hear about this guy, so I figured he must love dogs.

I would dream about me and ManDog frolicking in the meadows.  He would smell my butt, and I would smell his.  He would find me dead squirrels and let me roll in them first.  And I would find old dog poop and let him take the first bite.  It was a match made in heaven.

Then came February 13th, 2011.  My 13/11.

DogMan took me to the butcher.

Well, at the time I didn't know it was the butcher, because DogMan told me he was taking me to what I understood was a fertility clinic.  In my mind I thought this was my chance to get my uterus all ready for Michael.

Oh, how I was so wrong.

They got me on the table at the "clinic" and DogMan was talking to another human/dog hybrid cause he smelled like a thousand dogs rolled into one.  That should've been my first warning sign.

They put a needle in my leg, and the last thing I heard was the word "ovariohysterectomy".

Ovario what?  What the fuck?

The next thing I remember was this ridiculous pain in my stomach and the desperate need for some OxyContin.  DogMan was there when I woke up and I asked him what the hell he did to me.  My first thought was that I was in India and DogMan got me involved in the illegal dog organ trade, and he sold off one of my kidneys for a new iPad.  

Then the reality set in.

I looked over at the other bitches and dogs in the clinic and realized something - all the dogs had no testicles and all the bitches had stitches on their bellies, just like mine.

Once long ago, I watched a VH1 behind the scenes of the Dog Whisperer.  One of the extras in the show revealed Cesar's secret about how he can control all the dogs because he takes their power from eating a cocktail of boiled dog testicles, and fried bitch uterus and ovaries.

DogMan wanted to steal me away from Michael and become the new Cesar Millan.

Well congratulations, you bastard.  You've ruined my social life, and most importantly Valentine's Day, for the rest of my life.

You better sleep with a steel cup on.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Sara Cave and the Healthy Babies Healthy Children (HBHC) Program

I am pleased to introduce Sara Cave, a McMaster Bachelor of Science graduate and a recent graduate of Queen's University's Master of Public Health.  Miss Cave recently completely her practicum at the Halton Region of Health's Healthy Babies Healthy Children initiative. 

Please follow the link below to read Miss Cave's published report.  I strongly encourage all expectant and new mothers to read it.

http://www.halton.ca/cms/One.aspx?portalId=8310&pageId=54256

Thursday, April 19, 2012

The Chronicles of Queen Rhodesia: February 2nd, 2012 - The Sock

Why does DogMan think that I want his old socks to chew on?  Okay, I admit, at first I thought they were edible cause they tasted like cheese, but then I got that strange rash-like thing on my tongue and a wicked case of diarrhea.  I think this is DogMan's ultimate payback from my death-by-chemical-warfare-in-his-sleep plan.  Well played, fur-less chap.

At least DogMan could give me the common courtesy of clean socks to chew on.  The reason I don't chew up your shoes is cause your feet smell like you stomp skunks into wine for a living.  And why, DogMan, do you choose to wear the same pair of socks for a whole week without washing them?  Your feet must be made out of iron or they would've disintegrated by now. 

I'm a dog, but I would like clean oral hygiene.

I don't have thumbs, so I can't brush my teeth, so I use the threads and elastic in the socks like dental floss to get that hard ass cardboard kibble you feed me out my teeth.  I watch those David Duchovny narrated Pedigree Dentastix commercials and that 4 out of 5 dogs over the age of three have gum disease.  Since your cheap ass won't buy me those treats, or those bionic thumbs I asked you for Christmas, a clean sock or two would suffice.

You know when you're trying to watch that lit up box when you sit in your giant dog bed and I bring that hot stinking sock and put it on your lap and you think I want to play, DogMan?

I don't want to play, I'm begging you to wash it because it smells like death.  You think the sock smells bad to you, DogMan?  I can smell 1000 times stronger than you.  This thing smells like a rotting possum that's been microwaved in one of my silent but deadly farts.  Wash the damn thing, nuh!

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

The Chronicles of Queen Rhodesia: January 23rd, 2012 - The Fart

This series is based on true stories from the life of Queen Rhodesia (Rhodee) - half dog, half monarch of apartment 4P at 222 Central Avenue. 

As told by Rhodee.  Translated from dog to english by Christopher with help from Cesar Millan:

4:52am.

I need to pee.  Actually, I need to poo, but it makes no difference to the fact that I need to get out of this steel box the two legged fur-less dog keeps me in at night.  I've always wondered how he's got no fur and all other dogs do, and that he can walk on two legs like a human.  Sometimes I think he's a human, but the way he sleeps all day, and runs around and pees outside like me, and all that fur on his face and head, tells me that he's 100% dog.

4:59am.

I still need to pee.  I know DogMan just took me outside a couple hours ago because he was up late sitting at his big wooden crate looking at that big book that makes noise with light coming out of it, but I need to get out.

5:01am.

Alright, this is getting unbearable.  If I don't get out soon, DogMan is gonna have to fill my water bowl with some cranberry juice for the next two weeks.  Worse yet, he might just have to be washing the pee out of my fur and wishing I was fur-less like him.  I wonder why he just won't give me that spare key and stop treating me like I'm Paul Bernardo.  He thinks I'm gonna lose the key in the elevator again?  I know I don't have any thumbs, but he doesn't need to discriminate.  I should call PETA, but he took my blackberry away cause I was running up his bill for sending tastefully nude photos of myself to that rottweiler with the gold collar in apartment 4G.  Can't knock my hussle, DogMan!

5:05am.

Time to initiate operation stink bomb.  I need to ease out silent but deadly farts in 30 second intervals.  I don't want them to be loud enough to wake him up, but I want him to be smelling that skunk-like stench in his dreams.

5:09am.

Eight farts down and I can see him starting to squirm a little in his bed.  I know he just read Hunger Games, so he's probably dreaming that he's being chased by mutts through a cesspool or something.  Worse yet, he might think he's drowning in a public toilet.  I had that nightmare once and couldn't sleep for days after.

5:10am.

I think I just prairie dogged one.

5:15am.

K, he's finally starting to get up.  I think he realizes that if he leaves me in here any longer tomorrow I might stay up all night plotting on how to kill him by stench in his sleep.

5:26am.

Phew, finally outside and I just realized I didn't really have to go that bad.  I really could've let DogMan's alarm wake him up at 7.  That'll teach his smart ass from making me sleep in a damn prison.


Sunday, April 15, 2012

Burnley "Rocky" Jones

"Burnley "Rocky" Jones is best known as a civil rights leader who invited the Black Panthers to Halifax in 1968.  But while the RCMP was following him around and tapping his phone -- looking for signs of a revolution -- he was busy setting up an ambitious oral history project."

A really interesting piece of (neglected) Canadian history.

http://soundcloud.com/kevin-philipupillai/retired-fire

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Take Care with that Codeine, Drake

I like Drake, I won't lie, but this man is an idiot.  You do drugs?  Great. Whatever. What's new?  But don't be boasting about it in an interview.  Ya, you say you do it "within moderation" but I don't think Whitney Houston thought 20 years ago that her recreational and "moderate" drug habit to ease "the overwhelming stress" would lead to her lying dead in a bathtub.  Insert Michael Jackson here too.

Next thing Drake gonna be shooting whatever Mr. Boogie Man is and start wearing green uggs.

Here's the excerpt:

Far from an R&B loverman (there was also once some kind of romance with Rihanna), Drake undercuts his every boast with a melancholy that is eminently seductive. He even talks, in We'll Be Fine, about suicide. "I say: 'Never thoughts of suicide, I'm too alive,'" he points out, but even to mention the subject in a song, considering his wealth and fame, is strange. "Yeah, I know," he says, "because you get artists in this position who go crazy and don't know how to handle it. There are people who have killed themselves. There's the overwhelming stress, how tired you are, the weight on your shoulders of going out here and giving 18,000 people entertainment ... It's a lot of pressure."

How do you handle it? Drugs?

"Have I sipped codeine before?" he asks for me. "Yeah, of course. Have I smoked weed? Yes. Do I drink wine? Yes. But do I do it excessively? No. I'm not a reckless guy. I do it all within moderation. I'm not into drugs." He realises what he has just said, and bursts out laughing, as do his crew. "I mean any outside the ones I just mentioned."


Saturday, April 7, 2012

The IPL: NFL Money Without the Concussions

You're looking at your five year old son and wondering what sport you should put him in so he can be that next multimillion dollar sports superstar.  Do you want him to be the next Sidney Crosby or Eric Lindros, but worried if he'll be able to spell his own name come his 40th birthday?  Or the next Troy Aikman or Peyton Manning, but worried that the next hit could leave him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life?  Or you're nervous that he could dibble dabble in the MLB world of PEDs like Mark McGwire, Barry Bonds, or Roger Clemens?

If you want to weigh risk and reward in professional sport, I'd say international cricket - specifically the Indian Premier League (#IPL) - is where it's at.  For all those North Americans that scoff at cricket as "not a real sport" because they wear white and drink tea, ask Katy Perry what she thinks after performing at the opening ceremony.


The NFL is arguably the most popular league in the US - and one of the richest in the world.  But no one really cares about American Football outside of North America, so really, the NFL has an audience of roughly 350 million (taking into account the US and Canada's combined populations and throwing in a few million Mexicans).

Then you have the IPL and India's love affair with cricket.  India's population is estimated at over 1.2 billion - yes, I said billion.  Even if only half the population cares about cricket (I'd argue that number is close to near a billion people that do) that's almost double the audience than the NFL.

Then there's the player's salaries.

Ever heard of Ravindra Jadeja?  This 23 year old Indian cricketer was just signed by the Chennai Super Kings for $2 million dollars for the 2012 tournament.  In North American sports terms, that may not seem like a whole lot of money, but when you factor in that the IPL season is 16 matches (without playoffs) over about a 6 week span, the financial strength of the IPL is staggering.

Put it this way:

At $2 million, Jadeja makes $125,000 a game.  That's $333,333 a week for a total of 6 weeks out of 52 of the whole year. 

Let's dare to compare Jadeja to LeBron James.  In the 2010-2011 NBA season, LeBron's salary was $14.5 million dollars.  Over an 82 game season, LeBron made $176,829.27 a game, or over the approximately 6 month regular season (let's round it to 25 weeks to keep this math simple enough), he made about $580,000 a week.

Now say Jadeja played an 82 game NBA schedule over the course of 25 weeks.  At $125,000 a game, he'd make $10,250,000 a year.

Better yet, I'll use a better athletic comparison to the sport of cricket - baseball. 

The baseball season is 162 games.  If the Yankees signed and spent money like the Chennai Super Kings, they'd have to pay Jadeja $20,250,000 a year.  A-Rod signed a $275 million 10 year deal with the Yankees in 2007 averaging out to about $27.5 million a year (yes, his salary isn't structured evenly over the course of 10 years, but this is just to provide an example).  But with Jadeja you don't need to worry about Madonna or PEDs.

And here's the kicker:  Jadeja isn't even one of the most popular/marketable players in the IPL.  He's not the LeBron or Lin or Tebow of cricket in India.  Introducing Sachin Tendulkar.

It's estimated that the IPL is the second highest paying league in the world, second only to the NBA.  Over the course of a year, the average player salary would be about $3.95 million USD.

Time to get an IPL franchise, Toronto.  Rogers already has exclusive rights to broadcast IPL matches in Canada, they might as well corner the "bat and ball sports" global market with both the Blue Jays and a professional IPL team.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Tights are for Working Out, Not Work

This post is directed to all those ladies out there that consider spandex pants and its derivatives (yoga pants, jeggins, panty hose, coloured long johns, etc.) acceptable forms of attire for anything but gym clothes, pyjamas, UFC warmup gear, painting pants, and anything in that category.

Why?  Two reasons:

It's a health issue.  You realize when you sit on the bus, or any public seating area, there is only a thin layer (even thinner if you're wearing a thong - cause clearly panty lines and tights are like oil and water - or no underwear at all) between your private parts and those of that naked homeless dude that was sitting in that seat before you?  Think about Dave Chappelle's real life experience on the bus next time your booty goes lululemon first:


The second reason:

It's a slippery slope.  It's just like how skinny shorts - ahem - capri pants are turning men into a bunch of Leroys.  Next thing you know, men will decide that lululemon yoga pants are pretty comfortable and they don't need to worry about wearing gloves to avoid zipper cuts when they're playing tap tap the ballsack

Then, the slope gets even slipperier.



Ladies, do us men a favour and put on some pants.  One morning you'll wake up and realize your man has worn your favourite high heel pumps to work to go with his matching skirt and lip gloss.


Tuesday, April 3, 2012

MER Student Conference, April 5th, 2012

If you should happen to be in and around London (Ontario) this Thursday, come out to Western University campus and hear myself and other wonderful people in my Migration and Ethnic Relations programme speak at the annual Student Conference.

Can actually see that I'm a real person and not just an internet troll.

http://www.ssc.uwo.ca/MER/MERcentre/MERStudentConferenceApril2012.pdf

Monday, April 2, 2012

Imagine if the UFC Replaced the UN?

That might sound ridiculous, but think about how much money and lives would be saved if we just had Gaddafi in the ring with Obama with winner take all?  Or Churchill vs Hitler?  Or Bush vs Osama?

K, that might be an oversimplification (and a recipe for world chaos), but what if our provincial and/or federal elections pitted its leaders against each other in a sanctioned fight?  Taking that even one step further, not only would it test someone's physical strength, but the two leaders would have to go head to head in a series of tests of who can lead a country the best.  Questions would range from domestic politics, to healthcare, to taxes, to immigration, to national defense, to foreign policy, and so on and so forth.  It wouldn't be a one shot sit down high school multiple choice exam, but done over the course of time that politicians usually waste taxpayer money when riding on titty buses on the campaign trail (who knew the Republican Primaries were still going on?  And whatever happened to that show "Ned's Newt?").  Think about it: the 2011 Canadian federal election cost $291 million.  And that was only to elect someone that's gonna keep on spending your money.

I'd prefer a gladiator style death match.  How cool would it be to see Harper and Rae fight to the death?  I mean, if someone is going to put their life on the line for me and my country, they deserve to be my leader.  King Leonadis anyone?  Shoot, I'd be happy with Queen Gorgo.


And when this idea does come to fruition, I think Trudeau II will take the win and lead this country.


London Riot Update

As of now, 19 people have been charged for their involvement in the St. Patrick's Day riot in London.  I'm still not sure what happened to the Black guy that CBC profiled, but if anyone has any information, let me know.  Thanks.  Anywho, here are some of the names and hometowns of the charged:

Jacob Biggelar, London
Jordan DeRose, London
Peter Donohoe, Orillia
Michael King, London
Blaine Mills, Barrie
Kory Puklicz, London
Brian Garton, London
Stephania Smieja-Henry, London
Michael Moore, London (I wonder if he made a documentary?)
Ryan McMahon, Port Sidney
Robert McCarron
Nathaniel Green
Thomas Goodhew
Jordan Taylor (no relation)
Brandon Watson

 http://www.lfpress.com/news/london/2012/03/30/19572411.html
 http://www.lfpress.com/news/london/2012/03/23/19540396.html

And there are 4 minors that were charged as well.  One 14 year old kid who "faces a string a charges: assaulting police, resisting arrest, escaping custody and being a member of an unlawful assembly".  His/her parents need a good old beating for that, and it all could have been prevented if the child had a SAW.