The last four postings, I note, are about the news media, and how they sometimes bewilder me. I’m sure I bewilder folks, too, but I don’t charge anyone for “news” or “opinion.”

Anyway.  They’re not having a good morning, the MSM. I’m sure they’ll feel better tomorrow.

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My friends Clay Ruby and Paul Magder have already agreed to the stay.  So why is today’s hearing in any way news?

(Swear to God, some days, I think I am totally missing things.  Is there a reason why dozens of reporters and camerafolks are crammed in a courtroom this morning, tweeting and reporting on something whose outcome is already known?)

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Why was it written?  Why is it being headlined, anywhere? Why are Opposition MPs compelled to comment? Why should anyone care, when this guy hasn’t been near cabinet for years?

Ottawa is crazy.  That isn’t news, either.

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…you don’t know a damned thing about punk, or punk rock.

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Film at eleven.

And people wonder why journalists aren’t successful as politicians.  Wonder no more, etc.

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Good read.

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So, on December 2, Cesare Rizzuto, at thecuttingedge180@gmail.com, pops me a line. He writes:

You really are à small man Get over it Ford got votes in not Mr. E health  Get à réal job.

Sweet, short, to the point, albeit almost incomprehensible. Uncharacteristically speechless, I respond with nothing.

Cesare, undeterred, comes back, today:

The more i trad you the more i will vote P.C. Have you ever had à réal. job.

I do not wish to anger the Ford Nation, but I do not know what a “réal. job” is.  Throwing caution to the wind, I respond:

Consider spell check. Please.

What will Cesare say next?

 

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I hate them.

However, I have already found that, if you delete cookies, etc., you can get in with little difficulty.

Anyone else have clever suggestions about how to do so?

P.S. However brief it is, I predict this will be the most-read. most-commented post since the now-legendary Kraft Dinner post of 2008. Comment away!

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Ewg!

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Ben Rayner, no less:

• S—t From Hell, Why Do You Hate Me? (Sudden Death). One could easily write S–t From Hell off as a joke band because it’s a punk combo fronted by noted Liberal strategist Warren Kinsella and, frankly, also because its lyrics are damn funny.

The band’s latest, Why Do You Hate Me?, is an enjoyably prickly and authentic throwback to London circa 1977, not to mention occasionally the Hamilton that gave us Teenage Head at around the same time. Kinsella’s sneer could belong to a chap half his age, and his gleefully puerile handling of droll tunes like “Horny Single Mom,” “Jesus Got Wood” and “The Modern Age” (“F— you and your Facebook page” goes the refrain) exudes a contagious joy.

“Even I think we’ve come a long way and we’re better than just a bunch of middle-age f—sticks with guitars,” guitarist Derek Raymaker quipped to me weeks ago. And they are. They play the Bovine on Dec. 1.

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