Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: canada (page 1 of 2)

I Said “No Pictures”

This is in Toronto, during the shit-dumb Festival Express that bankrupted a few hippies, enriched a few liquor store owners, and excreted a half-decent movie worth it if only for the scene of an unfathomably drunk-and-stoned Rick Danko, Marmaduke Dawson, Janis Joplin, and Garcia and Bobby wobbily circling through No More Cane on the Brazos. You’ve seen it, or you haven’t.

There. Now you have.

Anyway, this was 1970–long before the invention of security–and that doofus with the Nikon must have gotten up into Garcia’s face, unleashing the rarest Garcia of all: Scary Bear.

Legend has it that Garcia mauled and devoured the photog, but you can’t trust John Legend.

Worst Episode Of Punk’d Ever

“Joshua Boyle! Look at you! Welcome back to Canada, Mr. Boyle. You look…well, honestly, you look like you’ve been held captive by the Taliban for five years.”

“Thank you?”

“My name’s Agent Jenkins. The government has sent me to help you reacclimate to society.”

“Great. That’s great. Did the Leafs win the Cup?”

“You’ve only been gone five years, Mr. Boyle.”


“I missed jokes.”

“Taliban isn’t a lot of fun?”

“No fun. No fun whatsoever. The least fun people you’ll ever meet.”

“I bet.”

“What else is going on?”

“Nothing much. Getting ready for winter. Gonna flood the backyard and make a rink for the boys.”

“Not going on with you personally, Agent Jenkins.”


“The world.”

“The world? Oh, the world. Huh. The woooooorld. It’s, uh, it’s…well, it’s still here. The world’s still here today. And that’s a good thing.”

“Are things not going well?”

“They’re going interestingly. The newspaper is more fascinating than it’s ever been. Oh, and there are no more newspapers anymore.”


“There’s a few in big cities. Like how there’s still opera. Let’s move past it.”

“Sure. Who’s the Prime Minister?’


“He’s dead.”

“Yes. His son is the PM now.”

“The prettyboy?”


“How’s he doing?”


“Do people still eat hot dogs?”

“Of course.”

“Good, good. Boats? Are there still boats?”

“You mean, like, vessels upon the sea? Boats?”

“Yeah, boats. We still doing boats?”

“We are. Humanity still employs boats to traverse the waterways.”

“Wonderful. What about shaking hands? That still a thing?”

“It’s only been five years, Mr. Boyle.”

“Life moves pretty fast sometimes, Agent Jenkins. Plato said that.”

“Ferris Bueller said that.”

“Ferris Bueller quoted that.”

“Mr Boyle, do you have any more questions that aren’t ridiculous?”

“No, I’m cool.”


“Oh, wait. Who’s the American president?”


“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. What? I didn’t hear you. Is that my cell phone? I think the room’s on fire. Why don’t we just leave and end this conversation right now?”

“Agent Jenkins, who’s the president?”



“America? America. Huh. Not ringing a bell. America? Am I pronouncing that right?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Agent Jenkins, who is the President of the United States?”

“Donald Trump.”

“President Donald Trump. That’s funny. A guy with the same name as that idiot on teevee is the president. I bet people think that’s funny.”

“It’s funny in a certain way.”

“Weird for two powerful people to have the same name. It’s not like it’s a common one.”


“Amazing coincidence.”


“Oh, God.”


“The real Trump?”


“With the hair and the skin?”


“The ‘You’re Fired’ guy.”


“And he was elected? The US hasn’t gone to a lottery system and he was picked at random?”

“Lost the poplar vote, won in the Electoral College?”

“What the fuck is an Electoral College?”

“I have no idea. He’s president. Leave it at that. It’s official.”

“Holy shit.”


“I knew they were all fucking nuts, but this is beyond the pale.”

“It’s a bit of situation.”

“How’s he doing?”

“How do you think he’s doing?”

“Well, wow. He’s, um, a rich guy. Was successful at real estate before being a reality teevee star. He’s run big businesses. I guess he could be doing okay.”

“Mr. Boyle, imagine a warehouse full of clusterfucks. Furthermore, place this imagined warehouse within a warehouse district; every surrounding warehouse is full of clusterfucks, as well. Then: dose Godzilla. Melt that giant lizard-gorilla’s eyeballs right out of his sockets, and shove him towards that warehouse district with all the warehouses full of clusterfucks.”

“That bad?”

“I wasn’t finished. Now, set everything on fire: the warehouses, the clusterfucks, and Godzilla.”


“Still not done. Finally, get a mad scientist to turn Lou Gehrig’s Disease communicable by air and have crop-dusters spray down the entire area with weaponized shakiness.”

“I get the picture.”

“I could go on.”

“You don’t have to. When’s the next election?”

“Three years.”

“Wow. Well, we’ll just have to get through it like I did my time hostage. You know what I did, Agent Jenkins?”

“Tell me.”

“I concentrated on a happy thought. A reward that was waiting for me after I returned to the world.

“That’s nice. What was your reward?”

“Seeing Bowie in concert.”

“Oh, COME ON!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Boyle.”

“Take me back to the Taliban.”

“Completely understandable.”

Guys, You’re In The Wrong Chairs

“It’s your turn to call him, Senor Prime Minister.”

“No, Mister President. I called him this afternoon.”

“How many times did you explain NAFTA to him?”



“I counted.”

“Justin, I can’t take another conversation with this baboso. I got problems of my own.”

“Your people are not fond of you.”

“They truly despise me. How you doing?”

“The internet loves me.”

“How about Canada?”


“What if we both call him?”

“At the same time?”

“Double-team him.”



“Not a great image.”

“Not like the last guy.”

“Peña, I’m not gay but I would totally have gotten my three-way on with the two of you.”

“We were the hottest continent.”

“Dude, by faaaaaar we were the hottest. You seen some of the scrubs running Asian countries?”

“Muy feo. So: we both call him. Good cop, bad cop.”

“Yeah, maybe. Who’s the bad cop?”

“We’re talking to Donald Trump, man. Obviously, the guys with the Mexican accent is gonna play the bad cop.”


“Head in the game, Trudeau.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I got my mind on the playoffs.”

“What is it with you people and hockey?”

“You people?”

“Justin, mi amigo.”

“Peña, my friend.”

“Let’s not fight.”

“We need to stick together.”

“Si. We just need to weather this storm. Okay, so when we call, you’ll talk about the proud and long history of the Canadian/American relationship, and I’ll threaten him with nationalizing the Ford plant in Chihuahua.”

“Don’t say Chihuahua.”


“He’ll start thinking about dogs and we’ll lose him.”

“Si, si.”

“And I don’t know if the history approach will work. The president doesn’t know any history.”

“You think he knows who fought the War of 1812?”

“I don’t think he knows when it happened.”

“You got a plan?”

“You still got El Chapo wrangled or did he get away again?”

“We got him in one of those all-plastic numbers like where they keep Magneto.”

“Super. Give him to Trump.”

“I’m not handing a Mexican national, no matter how big of a criminal, to that jackass. Or any president, for that matter. Out of the question.”


“Besides, El Chapo just escaped again.”

“He’s good.”


“Peña, listen: every leader has burdens. Our predecessors have faced wars, depressions, droughts. Trump is our burden. He’s our World War II.”

“I am not up to this task.”

“Probably me neither, buddy, but here we are.”

“Si. Okay. But it’s your turn to call him.”

“I got an idea.”

“I’m open to anything.”

“What if I FaceTime him? And when I explain NAFTA again, I use a whiteboard and markers and visual aids?”

“That’s not bad. But call soon.”


“Almost teevee time.”

“Oh, right, yeah. I’ll talk to you afterwards.”

“Bueno suerte.”

“You, too, ehh?”

Justin Trudeau’s Statement On Fidel Castro’s Death (First Draft)

I have had two fathers in my life: one maybe blew a Beatle or something, and had a Frenchy sort of name; the other was Fidel Castro. He was a baseball enthusiast, and a maestro of the jumpsuit, but most of all he was a leader.

Tears flow like syrup in Canada’s capital city of Toronto today, all in memory of a man who loved Cuba, and who was in turn loved so much by Cubans that they went forth in leaky boats and homemade rafts just to tell the world about him. His popularity was such that you never saw a negative article about him in the Cuban press.

Did Fidel Castro ever have an enemy? Not for long.

As a small and handsome child, I went with my “father” to meet Papa (I called Fidel Castro “Papa”) and we hit it off. I remember Papa saying to me that we “went together like homosexuals and firing squads,” and then he gave me a cigar and a 1952 Packard Clipper.

Once more, 2016 strikes at our best and humbles the hearts of those that thought themselves mighty.

FIDEL! the world cries.

EL PRESIDENTE! Cuba weeps.

Papa, I sob.

No, Canada

TotD is a Canadiophile, even though that is not a word: my love for America’s neighbors to the north (if you write more than two sentences about Canada without including the phrase “neighbor to the north,” then Julian Assange moves into your house and doesn’t leave) is well-documented, but certainly not unique. Being a fan of Canada is not a bold position for an American to take: a WSJ/NBC poll asked the question in September; I would link to it, but the Wall Street Journal is behind a paywall, so I went there via Google and screenshotted the pertinent part because fuck them and their paywall: information wants to be free, unless it’s my information, and then you should either leave it alone or pay for it.

So, look:


That Canada has a higher approval rating than Michael Jordan or the Pope is understandable; let’s be honest: there’s a shitload of people who don’t like black folks or the Catholics Church. And I would understand if the 25% of Americans who didn’t have positive feelings towards Canada simply had no opinion on the Great White North. (Or–and again we need to be honest–they’re dumbfucks who haven’t heard of Canada; I bet there’s a lot more of them than you’d be comfortable with.)

But, as we see in the final sentence, the Mainstream Media has once again buried the lede, probably at the behest of Hitlery Rotten-Clinton, who is very crooked.

“Just” 3%? The word “just” does not belong to that thought. “Holy shit, ten million people hate Canada? How the fuck is that even possible?” would be a much better sentence than the one in the article, far more closely associated with reality. What kind of person would hate Canada?

TotD presents People In The 3% Of Americans Who Hate Canada:

  • Incredibly strict Nationalists.
  • Crazy fucks who also believe other crazy bullshit, but Canada got tossed into the mix somewhere along the way.
  • Mild contrarians.
  • Alex Lifeson’s jilted ex-lovers.
  • People who just wanna be wrong.
  • Pitchers who have faced Jose Bautista.

I got nothing. Not to infantilize a modern, prosperous, and forward-thinking nation, but hating Canada is like hating a puppy. A vaguely-socialist, passive-aggressive puppy.

(You do not want to know the numbers on Americans’ feelings towards Mexico, trust me.)

Thanks, Eh?

As all Enthusiasts know, TotD is a Canadophile, even though that is not a word. America is the luckiest country in the world, not just because it is the best country in the world, but because it shares a border with the second-best country. (And also Mexico, but let’s stay positive.) Canada is our snow toupee, our crown of timber and Tim Bits, our poutine halo. Canada is also between us and the Soviets, and that is nice of them.

Today is Canada Day, which is a day that celebrates Canada. I imagine it was named thusly:

“Hey, Gordie.”

“Yeah, Gordo?”

“Canada needs a holiday. What should we call it?”

“Canada Week.”

“Too long.”

“Canada Hour.”

“Too short.”

“Canada Day.”

“Right on. Call the lady who makes all the Canadian calendars.”


And so on.

Canada Day is, of course, the commemoration of the release of the first Rush album with Neil Peart. (The first one with John Rutsey on drums does not count, even though it does rock pretty hard.) The Toronto trio is a huge part of Canadian history: the Canadian Armed Forces were raised primarily to defend Rush against enemies foreign, domestic, or KISS.

But did you know that other great things came from Canada besides Rush? Here’s a partial list of what the world has to be thankful for on Canada Day:

  • Justin Trudeau’s hair.
  • Sarah Polley’s nose.
  • Finding it acceptable and even laudable to halt a sporting event so two men can punch each other in the face.
  • Excellent dog breeds that–as befits the stereotype–are competent and friendly, like the Newfoundland and the Labrador.
  • About a million lethally funny people, including the underrated Andrea Martin.
  • A Canadian invented the walkie-talkie and AM radio; the electric wheelchair and the car heater (that one makes sense); sonar and insulin; the paint roller and the pacemaker.
  • Canada Dry ginger ale and Yukon Jack potatoes are also from Canada, but you should have known that without me telling you.
  • The two most famous cups in sport come from Canada: Lord Stanley’s Cup, and the cup that protects your Yukon Jack potato salad.
  • (Although–and this is a mindfuck–the Stanley Cup is older than the cup, and not by a few years. First Stanley Cup was awarded in 1893, but the athletic protector wasn’t invented until 1927. Perhaps you are like me, and assumed that the hard cup was invented during the first hockey game ever played. You know: right after a guy took a slapshot to the upper five hole. How did men play hockey for 34 years without cups? There are only three options: Canadians from the past were tough, crazy, or dumb. Either they didn’t care about taking a puck to the dick, which is tough, or they relished taking a puck to the dick, which is crazy, or they hated the dick pucking but couldn’t figure out what to do about it, which is dumb.)
  • If Montreal and their bullshit was happening in America, the rest of the country would have antagonized them into a fight and then bombed their cities; Canada has not done that yet, and I do not believe will in the near future, so kudos to Canada for the sustained campaign of  patience, dialogue, and reasonable concessions.
  • Y’know who’s from Canada is that David Lemieuxlinrouge, and he’s a good egg.
  • As there is no Canadian cuisine, there are no Canadian restaurants, and therefore there are no foodie blogs about Canadian restaurants; for this, I thank you, Canada.

We end with the most Canadian photograph ever taken.

geddy lee mckenzie brothers

Leaving Moose Jaw, First Day Of July

canada stealie

Happy Canada Day, all you Northern Enthusiasts.

Stone-Cold Silver Foxes

bobby anderson cooper3

“I don’t understand what you mean by ‘trapped,’ Bob.”


“Don’t call me that.”

“–we’re stuck here for the time being.”

“Again: I don’t understand.Are you tripping on pot?”

“Probably not. Anyway: you can’t leave.”

“The dressing room?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.”

“Oh, of course I can.”



“Bob, nothing’s outside the door.”


“No, I mean nothing. An existential void. Neither form nor formlessness. If God’s fridge were empty, that would be what it looked like. It wasn’t even the opposite of reality, because that implies a binary and causative coexistence with reality: what I saw outside that door had absolutely no relationship with reality.”

“There’s your problem. This isn’t reality.”

“I am back to not understanding you.”

“Are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”

“Okay, you’re a crazy person and I am considering this a kidnapping. I’m calling the police.”



“Hello, this is television’s Anderson Cooper and I am being held hostage.”

“Heeeeey, man.”

“Who is this?”

“That sounds like Soup, Coop.”

“I’m Soup, man.”

“Did you dose me?

“No, do you want me to?”

“Who is this idiot on the other end of the line?”

“That’s Soup. He’s cool.”

“Heeeey, man.”


“Yeah, the thing is: place is lousy with minor characters and they just about got the run of the joint.”


“It’s complicated at first. It’ll make more sense in the next post.”

“Post? What?”

Like A Bob On A Wire

Portable Network Graphics image-AC582CDF7206-1

“Y’know, I’m not in Canada anymore.”

The actual you.


I have no authority over the actual Bobby.

“Me, on the other hand…”

Right. And I have some more pictures, so get used to gentle socialism and paying more for books.

“I’ve always admired Canadians for that, the book thing. Go to buy yourself something to read and get smacked in the face with a tiered payment system. That’s tough, man.”

Plucky folks.

“Yeah. You think putting that kind of label on something in America would go over well?”

Where there’s two prices, and we had to pay the higher one?

“Yeah, that.”

There would be riots.

“There ya go.”

Lots of screaming about the Constitution.

“More than usual.”



It kinda looks like the randos have cornered you.

“I’m penned in here pretty good.”

The forks can be used as weapons.

“Oh, hey, yeah. Good call.”

Across The Rio Rand-eo

bobby rando canada4

“I guess this is still going on.”

You may be trapped in a recursive rando loop.

“This one may not be a rando. I think he’s the TV guy.”

You think? You should know this, Bobby.

“Sure, I should, sure. But, you know: I stopped paying real close attention around 2004.”

You held out a lot longer than some of the other Grateful Deads.

“Brent came into the band not paying attention. I kinda admired him for it.”

I am not paying attention to this anymore. Is that the TV guy or not?

“Jeans look like TV-guy-jeans.”

Mayer’s got five pair.



“Ah. Yeah, he likes his clothes.”

Portable Network Graphics image-5E194747C86D-1

Okay, I’m going to tell you what’s happening, and you confirm it for me: you’re with a rando, and we’re talking, and then it feels like my eyeballs turn outside-in, and then I smell orange (but not the fruit, the color) and then you’re standing there with another rando.

“That sounds right. I’m smelling seventeen, though.”

Is reality breaking down?

“Well, that would, you know: presuppose reality working properly in the first place. And I don’t know about that one.”

You are on the ball tonight, Bobby.

“I get most of my best thinking done in Canada.

Sure. Can I tell you what’s adorable?

“If you must.”

How you’re all politely nestled up against the giant rando, but your head is as far away from him as your neck will allow.

“I don’t know if I’d call that adorable.”

It is totes adorbs.

bobby randos canada delfie

AAAH! Not adorbs! Totes not adorbs!

“Yeah, people do that.”

Do they think you don’t notice?

“When you stop trying to understand the mind of a rando, you will find your bliss.”

Bob, these are the least blissful randos I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, you know: what are ya gonna do?”

Portable Network Graphics image-5054002EA622-1

Oh, thank God. Where’d you get a scarf?

“Creepy Ernie’s.”

Yeah? How’s he doing?

“He had a stroke.”

Oh, no! Is he going to be okay?

“No, no: when I went there, he had a stroke, and then he cupped gently.”


“Can’t beat the prices. And, you know: Ern’s family.”

Yeah: statistically it will be family that does that sort of thing to you.

bobby rando canada4

We’re back at the first guy.

“Yeah, we’re in a rando loop. Somebody’s gotta bring the Time Sheath up to Canada.”

Gimme a minute.

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