DUBYAS TWO — The Greatest War In History

Explodes On A Screen Near You!

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Reviewed by Roger Ebert

New blockbuster is both a tender love story and an action-packed war movie telling how two American heroes, both in love with the same woman, had what it took to save the world from Nazi tyranny.

Ben Affleck takes off in his Hellcat to shoot down 1500 Nazi bombers on their way to bomb London

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Hollywood, NP. Six years after the release of its triumphant blockbuster Pearl Harbor, Disney today gave its first screening of the latest 'wartime story to end all wartime stories'.

According to their chief media publicist, Harvey Glick, Disney's movie dwarfs any film ever made in terms of cost, special effects, and appeal to American patriotic fervor. The six-hour epic (making it the longest feature presentation film ever made) tells how the US won the greatest war in history.

Dubyas Two begins where Pearl Harbor ended with America defeating the Japanese after their 1941 sneak attack on Hawaii. Dubyas continues with the destruction of the Nazis on the Continent of Europe in 1945 by American troops.

The film was budgeted for $750 million but the final cost may well exceed $1 billion because it is a virtual cornucopia of astonishing special effects and dazzling cinematic clichés, many of which have never been seen before. Disney is confident that the film over the course of its run will rake in several billion dollars, many times its cost.

Let me be up front with my claim that this is the best war story ever put into a digitized format. Some critics have expressed reservations about another retelling of history from a totally biased American perspective and that it ignores the contributions of other nations in defeating the Japanese, German and Italian war machines. Others blather on about trivializing the greatest event in the twentieth century by ignoring important events and placing historical figures in events that never happened.

Well, I have a one finger salute for these carping scheiss-disturbers. One dumbass critic even complained that Winston Churchill, who he claims was the greatest statesman to come out of that conflict is not even mentioned. Well, up yours, Jack! Churchill was a limey who went crawling to Roosevelt for help when the going got tough! Some statesman!

I go to movies to be entertained and if the central characters are always Americans it doesn't bother me. I'm happy with a tender love story that is played out against the background of a world in turmoil and needing America to jump in and fix it. I won't sit through any movie that claims other nations played any significant role in defeating the Nazis and Japan. Certainly not any low-budget Canadian or limp-wristed Brit movie, even if it includes all the popcorn I can eat. And I'll bet my flat Yankee ass neither will anybody else. If I want to watch a documentary I'll turn on the History Channel.

So what if maybe some other countries played a minor role in World War II — big deal! As long as the film remain true to the final outcome, which is the Yanks defeating the Nazis, that's all that counts. If other countries want to make war movies about how they helped America do it, nobody's stopping them.

I usually rate top at four stars maximum, but this one is so great, I'm giving it FIVE stars.

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Dubyas Two — The Story

by Scott Upchuk, film, food, and fashion editor of the Washington Post

The script of this marvelous movie is the work of Randall Wallace, who did such a great job with Pearl Harbor. I am thrilled that I and other top critics, including Roger Ebert, were allowed to view the just completed movie in a special pre-release screening (we were flown to Hollywood in a Disney jet but that had no bearing on my reaction to the movie. We scribblers at the Post cannot be bought!

In Dubyas Two the two Americans heroes of Pearl Harbor play key roles in saving the world from Nazi domination. Because of time limitations and to keep the plot manageable, certain minor episodes of the war — The Battle of Britain, The Eastern Front, Battle of the Atlantic, Italian Campaign, D-Day Landings, etc., — are mostly ignored (Thank God, I said to myself — the plot entanglements of the protagonists themselves were hard enough to follow!)

Ben Affleck and newcomer Gomer Hammerflueger play the two Americans (Josh Hartnett who played Ben's rival in Pearl was having his jaw re-set for an upcoming movie about how the new American nation won the war of 1812 and was unavailable for the part).

In Dubyas Two it's 1942 and Ben and Gomer are top pilots in the Eagle Squadron aboard the US aircraft carrier, Charles A. Lindbergh, steaming on patrol in the English Channel. The carrier is on a mission to supply the Free French (the only reference to non American allied involvement in WW II) with a decoder device that an American destroyer had captured from the Nazi submarine U 571.

DRAMATIC SHUFFLEBOARD GAME

Dubyas opens with the two boys playing shuffleboard on the carrier's deck. Despite a badly infected hangnail, Ben is playing an intense, aggressive game against Gomer, his friend ever since as schoolboys during the thirties they pitched hay together on an Ohio farm. Now Ben and Gomer are rivals for the affections of a US Navy nurse, head pilot of The Corps of Flying Navy Nurses, played by Kate Beckinsale, reprising her role in Pearl.

Kate is watching the contest from the ship's bridge and we can tell from the intense interplay of emotions that mobilize her perfect features that she favors both men and wants both to win but she knows that's impossible. It's obviously a terrible dilemma for her.

The intense game takes up almost the first hour of Dubyas and just when the suspense over the outcome of the bitterly fought contest becomes unbearable, we are transported to Berchtesgaden where Hitler (played by Caesar Romero) orders his Lufftwaffe Chief, Hermann Goering (played by Danny deVito), to bomb London. Michael J. Fox (who does the several voice-overs) tells us that the Nazis have just won the war against Poland and France and want to bomb Britain into submission before invading Washington.

Danny (Goering) picks up the phone and orders 1500 Heinkle bombers to destroy London. The scene shifts back to the carrier. Kate, the American Navy nurse, is still on the bridge, apparently the shuffleboard game now over, but we are left guessing who won (we learn who at the climactic end of the movie but I won't give spoil it for you by giving it away).

Kate is watching a glorious sunset while smoking a Lucky Strike Green (Lucky Strike Red had 'gone to war', luckily, because it would have clashed terribly with her cherry lipstick), wondering which of the two pilots will accompany her to that evening's showing of the film, Gone With The Wind in the after hangar deck.

The clock ticks ominously and we see by the bridge chronometer that it is 20 minutes shy of eight bells, when she must make her decision. The spacious after hangar deck normally houses the carrier's Hellcats but fortunately for the free world, the fighters have been transferred to the flight deck to make space for the showing of the feature movie. As luck would have it the Hellcats are pointed in the right direction (towards the front end) and can take off at a moment's notice.

Flying Navy Nurse Kate freshens up before taking off for Berlin where she shares the podium with Gen. DeGaulle in the Grand Berlin Victory Salute March Past in 1945, the climactic scene in new movie , DUBYAS TWO. Photo — Disney studios

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Thinking about her two suitors, still undecided whether she will let Ben or Gomer be her escort for the evening, and perhaps, afterwards, permit the lucky suitor peck her on the cheek. (This is a bit bewildering because Kate has already let us know in a brief but discreet flashback featuring gamboling sheep being mounted by horny rams that Gomer had already humped her within an inch of her life in a wild night of passion in the ship's parachute loft.

But this is a Disney film and to win a PG-13 rating, this part has been cut from the film to be shown in America. Word has it that an explicit showing of the many-splendored night of passion among parachutes being hung out to dry will be shown to French and German audiences, which are used to frank displays of sensuality. Incidentally, all the Germans shown in the film are clearly identified as Nazis and their uniforms liberally display the hated Swastika; this struck a chord with me as my grandfather on my mother's side was a German citizen during the war and he spent the entire time in a concentration camp along with millions of his compatriots who opposed the Nazi dictatorship and the destructive war being fought under the hated Swastika.

Anyway, Kate grinds the Lucky on the guard-rail and flicks the dying fag onto the flight deck. She is about to head below when she throws a quick parting glance at the sky. The camera focuses on her beautiful eyes that widen in alarm as she sees the sky filling up with thousands of evil looking Heinkle dive bombers obviously on their way to bomb London. Realizing there is not a second to lose, Kate pushes aside the officer of the deck (who has dozed off while reading a well thumbed copy of Stars and Stripes) and reaches for the PA mike. In a voice pregnant with authority and just a tinge of commanding hysteria, she yells: "All hands on deck! Pilots man your planes! Nazi bombers at eight o'clock!" Actually the bombers are all over the clock, but Kate has little time for accuracy. She must get those planes airborne!

Achtung! Heilige Scheiss!

For ninety minutes we are treated to gut wrenching air combat as the Hellcat squadron, headed by Squadron Leader Ben and his wing man, Lieutenant Gomer, take on the entire Nazi German Bomber Command. At 150 peak decibels — less heard than felt in concussive waves from the twenty Dolby total-surround speakers — racketing 0.5 inch machine-gun fire, gethumping 20 mm cannon, screeching engines and the dying groans of Nazi aircrew is a triumph of special effects.

In the screening room I was actually knocked out of my chair by one arresting slow motion sequence: A 20 mm shell leaves the cannon muzzle of Ben's Hellcat and makes its unerring way towards an enemy cockpit. As the plane with its evil Swastika insignia grow to fill the giant screen, the pilot desperately tries to shake it off, but it's no use. I couldn't help but duck as the lead-jacketed slug shatters the windscreen and continues towards the pilot.

As he screams to his Nazi co-pilot, Achtung! Heilige scheiss!, (Attention: Holy Shit!) the shell enters his left eyeball and his head explodes like a stolen watermelon falling off the back of a black sharecropper's wagon. I confess I felt a bit queasy as a red-green mush of brain matter is shown dribbling down the instrument panel as the altimeter spins madly counter clockwise towards zero. (Actually, according to Roger, Hellcats had no 20-mm cannon but eight 0.5 inch machine guns but that's just a minor nit-pick in an otherwise splendid film.)

Following their destruction of the Lufftwaffe, the Hellcats return to the carrier deck where the pilots (only one American plane was lost during the fight and he parachuted safely into the sea where an American fishing boat, skippered by Danzell Washington, scoops him up from thirty-meter-high waves in a terrifying, heart-stopping sequence of American daring-do) are decorated with Purple Hearts by the Captain, played by Charles Heston. (I learned from a studio source that Heston would only agree to the cameo role if during the presentation he was allowed to make a five-minute pitch for the right of Americans to carry automatic weapons in the peace that would follow the war.)

While Heston made this speech, I wondered how it was that the Hellcats took off at sunset yet when they return to the carrier they land at mid-day in brilliant sunshine, with all hands at goofing stations frantically waving American flags. But I had no time to sort out that anachronism because after the ceremony Kate announces to Ben and Gomer that Gone With The Wind has already been shown and that, anyway, they're probably both too tired to sit through an four-hour movie after shooting down hundreds of German planes. The crestfallen pilots return to the briefing room where they are told by Heston, "... get a little rest, guys, because you will be asked to help plan for the 'big one' tomorrow."

On the morrow, communicating with the Pentagon using an early version of Radar Internet (invented by an American screwball scientist played by Brad Pitt), the American heroes convince Gen. Mark Clark and his sidekick, General George Patton (comically played for laughs by Cuba Goodings, Jnr. ) to invade Europe using American marines and doughboys already carried aboard the Charles A. Lindbergh.

The last (four-hour) half of the film is taken up with shots of the retaking of France and the invasion of Nazi Germany by the American marines and doughboys. Some of the scenes were obviously borrowed from Saving Private Ryan, which Bay also directed.

The film ends with a triumphant parade through Berlin's Brandenburg Gate with Eisenhower (played by Alec Baldwin) and Patton taking the tumultuous cheers of Berliners now free of the Nazi yoke. It would take a stronger man than me not to be affected by the overpowering emotionalism of the cheering Germans waving Old Glory and tossing flowers and kisses at Eisenhower with his arm around Ben (now the Supreme Commander's aide) and Patton with his arm around Gomer (the victory Jeep's driver).

Because she raised the alarm when the Nazi bombers were on their way to bomb London, Kate is chosen to take the salute as the Jeep passes. On the podium she shares the spotlight with General Charles DeGaulle (also played by Alec Baldwin, now wearing a big, fake nose). Kate throws several kisses, but to whom? Are they for Ben or Gomer, or perhaps Eisenhower or even Patton?

Cleverly, Dubyas Two doesn't let us know but I'll bet my girlfriend's cherry there'll be another movie coming along to sort it all out. Incidentally, a little bird told me that Ben and Gomer are negotiating with Disney for a sequel where they plan and execute a little caper that will deal with their winning the Cold War, no less!

Dubyas Two is a great movie — despite its minor flaws — and well worth the expected $50 admission. Roger gave it five, but I'll add another for Six Stars

Scott Upchuk

MOVIE REVIEW

Butterfly Afflected, with Ben Affleck, J. Lopez, Danny de Vito, several butterflies.

Reviewed by Scott Upchuk, movie reviewer for Piss-Poor Flics

Ben Affleck, who was in box-office bomb, Pearl Harbour, and Gigli, which was so awful it barely returned its distribution costs, is an ecological terrorist in Butterfly Afflected. I was rather dubious about screening another film featuring Ben and J. Lo. And, I confess, after about fifteen minutes, I was about to walk out with my bag of half-eaten popcorn and demand my virtual money back. (I say, 'virtual', because as a top movie critic, I get to get in free.) At that early point in the movie, Ben’s character seems headed for a very sticky end, and I thought, Wait! Let’s hang around; this film may be worth the twelve-bucks the yahoos will have to pay to see it.

I’m glad I diId, because it’s gonna be a blockbuster!

The film’s title is a play on the words, Butterfly Effect, the famous premise of Chaos Theory, as stated by Ian Stewart, (Does God Play Dice? The Mathematics of Chaos, pge. 141). The flapping of a single butterfly's wing today produces a tiny change in the state of the atmosphere. Over a period of time, what the atmosphere actually does [because of that tiny change] diverges from what it would have done. So, some time later, a hurricane that would have devastated some part of the world, doesn't happen. Or, one that wasn't going to happen, does.

Affleck plays an eco-terrorist who is hiding out in an island off Samoa, hunted because he set off a huge bomb that killed hundreds of entomologists who had gathered for a convention in Samoa’s capital, Pago-Pago. We are told in voice-overs that Affleck is a left-wing ‘insurgent’ who, under the name, Yusuf al-Muslim, has founded a militant group called CETI — The Committee for the Ethical Treatment of Insects — a Leninist group of nature-lovers whose holy cause is to rid the world of entomologists, people who get their jollies sticking pins in beautiful creatures to mount them in display cases, despite the pain the insects supposedly endure.

Affleck has been crouching behind a banyan tree because a troop of Samoan soldiers is hackling at the bush with machetes hunting for the hidden terrorist. As they pass by his hiding place, a beautiful butterfly, a gorgeous papilio ascalaphus flutters by, and Affleck, desperate to save the insect from the flailing machetes, lunges out trying to cup it in his hands. His sudden movement betrays his hiding place and after a brief scuffle, he is captured and taken in chains to Pago-Pago. The Samoan government holds a show trial in Pago-Pago’s soccer stadium, the dynamics of which attract world attention.

Marxist - Muslim groups hold huge rallies in major cities that get increasingly ugly during the trial’s progress. Reactionary police lobby tear-gas at the unruly mobs and in London’s Hyde Park, a hundred women and children are crushed under the wheels of Bobbies’ police vehicles. In Paris, a mob of shrieking suicide bombers manages to topple the Eiffel Tower, and then, the bug droppings really hit the cuisenaire, to coin a phrase. The gendarmes’ machine-gun anyone seen moving and ten thousand are killed. This action seriously polarizes the two camps, the millions of Muslim-Marxists who hate everything in the West, and the millions in the infidel West who return that hatred in spades. All the Hollywood stars and other celebrities ally themselves with the Marxists because the US president, Guillimero W. Bushbaby, has been known to use enviro-unfriendly chemical anti-bug sprays on his Texas ranch, and has been videotaped pulling wings off flies.

Haters of the Republican president hold a massive rally in Madison Square Garden with a shrieking actor resembling Howard Dean (played by Martin Sheen), mounting the stage and with arms pumping and rotating like a demented windmill accuses the president of forming a conspiracy to take over the world. Amidst the turmoil, the scene then shifts back to Pago-Pago where the show trial summarily finds Affleck guilty and sentences him to death by slow (and I mean, slow) torture, followed by hanging. The hysterical scenes that attend his publicly-televised execution in Pago-Pago’s main square, almost defy description, as his agonizing death is turned into world-wide entertainment.

Affleck’s execution is extended over ten days, and every night on prime-time TV, an enterprising American huckster (played by a fat guy with a scruffy beard going by the name of Michael Moore) hosts a CBS show called The Reality Torture Sweepstakes, which is viewed by billions seeking thrills and the chance to make a financial killing. Each night before one of Affleck’s fingernails is randomly removed, viewers can place bets on an Internet site on which remaining fingernail will be the one that tonight meets the torturer’s pliers. On Day Nine, with only one fingernail and his tongue remaining, viewers are invited to bet which – the tongue or fingernail will be next. This is a Bonus Night. Those viewers who guess correctly and have the resources to cover their bet, double their money.

(Some viewers might think all this is a bit tacky, even in rather poor taste, but it’s a refreshing change from all those clichéd special effects - car chases and the like. Making entertainment out of Ben’s torture not only moves special effects into a new dimension, but also is entirely in keeping with modern American culture and the public’s demand for stark ‘realism’ in media’s depictions of it.)

In the last episode, after all of Ben’s fingernails and tongue have been removed by the torturer’s industrial-sized pliers, bets are placed on the outcome of his hanging. We know that with the noose around his neck, he will be dropped from a platform fifty feet above the floor of the soccer stadium, where thousands who witnessed his ‘trial’ and the execution scene have been rocking and chanting for days. Every time a fingernail is remained, Ben’s shrieks are drowned by the chant, “oogoo partiti”, by the boisterous crowd. “oogoo” is Samoan for fingernail, and “partiti” is, well, guess…

Ben is to be hanged from such a great height, bets are placed on whether his head will be torn from his torso during the drop. Excitement mounts as doomed, tongue-less Affleck, blood dripping from his mouth, is forced to climb to the drop point on the scaffold. After last-minute bets are placed, ten-seconds of drum rolls and bugles playing the ‘lost pest’, Affleck, hands tied behind his back, is pushed off the platform by a laughing executioner (beautifully played by J-Lo, his erstwhile lover but now a Muslim Pago Pagan; see below).

Those who bet that his head and body will part company are rewarded as Ben’s bloody head rolls along the sand until it comes to a rest at the feet of the execution-torture squad’s commander. It’s a great scene, a triumph of the digitizer’s art (but I must confess, I stopped eating popcorn while it played out).

After Ben’s torture and hanging, the world really starts seriously going amok. The US president, Guillimore W. Bushbaby, played by a heavily made up Gregory Peck, looking remarkably like Geo. W. Bush, (yes, Peck’s dead but we live in a digitised world, remember?), decides to rid the world of WMDs, Warriors of Mass Disruption, i.e. the Muslim rioters.

He orders the drop of a precision, tactical H-bomb over the high-rise in Tehran where the head of the CIA says, “it’s a slam dunk” that CETI has its headquarters. After the drop, while the big hole in the ground that used to be Iran cools sufficiently so that “nu-cue-lear de-contamination squads” (Gregory Peck, mispronouncing the word a la Bush)” can enter to find any remaining WMDs. Osama bin Laden, played by Danny de Vito wearing a long beard, is hiding out in a spider hole in a mid-East desert, where on the mud walls are suspended a dozen or more cell phones with which he makes contact with his large, world-wide band of suicide bombers.

72+ Virgins Await You in Paradise

He is seen scurrying around in his spider hole like a hyper-kinetic tarantula, picking up one cell phone after another, and giving orders like, “Allah is great, each infidel child you kill above 72, will double the number of succulent virgins you meet in Paradise.” One scene had me laughing hysterically. After ordering one bomber to “please Allah” by blowing up Queen Mary 2 as she passes the` Statue of Liberty, Osama, dripping with perspiration, relaxes for a moment by picking up a doll representing the US president (remarkably, looking much like Geo. W. Bush). With a long pin extracted from the folds of his turban, he sticks it into the doll’s eyes, then the heart, then the region of the doll where Bush’s cojones would be. But he jabs so hard, the pin transfixes the doll as well as the palm of his hand holding it. “Jesus H. Christ,” he shouts, “You’ll pay for this, you fucking infidel, decadent, imperialist swine!”

Panting with rage, he wraps a towel around the wound and decides it’s time to fulfill Allah’s Will. He picks up a red-coloured cell phone and in a fury, barks into the mouthpiece the fateful order: “Allah is great, Allah is merciful, Allah wills that infidel America and its evil leaders, especially Guillimore W. Bushbaby, be destroyed.” Then he gives the secret codeword that authorizes the detonation of an H-bomb hidden in the Pentagon's Lady Generals’ Powder-Room, Purple-Heart Medal Display Case.

But, unfortunately, neither Allah nor bin Laden know about the Knock-Down Effect (KDE). This is a secret protocol of the Bushbaby administration that should ever a hostile nuclear devise be used against America, every device in the Americans’ arsenal, no matter where stored (other than in America, of course), will be detonated. This we are told by Gregory Peck in a solemn voice-over. To the accompaniment of Morning Has Broken, a chillingly appropriate 60s song by Yusuf Muslim (Cat Stevens), the camera lens takes us into earth orbit, twenty-thousand miles out, where we are afforded a view of the globe suspended like a jewel in space.

The part of the world we see, eastern Europe, most of Africa, and South America, is in the dark blue of night, with concentrations of light indicating the bigger cities; London, Paris, Rome, Buenos Aries. Looking like the new moon, there is a crescent of light in the east and we can see that the sun is just setting over Washington, DC. It is stunningly beautiful, and I feel a tear growing in the corner of my eye as it is clear what is about to happen. One after another we see huge flashes of light, brighter than the sun, everywhere on the dark side of the world. KDE, aka the death of civilization — in action.

Even Washington is not spared, nor is Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal, nor even, surprisingly, Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. (Peck tells us that through a Pentagon goof-up, Washington was not included among the sites exempt from the KDE protocol, because a CIA operative mistook Washington, DC, for the village of Washington, Ontario).

Well, that’s the bare bones of the film, and I’ve left out the love interest described in flashbacks involving Ben and J—Lo before she decides to become a Samoan Marxist and he to be the world's ridder of insect killers. I won’t reveal the ultimate scene that ties this all together, but I‘d be remiss if I didn’t tell you where Ben's obsession with bugs began.

Ben and J—Lo are engaged in PG-13 lovemaking, only their privates are not shown, except for quick flashes. After their vigorous gymnastics are over, the camera focuses on the sheets under J-Lo’s (generous) behind as she rises from the bed. There, Ben sees that under her ass, their thrashing about has squashed a beautiful butterfly. Throughout their lovemaking Ben’s face has been a mask of studied indifference. But, now, every emotion described in Acting for Dummies crosses his puss as he tenderly picks up the crushed insect’s bug-juice-spattered remains. In a rage, he slaps J. Lo several times upside her head, then yelling at her for her “cruel thoughtlessness”, angrily boots her out the door. (It’s at that point that J. Lo decides to join the Samoan Marxist Party, as Gregory Peck tells us).

Alone, Ben finally recovers his composure, but we can see in his narrowed eyes that the world’s entomologists had better watch out. The ‘Butterfly Effect’ indeed—a desperate man clutches at a beautiful, fluttering butterfly and this otherwise inconsequential act leads to the world blowing up and the death of Humankind!

Well, as they say, the rest is history; that is, until history ends with the blowing up of the world. I give this film the maximum:

Butterflies.

If you would like to read the true life story of a bigger asshole than Ben Affleck, wander down this blog to earlier stories about the misdoins of a truly world-class asshole, Brian Wales, aka Lord Asshole, of Pata de Gallina, the Dominican Republic:

LUNCH WITH JAN

The following is from the archives of the Toronto Globe and Mail, featuring a 1985 interview of the notorious cannibal Moira Blackwell by the Globe's Jan Wong who wrote the Lunch With Jan column in the Saturday edition of the paper.

The lunchtime interview was conducted before DNA testing became routine in crime investigations. As Moira's case wound its way through the ponderous Canadian criminal justice system, the story was weeks on the front pages of the country's newspapers.

Readers were spellbound as the case contained elements of murder, passion, misplaced love, cannibalism, and eating meats in the wrong order contrary to Canada's Official Food Guide Pyramid at that time.

Moira was finally convicted of the crime of cannibalism in 2002 but was found innocent of causing the deaths of the victims she allegedly ate. She was sentenced to six months' house arrest and was released on her own cognizance on the condition that she keep no pets or other animals. She died in May 2004 of acute trichinosis, a disease that was widespread in that year among red foxes, skunks and black bears.

Jan Wong returned to China in 2001 as that country was gearing up for its new industrial revolution. It is understood that she is now head of the official agency that is responsible for canning animal meats for exports to developing countries such as North Korea and Zimbabwe.

LUNCH WITH JAN

By Jan Wong, Food and Entertainment Editor, Globe and Mail

Moira Blackwell picks her teeth after her
arraignment, Photo Corrections Canada

TORONTO, 18 November. When I settled down to lunch with Moira Blackwell I didn't know what to expect. Of course all the news stories about her strange food preferences had been front page news for days, but I wanted to see what the real woman was like.

Was she as crude as the stories had painted her? Was her blouse stained with animal remains as testament to her passion for the flesh of her many alleged animal victims, and perhaps even those of her own husband? Was she at ease and comfortable? Was her conversation witty and knowledgeable? Did she know the basic techniques with cutlery? Would she try to drink out of the finger bowl? Did she eat exclusively with her hands? Yes, yes, yes, no, no, yes, and yes.

Like I say, I knew the basic facts behind this strange case and how shocking to read the police reports and wonder at the mug shot showing her casually picking her teeth at her arraignment. To me, this crass act even surpassed the charges she faced: thirty-five counts of cruelty to animals including butchering and eating her pets. To these charges she admitted that she'd eaten some of them because they were old and "didn't fit in."

And the big question: Did she also eat her husband? This investigation continues, and she may face further charges of murder aggravated by cannibalism. However it turns out, the main thing interesting me was the person herself; I wanted to peel back the layers of her strange psyche through my usual dissecting tool: lunch at Sans Souci in the basement of the printing plant where The Toronto Star is printed.

In the dark surroundings, neither of us would be distracted by noisy waiters or even noisier diners. (Nor would diners be repulsed by the strange eating habits of my guest.)

As we settled into our chairs at Sans Souci, she was candidly up front with the charges she faces. "I usually give them animals two chances," she said. "If the dogs, most of them large strays that are slated for snuffville anyway, refuse to integrate into their surroundings, I divert their attention by pretending to throw a ball, then I hit them full in the skull with a heavy meat cleaver."

"Why a meat cleaver?" I asked. She shrugged. "I am a retired Lutheran pastor with abattoir skills I picked up from my deceased husband, Bruno, a former meat packer." As she talked, I reached surreptitiously into my purse to start my tape recorder. As I gave her the once-over, I noticed her fingernails were stained as she fumbled with her hors d'oeuvres and clumsily tried to peel an olive. I mused: was the black soil under the nails congealed animal or even human blood?

Her appearance even vaguely reminded me of the counter-revolutionary peasants I had to denounce for 're-educating' when I was a wild-eyed, young Revolutionary Red Guard in China during the Cultural Revolution. This, of course, was before my passport application was approved personally by Canada's Immigration Minister, Elinor Caplin.

And long after I got bored with all the slogan slinging and the revolution had soured for me, and I had decided denouncing peasants just wasn't my bag. Anyway, the peasant louts, often just bussed in from a collective farm where they had been butchering pigs, were always as dirty and offal stained as Moira sitting across from me in this middle-haute-cuisine Toronto restaurant.

That f...er is dead

Ms. Blackwell leaned across the table, took the toothpick out of her mouth and made as to jab me with it. Thankfully, she was only emphasizing a point. In a gravely voice, she insisted that she is a genuine widow saying, "I know that f...er is dead." She admitted that at her arraignment she had refused to answer police questions about the whereabouts of her husband, Bruno, who is listed as missing in the police records.

"He just took off," she told me. "It was just after we had a heated argument over how to debone the dogs in preparation for canning. Yeah, it was a heated argument but I didn't use no violence. He just vamoosed and I haven't seen him since. So he must be dead." I thought she looked a little shifty-eyed while she said this avoiding my gaze as she re-inserted the toothpick and flicked away a tiny morsel.

But I already knew that forensic experts had found several large tins in her basement cannery labeled Fido, Spot, etc. As told me in confidence by my friend Hop Sing, one of the police interrogators at her arraignment, she had admitted packing them herself. But she refused to tell police why one shelf contained several large cans labeled 'Bruno' and individually identified as thigh, rump, sweetbreads, organ meats, etc. Interestingly, Bruno is the name of her so-called missing husband.*

Under the criminal code, private butchering and eating pets is not an offence that precludes those charged being released on bail. Moira said that before her trial she will do everything she can to find where husband Bruno is 'holed-up'. I thought this strange, because she had told me he must be dead. I thought to myself: Just like O. J. Simpson claiming to be looking for the real killers of his wife and her friend.

During the entree, jalapeno peppers sautéed in yak butter, we talked of many things and her responses and reactions to my casual questions and comments showed a personality that while not exactly psychotic is definitely one where crass crudities are displayed in an unending barrage. For example, after she came back from a visit to the john, she was still hoisting up her panties as she returned to the table. "That feels better! Guess I had too many martinis before breakfast." And her grammar! I lost count of the number of times she said, "I done" whatever she did, and the ubiquitous, 'y'know'.

She reminded me so much of Jean Chrétien that I began to believe they must be related. *

Moira promised to "keep in touch" as we parted. She had purloined a whole handful of toothpicks from the table as I paid for lunch giving the waiter a carefully selected ten dollar bill as tip. It would take the staff longer than usual to clean the table of refuse and detritus around Moira's place.

From Globe and Mail Archives, 17 November, 1995. No reproductions allowed.

SOME THOUGHTS ON SEX

"Bisexuality immediately doubles your chances for a date on Saturday night. " Rodney Dangerfield

"There are a number of mechanical devices which increase sexual arousal,particularly in women.Chief among these is the Mercedes-Benz 380SL."
Lynn Lavner

"Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake a whole relationship."
Sharon Stone

"Hockey is a sport for white men. Basketball is a sport for black men. Golf is a sport for white men dressed like black pimps."
Tiger Woods

"My mother never saw the irony in calling me a son-of-a-bitch."
Jack Nicholson

"Ah, yes, divorce, from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet."
Robin Williams

"Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place"
Billy Crystal

"According to a new survey, women say they feel more comfortable undressing in front of men than they do undressing in front of other women. They say that women are too judgmental, where, of course, men are just grateful."
Robert De Niro

"There's a new medical crisis. Doctors are reporting that many men are having allergic reactions to latex condoms. They say they cause severe swelling. So what's the problem?"
Dustin Hoffman

"It's been so long since I've had sex, I've forgotten who ties up whom."
Joan Rivers

"Sex is one of the most wholesome, beautiful and natural experiences money can buy."
Steve Martin

" You don't appreciate a lot of stuff in school until you get older. Little things like being spanked every day by a middle-aged woman. Stuff you pay good money for in later life."
Elmo Phillips

" Bigamy is having one wife too many. Monogamy is the same."
Oscar Wilde

" It isn't premarital sex if you have no intention of getting married."
George Burns

Choosing a Wife

A man wanted to get married.

He was having trouble choosing among three likely candidates. He gives each woman a present of $5,000 and watches to see what they do with the money.

The first does a total make over. She goes to a fancy beauty salon gets her hair done, new make up and buys several new outfits and dresses up very nicely for the man. She tells him that she has done this to be more attractive for him because she loves him so much.

The man was impressed.

The second goes shopping to buy the man gifts. She gets him a new set of golf clubs, some new gizmos for his computer, and some expensive clothes. As she presents these gifts, she tells him that she has spent all the money on him because she loves him so much.

Again, the man is impressed.

The third invests the money in the stock market. She earns several times the $5,000. She gives him back his $5,000 and reinvests the remainder in a joint account. She tells him that she wants to save for their future because she loves him so much.

Obviously, the man was impressed.

The man thought for a long time about what each woman had done with the money he'd given her.

Then, he married the one with the biggest boobs.

Men are like that, you know.

There is more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on Alzheimer's research. This means that by 2040, there should be a large elderly population with perky boobs and huge erections and absolutely no recollection of what to do with them.

If you don't TELL five OLD friends right away ABOUT THIS BLOG there will be five fewer people laughing in the world.

WILL YOU HELP?

My dear friend, Grahame Wartminder Bushbaby, sent me this cry for help. Perhaps someone out there could find it in their hearts to ...

My neighbor's cat had kittens and he was able to give away all but 4 of them. I told him I would help him find homes for the last 4. I can't take one because I am allergic, but if you could take just one it would be such a help and the kittens could have a nice home. Since he lives by the Nuclear Power Plant, I'll go pick them up for you. I've included pictures of the last 4 kittens.


Will You Help?

LET'S JUST GET STONED

SCIENTISTS SPLICE CANNABIS GENE INTO OTHER PLANTS

War On Drugs is a "Lost Cause" — Top Narc

INSERTING THC GENES INTO DNA OF ANIMALS 'INEVITABLE'

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By Scott Upchuk, permanently stoned correspondent of the London Daily News

LONDON. A genetic scientist, Marvin Himmelfarb, announced today that he has succeeded in splicing the genes that produce the consciousness-altering chemical THC in marijuana into the genes of unrelated plant species.

At a noisy press conference, Dr. Himmelfarb demonstrated the achievement by adding some leaves from an altered mint plant into a cup of tea that he brewed in front of the reporters. At first, the scientist was brusk and appeared nervous. But as he sipped the tea, he became noticeably more voluble and relaxed. "Laid back,' is the word.

Dr. Himmelfarb created excitement as he pulled out his wallet and with a happy smile on his face began distributing banknotes to the outstretched hands of eager reporters. This reporter had just elbowed his way to get within reach of the distribution when, unfortunately, Dr. Himmelfarb's assistants restrained his generous impulses by locking his arms and one of them declared the press conference at an end.

This announcement and demonstration of its effectiveness, as expected, electrified the world today. What added excitement was the claim that the technique could be applied to a wide variety of species in the plant kingdom including grasses, vegetables, and trees. The genes can even be spliced into lawn seeds with the consciousness altering drug being 'harvested' by collecting the 'grass' clippings in a lawnmower bag.

Needless to say, the announcement has caused consterantion among world governments especially among law enforcement officials engaged in the so-called War on Drugs.

The implications are enormous say officials. "The War on Drugs now faces a defining battle that generals running the war can't possibly win," one top official said. "Either we've got to enlarge prisons so that the majority of mankind can be incarcerated as punishment for using the drug, or we can declare the war over and just accept that if people want to get stoned that's their business."

We are familiar with TV pictures of cops busting a marijuana growing operation, usually described as the 'largest bust in history', with a narc beaming over a collection of plants that are headed for the incinerator. "The haul would have netted x millions on the street," intones the announcer. How are these cops going to detect a crop containing the psychotropic drug when the 'crop' is, say, a field of wheat, or perhaps long rows of tomatoes ripening on the vine?

That it is now possible to do the gene splicing technique, doesn't really come as a surprise to many of those working in the field of genetics. Genetically modified foods are becoming ever more common. Manipulation of genes including the splicing of certain genes from one species to another have almost become commonplace.

Genes deemed to have a beneficial effect are commonly spliced into the genes of another with the resulting plants being viable, normally functioning, and possessing the trait deemed desirable. There are all sorts of examples from genetically modified corn and wheat containing herbicides to cow's milk containing human growth hormone. Of course, these varieties have generated enormous interest and alarm among certain public interest groups that want to ban such techniques entirely.

Whether we like it or not, strains of plants containing the hallucinatory gene will become ever more available. There is just no practical way to prevent it happening. Clandestine labs will produce the products whatever measures are introduced to try to control their manufacture.

On a day not too far in the future you will be able to go into your neighborhood garden supply store and buy a large bag of grass seed each of which contains the gene to produce THC. When sprouted it will not only adorn your lawn but also give you endless pleasure as you inhale the smoke or ingest cookies made from the lawn cuttings themselves.

All you have to do is inhale the smoke or ingest the resin extracted from the stuff in the mower bag. As you drift in a happy fog perhaps you'll glance across the shimmering lawn to see your neighbour munching or smoking the fallen leaves from the big maple in his yard. Perhaps this will drive many of us to become vegetarians, that is until they find a way, and they will, to splice the THC genes into those of our domestic animals. Imagine heading for the nearest McDonald's for a triple burger garnished with pickles and mustard all liberally doped with THC.

THE PLAN

In the beginning was The Plan.

And then came The Assumptions

And The Assumptions were without form

And The Plan was completely without substance,

And darkness was upon the faces of the workers ,

And they spake unto their Group Heads, saying: “The Plan is a crock of shit and it stinketh!”

And the Group Heads went unto their Section Heads, and sayeth: “It is a pail of dung – and none may abide the odour thereof!” ,

And the Section Heads went unto their Managers, and sayeth unto them: “The Plan is a container of excrement – and it is very strong such that none here may abide by it!”

And the Managers went unto their Director, and sayeth unto him: “It is a vessel of fertilizer – and none may abide its strength!”

And the Director went unto his Director – General, and sayeth: “It contains that which aids plant growth – and it is very strong!”

And the Director – General went unto the Assistant Deputy Minister and sayeth unto him: “It promoteth growth – and it is very powerful!”

And the Assistant Deputy Minister went unto the Deputy Minister and sayeth unto him: “This powerful new Plan actively promotes the growth and efficiency of the Department!”

And the Deputy Minister looked upon The Plan, and saw that it was good …

And The Plan became POLICY!

(Understood herein is the apparent desire of the civil servant author to remain anonymous!)

When Insults Had Class

Today, after several posts of a serious and sombre nature that have many followers of this blog asking for 'something different' to relieve the tensions it induces, it is time to introduce a review of some famous insults delivered in classier times...

"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." -- Winston Churchill

"A modest little person, with much to be modest about." -- Winston Churchill

"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." -- William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)

"Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?" -- Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

"Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it." -- Moses Hadas

"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it." -- Groucho Marx

“I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it." -- Mark Twain

"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends." -- Oscar Wilde

“I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend.... if you have one." -- George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second... if there is one." -- Winston Churchill, in response

"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here." -- Stephen Bishop

"He is a self-made man and worships his creator." -- John Bright

"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial." -- Irvin S. Cobb

"He is not only dull himself, he is the cause of dullness in others." -- Samuel Johnson

"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up." -- Paul Keating

"He had delusions of adequacy." -- Walter Kerr

"There's nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won't cure." -- Jack E. Leonard

"He has the attention span of a lightning bolt." -- Robert Redford

"They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge." -- Thomas Brackett Reed

"He inherited some good instincts from his Quaker forebears, but by diligent hard work, he overcame them." -- James Reston (about Richard Nixon)

"In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily." -- Charles, Count Talleyrand

"He loves nature in spite of what it did to him." -- Forrest Tucker

"Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?" -- Mark Twain

"His mother should have thrown out the baby and kept the stork." -- Mae West

"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go." -- Oscar Wilde

"He uses lamp-posts for support rather than illumination." -- Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

"He has Van Gogh's ear for music." -- Billy Wilder

Finally: In the Commons, Hon. Member, Winston Churchill, gave a slurred speech during which an Hon. Lady Member protested saying, "You, Sir, are drunk!" "Yes, madame," Churchill replied, "but in the morning I'll be sober, but you will still be ugly."

HEART WARMING XMAS STORY

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HALIFAX, NS. Dan McDonald, pictured left, was temporarily $15m richer today because he answered a cry for help in an e-mail sent from Nigeria. "Some people call such messages scams or "junk" but I'm glad I didn't send it to the recycle bin".

Mr. McDonald said the e-mail tore at his heart strings as it told of a Christian Nigerian woman who was being hounded by the government of Nigeria to tell where her late husband had hidden $150m in US dollars. Her husband had died in a horrific plane crash, and she needed help in getting her late husband's wealth out of the country. She said that evil Nigerian officials wanted it for themselves. If Mr. McDonald would tell her his bank account numbers and other sensitive information, she would ensure that he got 10% of her late husband's estate. She also asked for $1,500 to cover administrative costs for the money transfer.

"It's a complicated story," said Mr. McDonald, "but Nigeria is a mostly Muslim country and I couldn't just stand idly by and not respond to a Christian's cry for help."

Mr. McDonald admits being "somewhat apprehensive" but took a chance and responded to the request by sending detailed information concerning his bank accounts and their PIN numbers. He also wired the $1,500 to her account in Nigeria and faxed a photocopy of his passport, driver's license, and several bank cards. "This was necessary to establish my bone fides, and show that I sincerely wanted to help," he said.

"I was on-edge for several weeks, because nothing seemed to be happening, then one day, to my surprised delight, a black man appeared at my front door with a satchel containing $15 million in US dollars in genuine bills of large denomination,". Along with the money there was a note from the Nigerian woman, "Thank you and may God Bless you. This money is what I promised, and I hope you will use it to do good for others as you did for me."

Mr. McDonald said, "This is Christmas and a time for giving. The money couldn't have come at a better time. I have given virtually all of it away to various charities, leaving only a few thousand dollars that I want to give to a crippled, orphaned boy who leaves up the street in the basement of his grandmother's house. He desperately needs to have a broken leg reset."

---

And a Merry Christmas to you, Mr. McDonald, from all the staff who work on this blog. It is good to know that the spirit of goodness and generosity lives on in persons such as you.

HOPPING FOR TOGETHERNESS

Agnostic Ex-priest to Hop Across Bridge in Bid to "Unite All Peoples in Togetherness"


By Scott Upchuk, religious reporter for Dump False Gods and Embrace Scientology, subtitled "Cultural Learnings of Agnosticism To Make Benefit Wonderful World of Scientology"

In his basement apartment Dr. Lipschitz (left) contemplates his hop acoss bridge during rush hour in support of togetherness

HALIFAX, N.S. On a Friday afternoon near Christmas, Fred W. Lipschitz, MD, OEM, OC, FRCFDS, CD, a lapsed Catholic priest and now a High Priest of Scientology, will begin a hop from Halifax to Dartmouth with one leg strapped at the thigh and ankle, and the opposite arm tied behind his back.

Dr. Lipschitz said he is doing this, "To draw world attention to the meaning and message of Scientology," he said. "If I simply walked across the bridge on my own two feet, it would gather little publicity. But if my walk is done under difficult conditions, it will cause great excitement, especially as I get close to the toll booths on the Dartmouth side."

The "difficult conditions" Dr. Lipschitz mentioned are more than the leg strapping that will slow him down considerably. He wouldn't tell this reporter his exact age, but he is clearly well past his dotage. Having non of the charisma of Tom Cruise, it is hard to believe that the old geezer will get very far during his bridge hop. Nevertheless, I found him to be a quite sprightly senior with an engaging wizened face topped with a mop of unruly yellowing hair. With a face that can hardly be described as pleasant, his perpetual scowl is occasionally enlivened with a disingenuous lopsided grin, which give him a look of slightly morbid pixilated fishiness.

Expected to take "several hours", Dr, Lipschitz will begin his hop when his wife lets him out of their 1987 Plymouth Gullwing Flashmaster sedan on the Halifax side of the bridge. It will start about 5 PM on a Friday afternoon when bridge traffic is high with home-bound commuters. To add to the excitement and publicity, Dr. Lipschitz will be clothed only in a rusty chain-mail jacket and will carry no luggage beyond a few personal belongings, such as a toothbrush, a change of underwear, and a notebook containing a short list of inspirational aphorisms from L. Ron Hubbard, which he says, "guide my thinking and every movement." Dr. Lipschitz said he became an agnostic and believer in Scientology after a lengthy correspondence with the late L. Ron Hubbard over the meaning of 'engram transportutation'.

In a wide-ranging interview conducted in his cluttered basement apartment near Dalhousie University in Halifax, he said that if he completes the bridge hop, next year he will attempt a more ambitious hop, "from Halifax to Augusta, Maine, via Yarmouth."

When I pointed out that such a trip would include over-the-water bits, he admitted, "I can't get very far hopping on water, but over the water part of the trip, I will row a boat with one arm immobilzed in the same way one leg is immobilzed over the land bits."

Over tea and a plate of his home-made chocolate chip cookies, I asked him why he is undertaking such a difficult challenge when already he has achieved notoriety for past quixotic endeavours and is now perched in the top tier of category three senior citizenship. "Shouldn't you be relaxing and sopping up the rewards of a well-earned retirement?" I asked.

Shrugging aside the uncalled-for compliments, he said, "I have written a book, which I believe with all due modesty, tells exactly how to bring together all peoples by ridding the world of racism, bigotry, alcoholism, drug addiction, and put an end to the avalanche of fraud on the internet which if not halted will put paid to the digital revolution.

"As I draw nearer to the end of my days, I believe that with my book, I can still make a difference in a bitterly divided world that needs to come together into one human family. This must occur irrespective of colour, sex, race or religion, living peacefully and in harmony without false gods misleading the intellectually lazy, stupid dunces who believe in the specious gobbledegook found at the heart of all religions. I believe with Hegel that God is, as it were, the sewer into which all contradictions flow."

As I struggled with the Hegel reference, Dr. Lipschitz continued with his anti-religious observations. "I am especially nauseated by the pietistical hypocrisy of religion, especially the Christian variety, The phony reverential stance, the devout lowering of the eyes, the clasping of the hands saying, "look at me, aren't I holy?", the chanting of the priests who spout their ritualistic blather while their minds are wholly occupied on the fat choir boy they'll sodomize during evening vespers."

Mesmerized by the choir boy image, (are fat ones really better?) I continued to munch his delicious cookies (he refused to give me the recipe). Dr. Lipschitz then ditched his sour anti-religious mood, and becoming upbeat, enthused about his coming hop. Grinning lopsidedly, he said, "I'm looking forward with pleasure to the many world leaders who will be watching my hop on TV and will ask for copies of my book. My only regret is that the book, Spreading the Non Gospel -- Working with Honkies, Chinks, Wops, Dagos and Blacks, is not getting the critical attention it deserves.

Dr. Lipschitz hopes that this "strange" lack of recognition" will be corrected by the publicity he expects to gain from his bridge crossing 'hopodyssey'. "During my hop, I intend to distribute copies of my book to as many backed up commuters who get by me and wave me on with encouraging toots of their horn, and, hopefully, few middle finger salutes."

This is not the first time Dr. Lipschitz has embarked on a quixotic mission to right a world full of perceived wrongs. In the early nineties, he and his wife attracted much local media attention, when, as pairs dancers, they set out to Lindy Hop their way across the Halifax Commons. This stunt was meant to draw attention to the threat to the environment posed by the vast amount of unsolicited junk mail that then cluttered our mailboxes but now clutters our computer email in-boxes.

Unfortunately, they only got as far as the first baseball diamond, when they had to call a halt when his wife, Abigail Louise, developed a cramp in her left leg. Dr. Lipschitz attempted to continue on alone, but he got only a few meters when he found that without his wife, solo Lindy Hop-dancing made it impossible to maintain a straight line and he kept rotating in circles.

Dump God and I will be on hand when Dr. Lipschitz begins his journey and will bring you all the details of this wonderfully courageous and inspirational odyssey.

Scott Upchuk, for Dump God and Start Living

ACUTE CASE OF SCHADENFREUDE

by Scott Upchuk, who covers toilets for the Toronto Daily Star

TORONTO. (NP) Jason Luisjeans (pictured left), a chronic sufferer of, fortunately, an extremely rare medical disorder — explosive diarrhea — had made it just in time to Toronto’s Eaton Centre mid level men's room when he discovered to his horror that he had given his last quarter to a mean-spirited mendicant who had blocked his way to the facility.

After tossing his last quarter to the beggar who demanded he “make a donation” to the cause of 'starving children in the Dominican Republic', Mr. Luisjeans then faced a life threatening dilemma. The stalls, the doors of which are coin operated, would accept only quarters and a sign on each door said that the facility was under constant camera surveillance. As the desperate Mr. Luisjeans had given away his last quarter, that was when, as the saying goes, "the shit hit the fan".

After his arrest and hosing down in the Don Jail’s ‘Shower Room’ by a special body waste decontamination squad, Mr. Luisjeans, who was garbed in a rubber body bag “just in case”, was arraigned at an emergency session of the Toronto Assizes.

The prosecutor — the same one who had prosecuted Karla Homulka — told the magistrate that in his thirty years’ prosecuting all manner of riff-raff, he had never seen an offender who had caused such widespread desolation. “We had to evacuate the entire Eaton Centre of thousands of Thanksgiving shoppers and alert all the city’s emergency crews to treat the dozens of dazed, shocked and shit-stained victims,” he said.

After a lengthy trial, complicated by frequent evacuations of the courtroom, the terribly emaciated Mr. Luisjeans was found guilty of seven counts of endangering human life through reckless disposal of his body wastes. The trial has been dubbed 'The Schadenfreude Case' (a German word meaning joy at the misfortune of others).

This is the first known case of Schadenfreude causing death (that of the bum, Brian Wales) though many of the lawyers and jurists involved in the case are themselves being treated for uncontrollable attacks of the snickers. A doctor who examined Mr. Wales's corpse said, "it's unlikey any of these will die as did Mr. Wales, because his booze habit left him very vulnerable to attacks of severe merriment.

At sentencing, the presiding magistrate (several magistrates, owing to olfactory exhaustion took the case on a rotating basis), expressed sympathy for the prisoner’s condition for which there is no known cure. Also, he said he would take into account the fact that Mr. Wales, the mendicant who had taken Mr. Luisjean’s last quarter, before he died had never expressed remorse for the consequences of his mean spirited pandering and blocking Mr. Luisjean's way to the toilets.

This he said, coining a phrase, "amounted to shitmail. Nevertheless, we must put society's interests first, and so as a deterrent to others, I sentence the prisoner to five years’ confinement, the entire sentence to be served in protective custody at the Bowel and Bladder Detention Wing at The Toronto General Hospital.”

This reporter has learned that “protective custody” in this case means that Mr. Luisjeans hospital room/cell, will be hermetically sealed and its contents manipulated by remotely controlled arms much like a laboratory containing nuclear grade materials.

Copywrited, Toronto Daily Star