I don’t shill for things that I do not stand behind one-hundred per cent. And I want to go on record saying that I have nothing to do with this charity. This endorsement is coming completely from me, on my own accord.
Plan Canada is a well respected charity whose aim is to break the cycle of poverty in developing countries. They do this by providing the tools and support that families and communities desperately need to overcome poverty.
The really cool thing about this charity is that you can choose what you want your money spent on. Even cooler, most gifts are matched by a government or organization who works with the charity. For example, you can buy a school in Rwanda a mango tree —only 12 dollars!— and it is matched, bringing the total value of the donation to 84 dollars (you buy one, the sponsor buys 6).
So if you have some extra money left over after shopping this season, or you’re stuck on what to get that hard-to-shop-for friend or relative (you can buy on behalf of others!), why not buy a gift of hope and break the cycle of poverty?
Also, if you think your followers might want to know about this, why don’t you give it a reblog? You don’t have to be Canadian to donate!
On my letter to the staff and customers of the Walmart I trashed on Black Friday.
Dear Walmart employees and customers of the store I trashed,
Am I sorry that I didn’t know Black Friday wasn’t a thing here in Canada? No, not really. I am sorry that Canadians don’t have the opportunity to know the joy of two dollar waffle makers. True, the waffle maker will sit in the cupboard for six years, unopened, until you rediscover it and give it to your Mother for Christmas because you’re an asshole. But still, two dollar waffle makers.
Am I sorry that I ran into your Walmart, baseball bat swinging, with the erroneous belief that I would need it to fend off maniacs from trampling my skull? Not at all. Who’s to say the only reason I didn’t have my skull trampled was because I was swinging around a baseball bat?
Am I sorry that, upon discovery of there not being a Black Friday sale, I drove what I thought was my car through the front entrance of your store? A little bit I guess. There was no need for me to shout at the people shouting at me. For that, I am sorry.
Am I sorry that I took off my clothes and ran through your store, completely alienating all of your customers, because I thought the police wouldn’t be able to identify me because I was no longer wearing my clothes? Well, I don’t actually remember that happening because I had smoked all my PCP so the cops wouldn’t find it. For all I know you made that up and doctored the CCTV videos and also paid several locals to lie about it happening.
Am I sorry that I dressed in women’s clothing from your women’s wear department to hide my nudity? No. The clothes were silky smooth, form fitting, and affordable. No man should apologise for that.
All in all, I think that both sides here are equally to blame. I think it’s ridiculous that I’m the only one in prison, and the only one being court ordered to issue an apology letter. Where’s my letter of apology for all the terrible things you did to me like having your employees shout at me or calling the cops? Equal justice for all my ass.
On other things that are essentially other things.
Megyn Kelly is an esteemed television news anchor with the esteemed television news channel Fox News. Recently she correctly reported that pepper-spray is essentially a “food product” which is entirely correct and not at all stupid. Inspired by her Edward R. Murrow Award worthy journalism, I have compiled a list of things that are essentially other things.
Here’s a list of things that are “essentially” other things:
- A mirror is essentially a television
- A Big Wheel is essentially a motorcycle
- Advil is essentially crystal meth
- This blog is essentially The New Yorker
- Bleach is essentially water
- The cast members of Jersey Shore are essentially the Nobel Prize Committee
Between the ongoing writer’s block I’ve been experiencing for several months, the Occupy news I’ve been reading, the Conservative Government’s assault on the values upon which Canada was built, and my struggle with seasonal depression, I’ve been having a bum time. I’m going to need a lot more photos of cats wearing bow ties than Tumblr can provide to lift me out of this funk.
I don’t know why I’m writing this because you all have your own problems to deal with and you don’t need to think about mine, but here we are.
Technically, this story starts with God. Or a big bang. Or a sentient microwave oven vomiting up the solar system. It doesn’t really matter, because where this story really begins is with a bunch of human beings.
They’ve just started to be what they are - upwardly mobile, walking on feet. They’ve come out of the caves and they’re building houses, communities. They interact with one another, and most everyone does what they can to ensure the betterment and continued survival of the tribe.
Everyone just wants to make everyone else happy.
Later, when the houses are a little more intricate, the communities a lot larger - spanning countries, maybe - these people decide that there is a needs for systems, to manage things. They decide that either people can’t be trusted to do good on their own, or else they can’t manage to do good things efficiently enough. They’re probably a little bit right on both counts - systems are useful. Math is a system, and you’ll never hear an anarchist try to ban addition.
And so democracy is created. People (some people) can vote, and governments rise and fall. Things get better and worse, better and worse. And then better. For a long time, things are better. There are wars, sure, but the good guys win and freedom prevails. At least, most often freedom prevails.
And then, slowly, things fall apart.
It turns out that the system these people came up with can be taken advantage of. And while most people, even in large groups, are good people, every now and then there is a person who is bad.
Here is what a bad person is: someone who thinks only of themselves. They take action to become part of the system, and corrupt it. And so a panel of judges that is meant to settle arguments for the good of a country gets infiltrated, slowly, and begins to lean toward curtailing freedom. And so a collection of congressmen agree not to cap carbon emissions. And so a bunch of policemen who are just following orders break up a camp of peaceful protestors, even though the system says they shouldn’t.
But you have to remember the earlier part of this story. The part where things got worse, then better. Right now, things are worse. The better is to come. Because people (most people) are good. And they can be fooled into hating each other, but they cannot be fooled for long.
This story could have many endings. Maybe the system will be reclaimed. Maybe it will be rewritten. Maybe it will be scrapped, and an entirely new one put up in its place.
As far as we know, human beings are the smartest things in the universe. And we’ve barely even taken our first steps. Things are going to be fine.
This is so wonderfully written that I had to share it with you all. It’s easy to forget that good always triumphs over evil, even if it takes decades (or centuries) to do so. I know I’ve been on the verge of a heart attack reading the newspapers within the last year, so I really needed someone to tell me everything was going to be okay.
Not only do I love your blog ( heh found it ) but I also am secretly infatuated with you. K. here we go I got this idea from a spam msg I received on Facebook lol.. I know you like me but were always way too shy to say so :3 go hit up crushmasher(dót)com (uhh it wont let me do a regular link) then make an acct there. Search for the profile 'justmeandu33' ( obv me ) I posted body pix.. if u can figure out who I am msg me and we'll kick it. CC required for age but it is free. (annoying i know)
"Okay everybody, you’re here to learn and I’m here to teach. So let’s get to it, shall we?" The teacher said.
"Now a baby, he ain’t like a cat," the teacher told us, "there’s a whole lotta things you can do to a cat that ya can’t to a baby. What are some things you can do to a cat that you can’t do to a baby?"
"Feed it cat food!" Yelled Darryl.
"Make it poop in a litter box!" Shitomi yelled.
"Make it wear dresses and take it on picnics with you. And the whole time call it your ex-wife’s name, pretending that you two are still together, in the infancy of your relationship when everything was going so great. Before she cheated on you with the Italian clothes designer that lived in the apartment above you. Before the allegations of homosexuality started flying around. Before the heavy and prolonged drug use…" I trailed off. I realised that the entire classroom was now staring at me, and several of my classmates had their mouths open in shock.
"Well you can’t!" I said, "my sister told me that I can’t, and that that’s the reason I’m not allowed playing with her baby unsupervised anymore."
No one moved. No one closed their mouths. No one looked away. No one even made a sound.
I slowly stood up from my desk and walked towards the door.
"It’s a good answer," I said before leaving the class.
"It’s a good answer," I said to myself in my car.
"It’s a good answer," I said as I ate my dinner, later that night.
"It’s a good answer," I said as I took pictures of Darryl’s family as they ate dinner.
It had been seven years since I was last in my home-town… seven years. You really don’t realise just how much you missed your town until you visit and see all the changes, new people, new buildings… the look of horror on children’s faces. “It must be my weathered face or scraggly beard. War does that to a man.” I told myself in regards to the children’s looks. Of course, my father would tell me that fighting alcoholism is no war, but what did he know besides loosing a foot in Vietnam?
I hopped out of my van and looked west towards the town hall. “It’s good to be home,” I thought, “certainly good to be home.” I walked down Main Street and took notice of all the happy people around, happy people that were happy until they took notice of me taking notice of them. Something about their expression, a mix of fear and disgust, struck an odd chord with me. I looked behind me to see what was causing such an odd reaction, there was nothing but beautiful sun, cloud and Victorian ear buildings. Oh and a dollar bill! “My lucky day!” I said as I bent over to pick up the crisp, green bill.
I stopped by the park and sat down on a bench in order to collect my thoughts, take in my surroundings. I still couldn’t believe how long it had been since I was last in this beautiful town. It had been so long that I couldn’t even remember exactly why I left in the first place. Whatever it was it wasn’t important now. “Some yoga might be nice,” I thought to myself, “might be nice indeed.” I got up from the bench, wandered over to a sunny spot in the middle of the busy park and began my yoga routine. It was relaxing, the light breeze refreshing.
After yoga I decided to see if Mr Charles Old Fashion Ice Cream Parlour was still bustling; I remember my dad taking me there every Sunday after church when I was a kid. As I skipped along the side-walk a police car pulled up, the officers jumped out and rushed me. The first cop shoved me, stomach first, against a large window that belonged to Wong’s Palace Chinese Food; the people inside recoiled in horror. The second cop wrapped me in a blanket which was terribly scratchy. “How many other naked people has this blanket been on?!” I yelled out in disgust.
That night I was back in my room at Quiet Lakes Mental Hospital enjoying my usual bowl of after dinner jello. It was then that I remembered exactly why I left that God forsaken town: the people were complete assholes.