The Brown Planet

Leaving the horrors of Christopher Crinkle-Cock in Danforth Avenue far behind (I never knew hate till I met you) I think it's time I told you about my new hood. I'm forever grateful to Libby who valiantly rescued me from the evil clutches of the vile gangster, Affas The Hutt, and I don't think I've had a more relaxing place to live since I've been in Toronto. The sun has finally come out from behind its fat, sweaty (and ugly - so ugly) cloud for me, but there are some issues about the surrounding area I feel I should address. Libby's home sits comfortably between the haves and the have-nots and as such I am privy to some pretty outstanding examples of both poverty and affluence. Walking home from work now I pass directly through the richer end of Yonge Street, with its giant mall-based shopping and skyscrapers, but continuing the walk I find myself in the middle of the ghetto.

This ghetto is fairly far removed from what I was used to in Gerrard Street. There I could feel a modicum of safety - in the lap of the university buildings I surely had as much chance as the next student to be picked off by the skunk pussies and saw myself as statistically favourable to make it to the next excursion. Walking the length of Queen Street, the road which I live off these days, things take a turn to the darker and the safety in numbers theory dwindles with every footstep. Gone are the buxom prostitutes we discussed a few weeks ago and in their place are some much more desperate looking saucer-eyed nut-bags. One, in particular - there's always one - is catching my attention at the moment. She's a youngish girl, at least I think she's young under all that muck, who sits on the grass of Moss Park with a car sideview mirror in her hand pointed outward towards us pedestrians. Being a literal sort of chap, this got me thinking as to the purpose of this gesture. Could it be that she's saying, 'look not upon me with eyes that judge. Before me, you must judge yourself'? Or maybe, 'within my pulverised body beats the heart of an everyman. I, my brother, am you.'? Fortunately, one day, walking a little too close and staring a little too much, I got my answer. 'Suck my clit!' Of course, that was it after all. Delightful.

Recently I was passing through the Moss Park area and I got the finest example of human wildlife I think I've ever seen. Picture the scene: It's late afternoon in early autumn and although the weather has lost its biting edge, it's still warm enough in the slight breeze. The locals of Moss Park are milling around as normal - some are dozing in the shade beneath a tree while others are crouching down, pulling their filthy pee-pees out of the sides of their shorts and pissing like a racehorse. It's a lazy day and all is well in the soiled trousers of Trampland. Then the tide abruptly changes. It's as though the park has been tilted up at one end and the staggering inhabitants begin to slowly, but then with more focus, make their way across to the far right corner where a big station wagon is pulling up. Those previously dozing are now dragging themselves to their feet and the pace is picking up for the others until a growing throb of unwashed begin to gather around the car. A bright white couple eventually emerge and while they beam happily at the crew huddling around them, they push past and pull out a couple of picnic tables from the boot. The mass is now writhing in feverish anticipation and you can hear the occasional figure cry out as the inevitable casualties of greed start to mount up. Then, finally, to those who've weathered the storm, the spoils. Hotdog buns and weiners along with t-shirts and trousers are piled onto the tables and, amazingly, are left untouched - although the smellies are beginning to slaver and moan achingly at the very sight of them. Gingerly the white couple step back away from the tables, their smiles have faded now - they know the bums are coming, and hell is coming with them. Stay… Stay… Go-get-it! Utter chaos. The tables are bowing under the relentless pressure, but the sturdy bastards are holding fast. What looks like nothing other than a ball of teeth and dirty fingernails are laying siege to the goods - buns are being worn and t-shirts eaten in frantic desperation and around it all, a halo of flying weiners. Eventually the frenetic melee subsides and as quickly as they arrived, the rasin cakes disperse back to whence they came wearing back-to-front Halo 3 t-shirts and belching. They'll sleep now for several weeks.

And now a moan. Working here is doing my fucking head in. These people actually think I give a shit about them or their laughable Ministry of Education. That has to be the biggest irony I've experienced since I've been here - Ministry of Education?! These are without doubt the most incompetent group of inept morons I've ever worked with. Literally the slimy dregs from the bottom of the barrel seem to be scraped up and shaped into civil servants out here. I've lost count of the amount of times I've heard this, 'I sent you an e-mail about…' No you didn't. You didn't send me anything. Are these people actually retarded? Can they not remember what they did five minutes ago? Fuck me, they're stupid. I then have to trawl through all my e-mails to get proof that they didn't do what they said they did for them to look defiantly back and say, 'do it anyway - right away' Right away? Just so I'm sure, that was, right away? If there's any phrase in the world to make me drop any kind of urgency with which I was carrying out a task I think it may be this one. Just to prove it, this is actually what I'm doing 'right away'. I'm writing about what a group of bottom-feeding charlatans you idiots are instead. Then I think I might take a two hour shit and a little walk, or I may even start up the old masturbatorium again, instead this time in full view and aiming a viscous arc of righteous man mucus right in their faces - now that would be a mighty orgasm. I'm so turned on right now. All I can say is, God help the youth of Canada - if I was you I'd turn to Moss Park for an education. I hear they do an excellent course on clit sucking. And breathe.

It's happened, the record for comments has been broken. A staggering six of the best fell at the feet of last week's posting and although I'm pretty sure some of them were from the same people (Glen and Nabila, I'm talking to you here) I think, yes, I'm getting the nod from Norris McWhirter, that's a new record! Dedication, that's what you need. Anyway, to those anonymous, Michael, Damon and you Rob (who I'm better at pool than) many thanks for making dreams come true. Come on now the rest of you, I know you're out there, I can hear you breathing.