All Aboot the Bordens

Whuddup doggs.

I'm comin' atcha from Ontario - West Side.
Law school all star - fill ma momma wit pride.

Straight up, this ain't no idenity crisis.
Student, gangsta - jus' two of my guises.

I'm layin' down rhymes since this aftanoon,
I was eatin' lunch in a greasy spoon.

All you can eat, Sushi ya know,
Homeys Drew and Hanna Oh.

We was chillin' all shootin tha shit,
testin and assessin a judicial writ.

Talkin bout the bay street firms,
after we finish five more terms.

"Rappers and lawyers ain't nothin but twins,
We's all all about tha Benjamins."

Hold up that's right, but you got it all wrong.
In Canada we sing a diffrent song.

Franklin's ain't on our hundred buck notes,
so I wrote a new rap - and I quotes:

"It’s all aboot the Bordens baby
Uhh, uh-huh, yeah."

For real, that's just the chorus so far,
Completed lyrics in Res Ipsa Loquitur.

Word. Peace Out.


"Straight up, I's gonna be jus' like Biggie and Tupac! ... uh.. 'cept less, uh ... dead."

Obiter Dicta

In Latin and Legalese it means "an observation by a judge on a matter ... not necessary in determining the issue before the court." At Western Law, the Obiter Dicta is our class's talent show. The following is a review of sorts:

Venue:
The show was held at The Wave, Western's campus bar, which I have never been to before. Right off the bat this gave the show a casual and uniquely Western tone. Access to a bar (with REALLY cheap drinks I might add) pretty much guarantees a "receptive" audience. As one shy performer admonished the audience "I hope you've all had a lot to drink" - hoping to balance out each butterfly in her stomach with a shot of alcohol in every audience member. Either as anesthetic for the more unfortunate acts or to enhance the better ones - alcohol made the evening better.

Staging/Directing:
I've never directed anything (yet) but I've seen enough stage productions to know an amateur effort. It didn't seem like there was a full rehearsal of the show before - I guess the majority of the players, as law students, didn't really have time for it. Totally forgivable. However, there were gaps in between acts with no-one on stage. The host hadn't really prepared any banter for the gaps where he was waiting alone on stage for a slow act to get their asses on stage. Tech seemed like an afterthought. One of the bands spent longer tuning their instruments, etc then they spent on their actual set. However the video clips were amusing and the big background screen worked well.

Theme:
The theme of the evening was WMTV making Western Law versions of MTV reality shows such as Pimp my Ride, Becoming, etc. Kind of a teeny bopper theme for a law school event. Then again it is Western - a locale so partied out that US students would take their Spring Breaks here if it weren't so damn cold. The highlight was a Making the Band parody with the winners performing on stage. Very amusing.


IF there's one thing that show needed more of...

Content:
Nice mix of sketch comedy and music. I was kind of confused why a random Sarnia-based garage band of NAILS ("Not Actually In Law School') had so much stage time. In fact only one performer really had much law related content with Adam Douglas' delicious parody "Downtown Firm" (to the tune of Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl") and arendition of Mr. Big's "Next to be With You" rededicated to Supreme Court Chief Justice Beverely McLaughlin. However before I rip into anybody I must give due respect to the highlights of the evening. First-years Jesse and Lisa shined with back to back Puccini arias bringing some genuine class to the event. The mid-song wardrobe change to something much skimpier during one comely dancer's act (sorry, lost the program and can' identify her at this point to give credit where it's due)actually got the guys in the audience to sit up and pay attention to her dance routine.

However, the celebrity jeopardy skit - a tradition if last year's production is any indication - blew big-time. The Saturday Night Live writers set the bar pretty low when they made the originals and this spoof injured itself doing the limbo. I have no idea how to assess the Ashley Simpson imitation (having never seen the original) but I've heard better Napoleon Dynamite and Sean Connery imitations in a grade school hallway.

Redeeming feature of the show was the Zoolander walkoff - 9 models representing all the first year's small groups, each with a video profile before they strutted their stuff. The Dean's wooden performance as a former catwalk model was priceless.

Summary: Good time but I wouldn't have sat through that if I didn't 1) know the players 2) imbibe a lot of alcohol.

Prognosis: I must direct this thing next year. I will set the bar so high that the years to follow will snap under the pressure to match my directorial debut. I will write a script this summer. How fortunate that I have no job.


"There's more to directing a succesful talent show then being Really, Really, Unbelievably Good Looking, Billy Zane."

The Catsis of Evil

Just when I was trying to take this blog into a more depersonalized, satirical direction and spare readers the banality of my life, in favour of topical and poignant hillarity - something so surreally bizarre happened to me today that it caused me to yell out: "THIS one is going in the blog!" I seriously yelled that. There are witnesses. I am actually that lame. Nevertheless, I will attempt to imbue this meaningless and yet uncanny event with some sort of message.

So after the jubilant return of my buddy Drew from his trip to Florida, we waited for classes to finish for the day so that we could go wild as only crazy law students know how to do. Yes. We went grocery shopping. The lovely Ms. O was along for the excitement. After winning several shopping cart races and protecting my Supermarket Hide and Seek title ("N-n-n-no-one ev-v-ver looks in the f-f-f-f-frozen f-f-f-ood s-s-section") I purchased the 5 kg bag of frozen fruit that I was hiding behind to feed my beloved blender (I will immortalize my affection for my blender in a future installment.). Yes just another blissful day in London.

But President Bush was right. The evil-doers will always wait until we are complasened and under-expecting before they strike. Poetically enough, my terrorist took the form of a black cat. I'm not superstitious. I dance under ladders. I open my umbrellas indoors and pretend I'm Gene Kelly. I take rides in Canadian military helicopters and submarines every Friday the 13th. A black cat has never been a particular problem for me. Until this one. I don't know it's name. Cats shouldn't even have names. Cats shouldn't be. Supervillains are always stroking cats. I heard Saddam Hussein had FOUR!


War on Terror? War on Drugs? War on Gay Marriage? Mr. President won't you wake up and see that the cats are the problem? Won't someone PLEASE think of the children?

I first noticed the hellspawn walking past the car and leering at me as I was unloading my abundant bags of fruit, milk, eggs and savory mackerels and sardines. "What the hell are you leering at? Who are you King Lear?" I put the beast out of mind and walked through its recent path, carrying my groceries to the door. While searching through numerous pockets for my keys, I looked down to see the wicked creature at my feet leering at me again.

"Shoo! Scram!" I cried, using the diplomatic terminology traditionally used to chase off unwanted animals and other illegitimate land claimants. Seemingly unfamiliar with the terms of negotiation I made a small show of force and the rogue fled before my boot. Curious at my loud outburst and unable to see evidence of any threat to justify my violence, my ally Drew approached to help me bring in some bags as he attempted to calm me. Fuming I assured him that the Wild Mammal of Disaster was merely hiding and was surely lurking nearby and posing a very real threat.

Another trip to the car. Another load of bags. Another appearance by my nemesis. I hissed loudly this time, chasing it down the street in terms it could understand. I returned to my home to horde away my abundance. Drew saw the incident this time but still thought I was over-reacting. "Just a hungry cat. You're carrying a lot of food." I was not going to feel guilty for my right to well-stocked pantries.

I grabbed my stuff so that we could head to the gym. When I opened the door I dropped my bag in horror as I witnessed the attack. The beast seemed to hover at eye level after scaling the two towers of mesh and iron at the bottom of my screen door. I've been attacked by animals before. I've teased the wrong dogs. I've been dive-bombed by well-fed seagulls. And those monkeys at the zoo are fucking William Tells for aim when they're tossing their turds at you. This was however the first time an animal invader had attacked me in my home. This aggression would not stand.

In a hasty and poorly thought out counter-attack, I launched forward to free my door from its oppressor. A bang on the window in front of its face would teach my enemy to fear me and never return. It did. I claimed victory immediately.

But my force was too excessive. I misunderestimated the strength of the window. My fist crashed through the glass. Shattering it. Making a mess of the entire region around my entrance. My fist was badly cut. It would take a lot of time and money to fix up the door I had destroyed. I had spilled my own blood to humble an adversary that in the end (as I reluctantly conceded) posed no real threat to me. After bandaging my battered hand, I retired to my room to reflect on my actions.

No! I was not wrong! This cat was the aggressor! I had to protect my home and my ideals of freedom from animals - even at the cost of my own blood. Let that hungry cat go find it's food somewhere else. I won't apologize for the abundance of my fridge. The thought made me hungry. I re-elected to eat a very hearty dinner - much more than I needed to sate my hunger. Ah that sweet super-sized taste of freedom .

God bless America. And Death to all Cats.


Don't I know it Natalie Dee? Don't I know it.

R & D Interns and Metawhores

Every year the great scientific and engineering minds of our day are set to work by their R & D taskmasters to spiff up and redevelop the same boring old products. The corporations discover tight little gaps in their respective markets and they race to ejaculate their slightly improved new products into them before the next corporation. I believe this is called the "No Sloppy Seconds" motive among economists.

Take this typical exchange that took place last year over at Motorola:

Head of Marketing: "Our focus groups tell us that cell phone users aren't nearly annoying enough to the people around them."
Head of R & D: "Well how's this? We'll build low quality video cameras and the ring tone of 'I am too Sexy' by Right Said Fred into the new models so that users can make their own music videos... ALL THE TIME!"
Intern: "Hey and we could also use the inexpensive technology that we've had for years to improve reception and reduce radiation so people don't get head cancer!"
R & D Guy: " What was that kid? You're making a coffee run? I'll have a tall vanilla latte and a spinach croisant."
Intern: "But..."
Marketing Guy: "Grande Chai, and it better be hot kid. Portable music video studios. Fuck! Those commercials will write themselves! Genius!"



Disgraced in front of his co-workers for the last time, he retired home in shame. Yes, hari-kiri was all that was left for Steve now. Thus is the life of an R & D intern.

Yes it is a sad time for the creative spirit. Necessity was once the mother of Invention. But then Greed smacked that bitch up, dressed her in a short leopard print skirt and pimped her out as Frivolity until she had to sell Invention into slavery for some crack. Yeah it's a sad sad time for invention... but it is a particularly fruitful time for prostitution themed parables or "metawhores".

Generation after generation of bright eyed optimists and glazy eyed science fiction nerds have seen their dreams of Vernian Time Machines, Jetsonian Flying Cars and Richie Rich-ian Robot Sex Maids (Richie was just dying to hit puberty so that he could give Irona a badly needed oil change). And all they saw was the independent inventive spirit imprisoned in cubicles and labs to put more airbags into cars and synthesize insulin in milk (What? Lab worker salaries are too high so you're going to bring in cows to replace them?). Goodyear brought in a design team to model their snow tires on Thomas Edison when he started spinning in his grave.

But it's not all bad news. At least some people in remote corners of the economy are still inventing really original products that can make us even the most disillusioned of us say "Wow! That is Fucking Sweet!" I just read recently that a chef named Homaro Cantu (seriously) based in Chicago, modified an old bubble jet printer, filled the ink wells with organic food based "inks" that can be combined to create any flavour. These are printed out onto edible soy-based paper which he has used to produce edible menus. Although the inventor is not revealing his design secrets (someone is sure to steal them before you can say "patent pending") he sees future applications of his device for edible advertising. Like imagine a Pizza Pizza ad that you can rip out of the magazine and it actually tastes like stale cardboard - just like real Pizza Pizza!!! But think about the other applications: those pieces of edible paper could potentially be folded into hats and airplanes and little ninja throwing stars. And we needn't stop at edible printouts. How about scanners that also make grilled cheese sandwiches? USB blowup dolls for internet porn enthusiasts? Companies stop wasting your time with AI applications and Hydrogen Fuel Cells. It's time for some really original inventions with really useful applications. We have the technology to create smart-alecky robot side-kicks to befriend all the lonely misfit children in the whole world, so what are we waiting for? Stop researching and developing and start inventing again eggheads. It is a brave new world indeed.


You don't need to be alone now with those new fangled robot friends. They can do anything!
Sigh... yes... they'll do that too...

Contest #1, Canadian Content, and Catty Comments

There are no new ideas. Obviously everything new is just a revisitation of something old, but with more B-list celebrities, product placement, cleavage and possibly a midget for extra ratings. But I'm not about to start talking about the last time I tried to write the Great Canadian novel. No, that dream is long gone and made into a cheap Canadian reality TV show starring Rita MacNeill, Mark McKinney (that "I'm crushing your heads!" guy on "Kids in the Hall") and a whole bunch of bored, NHL players who are so underpaid they couldn't afford to go golfing in Tampa this winter. Don't ask me what it's about - I gave up creative control once they started going all Canadian Content on me and said that the Gay, Francophone, First Nations, ex-Peace-Keeper host of the show was going back to his reserve in Northern Quebec to marry his boyfriend. As if I'd attach my name to something that glorifies THAT sort of lifestyle - I HATE the French!


So Gay Francophone wedding is quality prime time viewing but somehow my Midget/Pornstar wedding idea "offends Canadian sensibilities?" Fuck you, The New PL!

Anyway, so I'm running the risk of becoming really derivative, because today's blog entry is about my weird roommate. Yes I know - everyone has a blog about their weird roommate. - treating all the hapless strangers and acquaintances who frequent their blogs to the horrors of dirty dishes, skidmarked underwear left on the couch and freaky sex noises eavesdropped through paper-thin walls. ("What do you mean you're charging me extra for the condom?") Yes and everyone claims that their roommate is so exceptionally stupid/messy/self-absorbed/smelly/skanky/Mormon that they can fill an entire blog with the daily exploits of that freak they keep around because they're too poor or insecure to live alone. Oh well I guess that describes my situation perfectly. Here is the first in a series of stories about my roommate who I shall call "Balki" after everyone's favorite weird roommate of the 1980's show. Pseudonym is also necessary so that he doesn't discover this blog when the next time he googles his name which I'm sure he does frequently. Hell nothing to be ashamed of - we all do it. (My own google search yielded a Japanese bakery and a country western duo.)

Anyway, I'm going to have to back catalogue my Balki stories in future entries but any story about him needs a bit of background. Which I shall put into point form ( I tried to put this into verse too but nothing rhymes with "chronic masturbation"):

1. He's in his mid-30's.
2. He's a computer programmer/engineer.
3. 99.99999% sure he's a virgin. (See point 2).
4. He's insanely cheap (there are many amazing and amusing stories to be told on this subject) which really sucks because his Dad owns the house which basically makes him like the landlord.

Anyway so Balki doesn't have a car and yet he charges my other roommate "Larry" (keeping with the Perfect Strangers theme) $40 a month to park his car in the driveway which Larry often uses to give Balki rides to the supermarket, etc.

Enter the Snowman. We live in London, ON. where it snows every fucking day so there's always snow in the driveway. Larry drives an SUV so usually this isn't a problem because he can always 4X4 his way over the heap. Today however, Larry had to drive a minivan instead of the SUV and came back from a weekend in Toronto to find an impenetrable tower of snow blocking the driveway. Now Larry argues that since he is paying a monthly rental fee for the driveway to Balki, Balki should be responsible for keeping the driveway clear. Balki no surprisingly would not spring for a plow guy (There was at least 3 hours worth of shovelling in that driveway.) I side with Larry entirely and egged him on to be more of an asshole because he was being too nice to Balki.

What do you think readers? Do you think that collecting rent for a driveway unused by the landlord should compel him to shovel the driveway? Or is that completely unreasonable when you live in Snowtucky, ON?

And since that's a kind of boring opinion poll here are two more you can answer:
1) Come up with a funny name for my reality TV show. Remember the details:

• Cast includes: Rita MacNeill, Mark McKinney, unemployed hockey players.
• Host is genetically infused with Canadian Content by the Heritage Ministry (francophone, peace-keeper, First Nations, gay marriage.)
• Feel free to add extra details.

2) Which of the Mr. Men or Little Miss girls (e.g. Mr. Messy, Little Miss Shy) from those books that we all loved and cherished as children... would be the best in bed, and why?
If you need a click here .


No. You may not use Mr. Pimp.


You also may not use Mr. T.

Best answer gets an awesome prize! (Awesomeness subject to change at discretion of contest master.)

How to Get Rich at Your Next Family Reunion

Today in Property class we learned about the law of intestate. That's basically what happens to someone's estate if they die without a will. Unlike what the home will kit commercials would have you think the money doesn't automatically go to the state. Nope. There's a whole lineup of relatives who are all waiting for you to croak who will be given shares of your worldly possesions proportional to the closeness of their relationship to you. Or at least they'll get a share of what's left over after paying off all your debts, mortgages, funeral costs and of course LAWYERS! Woo hoo!

But that got me thinking about an amazing get rich quick scheme that any of you can do if you just have a gullable family, a couple of weapon grade explosives and a sociopathic personality. Now take careful notes:

(Disclaimer: The writer of this blog in no way, shape, or form actually reccomends or condones the following actions. The following should be read only by mature adults who can appreciate crude satire and have never joined a cult, imitated what they heard in heavy metal music or bought stuff off of late night tv commercials. It's a joke. A horrible tasteless "You-have-cancer--Just-kidding" type of joke.)

Step 1. Organize a family reunion that all your rich relatives are going to attend with all of their offspring, ancestors, spouses, siblings, cousins, nephews, nieces, and don't forget the inlaws and common laws. How are you going to get such good attendance at a lame family reunion? Open Bar!

Step 2. Have everyone bring a sole copy of their wills to the party and collect them all for a fun "guessing game" to be played after dessert.

Step 3. Set up preferred method of family disposal such as carbon monoxide leak, arsenic in the punch bowl, plastic explosives, or (my personal favorite) rabid ebola monkey) and step out for a smoke (Crack: to dull those annoying pangs of remorse).

Step 4. Make a big bonfire out of the wills you collected, any evidence linking the "accident" back to you and of course any survivors. Make sure that you are the closest surviving next of kin to all the deceased who without a will and testament are now INTESTATE! (THAT'S OUR WORD OF THE DAY!)

Step 5. Contact an estate lawyer and amass the collected fortunes of several generations of suckers. Contact a criminal defence lawyer while you're at it - a damn good one. Maybe a few. Ok you're going to need Jonny Cochrane.

And that's what I learned in law school today. Tommorow's class is in Legal Ethics. OH BOY!


After burning down his entire family tree, a sobbing Billy told the court that a Marilyn Manson song told him to do it. He was acquitted of the 93 counts of murder and became the poster child for Christian Republicans Against Practically Everything.

Hootin' and a Hollerin'

Saturday night was probably the most fun I've had in a really long time. Some gals from the ol' law school house threw a Western themed party at their house. A real barn-burner. Took my little missy over and we got all decked out in our finest cowboy attire. Dang we looked fine! I wore a borrowed cowboy hat and my most redneck shirt, accessorized with a great longhorn texas necktie made from my finest aluminum foil and my crappiest shoelace. Also had a belt buckle (foil again) in the shape of the great state of Texas. Well it actually looked more like a piece of crumpled foil but at least it kept the aliens from stealing my cell phone signals.

My gal was as hot as a Houston heatwave wearing an authentic Texan hat and boots. She looked like one of them Country Music stars but without the twangy guitar riffs and incestuous lyrics. Sorta like a less white trash Daisy Duke.

We done did some line dancing - which was good except for the noted absence of Achey Breaky Heart. Line dancing ain't line dancing unless I gets me some Billy Ray Cyrus. Also played us some old fashioned texas hold 'em on a beyootiful poker table. Lost my shirt to some females - I say I can never show my face in that saloon again. (The greatest picture coming as soon as I figure out how to post 'em.)

Then after losing count of the drinks - the little lady matched me shot for shot throughout the night - we saddled up and hit the ol' dusty trail. More fun awaited us at the ranch when my cowgirl's stomach tossed it's alcoholic riders like a buckin' bronco at a rodeo. She felt a lot better after that and we rode off into the sunset filling in the gaps in each others memories the next day.

And yes, I spoke like a retarded cowboy the entire fucking night. This night will definitely come back to haunt me when one day when I'm representing Big Oil down in the Lone Star State. But it was worth it! YEEEEEE HAWWW!!



She told him that if he played his cards right he might win her pot.
Unfortunately, he didn't know what to do with his hand. He wouldn't
raise and she didn't wait to see the flop.

Fun with Dentists

I love having friends in Dental School. On Friday I was hanging out with Jack (Dental School, 2nd Year) and Ethan (3rd Year) at the weekly Shabbat dinner at the Chabad house. So background is, I have this weird gum thing going on where my gums are kind of swollen and pale but just in between two teeth. It bleeds when I eat apples. Not fun.

So anyway, I pull Jack over and tell him my problem and right there in the middle of the crowded social scene of beUgged Jewish Princesses and drunken frat boys, he grabs me by my lower lip and starts poking around in my mouth. My girlfriend, in town for a weekend of drunken debauchery with her favorite (and to my knowledge only) drunken debauchery partner, brought one of her friends over to introduce to say hi only to find me with some dude's hand down my throat. "Mehwo!" I managed to greet the newcomer. The ladies retired looking bewildered and extremely turned on.

I can't remember what Jack said but it really doesn't matter since he's in second year. Ethan with his extra year of seniority assessed it as a piece of food that got stuck beneath my gums. Bad news is I actually have to start flossing after all these years of believing that I don't have to. Good news is that I ate this awesome steak right before I got the gum thing and I think that might be what got stuck in there. If it turns out to be a piece of that steak I can't wait to finish it. It's the dinner that keeps on giving.

Quote of the night from Jack on the subject of why Kosher restaurants have no class and you can't take important gentiles to them (paraphrased and imbellished by myself): "You go to one of those places for a meeting and walk right into a bris ("circumcision"). You're cutting into a medium rare steak and they're slicing some poor kid's foreskin at the next table. Is this a synagogue or a restaurant?!"


I wouldn't have ol' chomper here. That's for sure!

The Hawk

On a whim, I just decided to start a blog while I was sitting in class today. This is my first post but I'm not going to do anything more introductory than this sentence.

So yesterday I saw something that was grotesque and beautiful at the same time. Driving to school in the morning with my roommate, I noticed a huge bird flying around in front of the Law School. A very impressive wing-span indeed. We zoomed by so my awe was very brief. After an enlightening introductory lecture in Legal Ethics in which we assessed the ethics of such actions as belching during a friends wedding ceremony and surfing for free porn on the internet (believe it or not some people consider those things unethical!! - I came outside and saw my avian amigo again. Only this time he was seated quite comfortably on the snow covered lawn of the Law School liesurely pecking away at the entrails of a recently killed squirell. I'm pretty sure it was a hawk and it was huge! Definitely the largest bird I've ever seen out of captivity. And as if that wasn't enough it was chowing down on a irritating little rodent's brains. In conclusion, Hawks are awesome.


Does anyone have an after-squirrell mint?