Friday, December 26, 2014

Pope Francis conducts Boxing Day Sermon at Fernbrook Resort Freelton


Pope Francis conducts Boxing Day Sermon at Fernbrook Resort Freelton

Since the papacy was instituted close to two thousand years ago the sitting Pope has made a Boxing Day tradition of visiting leper filled islands, truckstops and trailer parks to deliver a homily.

This year Pope Francis visited Fernbrook Resort in Freelton, Ontario. And, after greeting the tiny nation’s ruler, the Lord Mayor Doc Ballard, the Pope issued a scathing sermon that brought under fire the dog-ruled nation’s staunch anti-feline policies, it’s framing of North Korea in the recent SONY hack scandal and the culture of gossip which is a custom at the resort.

Pope Francis’ message particularly emphasized the importance of avoiding all forms of gossip and slander.

“It’s so rotten, gossip. At the beginning, it seems to be something enjoyable and fun, like a piece of candy. But at the end, it fills the heart with bitterness and also poisons us,” Pope Francis said.

“I tell you the truth,” he preached to the capacity crowd that overflowed into the jacuzzi area, “I am convinced that if each one of us would purposely avoid gossip, at the end, we would become a saint! It’s a beautiful path!”

“Do we want to become saints? Yes or no?” the Pope queried, “and do we want to live attached to gossip as a habit?” he continued, “Yes or no? No? Okay, so we are in agreement! No gossip!”

From here Pope Francis touched on the Fifth Commandment, “Do not kill,” and went on to add, “but I say to you: that even words can kill.”

Explained the Pope. “When it is said that someone has the tongue of a serpent it means that their words kill. Therefore, not only must one not make a physical attempt on the life of another, but one must not even pour on them the poison of anger and hit them with slander, nor speak ill of them. And here we arrive at gossip. Gossip can also kill, because it kills the reputation of the person,” stressed the Holy Father.

The Pope then summarized, “From all of this, one understands that more than disciplinary observance and exterior conduct is important. Just as important is intention and what lies in the human heart, where our good or bad actions originate.

“Good and honest behavior,” he said, does not come merely from “juridical norms.”

Pope Francis then led the crowds in the traditional Trailer Park prayer for protection from tornadoes, black flies and rental increases before he greeted the various pilgrim groups present with a “Go Leafs!” and wishing everyone “lots of Boxing day bargains.”

When the Lord Mayor of Fernbrook was asked for a comment on Pope Francis’ sermon Doc Ballard yapped, “Hell, I got no worries, don’t you know that All Dogs go to Heaven.”

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Fernbrook Resort Freelton Implicated in “The Interview” SONY Hacking Scandal


Fernbrook Resort Freelton Implicated in “The Interview” SONY Hacking Scandal

The tiny anti-Feline nation of Fernbrook Resort was named by North Korean leader Kim Jong Un as the real culprit behind the SONY hacks.



“Why does everyone always blame us?” sniffed a tearful Kim in his nation’s defence. “Why doesn’t anyone like us? The only country that sent us a Christmas card this year was Vatican City. And that’s not even a real country…”

Further questioning of the portly North Korean leader proved impossible as he broke down in tears and began sobbing uncontrollably, forcing his handlers to lead him away.

“Sure it was us,” boasted Fernbrook’s Lord Mayor Doc Ballard a geriatric long-haired mongrel of undetermined parentage when contacted by mental telepathy. “You really think a nation ruled by a fat guy named Kim has the cajones to pull off something like this? I bet you he’s quivering in his noodles and crying in his teacups right now. Boo hoo hoo hoo,” he growled sarcastically.

When asked what Fernbrook has against Seth Rogen’s and the now cancelled movie, ‘The Interview’ the Lord Mayor replied succintly, “Nothing man. That dude is cool.” When asked what he thought of James Franco, the movie’s other star, the Doc replied: “Like I said, Seth Rogen is cool.”



According to Fernbrook Resort insiders, the anti Feline nation believed that SONY was remaking the movie ‘That Darn Cat’. And it was this rumour that led to the hack. When the rumour proved false they decided to arrange the hack to make it look like North Korea did it.

“My bad,” replied Doc Ballard, “you can never be too careful. But let this be a message to those who would oppose us, the nation of Fernbrook Resort will not put up with pro cat sentiments and feline propaganda. Nations of the world you have been warned!” Before adding, “Hey, has anyone seen my ducky chew toy? Because it was here a second ago.”

When told that North Korea was upset over being falsely accused the Lord Mayor seemed unrepentant. “Why the crap don’t they grow up. Fine, I’ll send an apology card, a box of Kleenex and one gross of super absorbent Depend™ Undergarments. That ought to fill their traps. But if I hear one more sob from that nation of crybabies then I’m going to kick them right off the Internet.”

Editor’s note: At press time internet service to North Korea had yet to be restored.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Another Break & Enter at Fernbrook Resort Freelton. Police Baffled!


It happened again.

Yet one more strange break-in at fashionable Fernbrook Resort in Freelton, the latest in a string of crimes that has left investigators completely baffled. Though not completely clueless.

“I walked into my home,” said a tearful Amanda Muffinbottom, “and immediately I could smell it. Pine-Sol. And I don’t use Pine-Sol when I clean.” When pressed about her cleaning habits Ms. Muffinbottom confessed, “Quite honestly I really don’t even clean that often. Just for special occasions. You now… Like Arbour Day. Or Cat Steven’s birthday,” she trailed off, “But now, now I won’t even be able to do that.”

But that wasn’t all.

Apparently the criminal mastermind also washed her windows. Before reorganizing her cutlery drawer. And finally topping up her candy dish.

“I feel… I feel so violated. So, so clean,” she said sadly. “It’s not like my home anymore. It’s like I’m at some really fancy hotel. You know something ritzy… like a Holiday Inn. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. How could somebody do this to? What right do they have do they have to just walk right into a stranger’s home and start house cleaning? And where were the police when this was going on?”

An employee of Molly Maid who spoke on the condition of anonymity said that she’s never seen anything like it. “When it comes to cleaning up after B&E’s, usually we see missing items. Petty vandalism. The joint’s messed up a bit. But this is quite the opposite. Not only is nothing missing but it appears that they’ve cleaned up the place. Quite honestly I don’t know what the heck she’s complaining about. Her place is so spotless that the cops couldn’t even find her DNA let alone the culprit who committed this fingerquote crime. I wonder if they’re looking for a job?”

The only clue the police have as to the ‘criminal’s’ identity is a single solitary gold earring that was dropped behind. And although unconfirmed, one neighbour did report seeing a suspicious individual walking through the neighbourhood toting a can of lemon fresh Pledge.

When asked what charges the criminal might face an anonymous police source indicated off the record, that if it was up to them, that they would make them clean up the Station House. And then sweep out the parking lot. ]

“I just hope they catch who’s ever behind this and put a stop to it,” Amanda Muffinbottom concluded, “People breaking in and cleaning stranger’s homes. What is this world coming to? What’s next… tidying their lawns. Or making sure that their bills are paid on time. This has got to stop. If not for our sakes then the children. Think of the children.”

Police are believed to be looking for a six foot two inch bald man wearing white shoes, white slacks, a white tee shirt and sporting a single gold earring.

Said one officer, “Catching this guy really isn’t at the top of our list but if we do I could sure as hell use some cleaning tips… because I can’t afford a maid service and my place really sucks.”

Monday, December 8, 2014

Contracting a Killing: Death Doesn’t Take a Holiday at Fernbrook Resort Freelton. Yet.



That summer story about the allegation of a murder being plotted at prestigious Fernbrook Resort is still being played out.

When last we spoke there was a cabal of cabelleros who, because of a personality conflict, wanted a neighbour put out of their misery.

Yeah. They’re the ones who are suffering. Right.

And the unforgiveable crime? The neighbour did not massage the massive egos and kiss the mountainous asses of the caballeros to the degree that the cabal’s members required.

How could anyone not agree that the neighbour was an unmitigated jerk for failing to worship the very ground that they graced with their presence?

Yeah, right.

But as a result of this awful behaviour the cabal decided that the neighbour’s fate was to be an unlined pine box. Can you imagine… just because of a personality conflict, death was prescribed. Makes you wonder who the jerks really are.

May God have mercy on their souls.

Yeah. Good luck with that.

Anyway the cabal made contact with a group who deals in matters of ongoing existence and casually placed one order of death.

And that’s where the rub of these rubes begins.

They quickly found out that contracting a killing is not quite as movies and television portray. In Fictionville contracting a murder is just as easy as super-sizing your fries and Pepsi at the local McDonalds. You want it well you got it.

But in actuality the Families and Organizations who carefully consider such requests have a code of morals or etiquette (or whatever you want to call it) that they closely adhere to. Chief among these rules is that contracts on the lives of innocents are not permitted. An innocent being a child, someone who does good, someone who is honest, someone who has kept their nose clean. You get the idea. A regular goody two-shoes. In contrast, Contracts of Demise are reserved for those who have some connection to the shadier side of life. Business rivals. Criminals. Those who insult one the Families, Organizations or their associates. People who do bad things. Those whose noses have not been kept spotlessly clean. Those who disobey direct orders. Understood?

And because the intended target did not fall into that latter category, the contract was declined and the cabal was told: “No.”

Well, that’s not completely true. Those who govern matters of contract killings actually went a step further. They did not just simply just say, “no.” They were a little more specific. They were ordered to, “LEAVE X ALONE!”

And so you think that that would be the end of that. That ‘X’ would be left unmolested.

But the cabal, in their narcissistic wisdom, decided, quote, unquote: “well, if we want this done than we’re going to have to do it ourselves.”  

Can you imagine a dumber course of action than thumbing your nose at a decision made by certain influential Families and/or Organizations. I can’t. You’re getting your nose dirty and you’re disobeying a directive. Both behaviours of which are in insults.

And that’s four strikes.

In baseball it only take three strikes to knock someone out. One less than four. And let me tell you right now, this isn’t a game of baseball. This is a business. And in this business, one strike is all you get. After all, they have a reputation to maintain.

One murder, well, that’s a tragedy. But a bunch of deaths? That’s simply a statistic.

So if a tragedy occurs at fabulous Fernbrook Resort… a statistic will follow.

You can count on it.
 
Cock-a-doodle-do n’t ask for whom the bell tolls…

Saturday, December 6, 2014

An Address on the State of Emotional Affairs at Fernbrook Resort Freelton


Have you ever seen that cartoon where some poor schmo is walking his dog down the street and a piano lands on the dog walker’s head? Resulting in a large pointy bump with stars and tweeting birds floating around the injury? I always figured that if that guy had just walked down another street then he wouldn’t have been hit by that piano. You can’t blame him for the bump… but he has to take responsibility for choosing to walk down that particular street when he could have walked down any other and remained bump free.

It was his choice.

And that’s my simple philosophy.

Man up to the consequences of the choices you make.

And what does that have to do with the state of affairs at Fernbrook Resort in Freelton.

Well, there is a neighbour at Fernbrook who has been mouthing off to another neighbour over the course of the last year. Snide comments and smart remarks. In a notably feeble attempt to put that family in their ‘place’. Perhaps to show who’s their better so to speak.

But a funny thing happened.

The neighbour who was the target of the verbal assaults, after a long stoic period, finally decided to return the verbal barrage. Sending a scathing and embarrassing barrage right back at the attacker.

And so what did the attacker do?

Return the salvo perhaps?

Nope.

Instead the attacker starts playing the poor victim. Oh alas poor me is the repeated plaintive cry of this injured neighbour. Woe. Woe. Woe. Why? Why? Why?

Yeah, that’s right, instead of owning up and admitting to instigating the current state of affairs… the attacker has begun acting like the aggrieved party.

Has been going around squeaking bloody murder.

Saying that they are somewhat surprised at the sudden state of affairs and can find no good reason. “What a Jerk!” is this neighbour’s repeated cry. Though has found some sympathy among the easily swayed.

As a spectator to this tempest in a teapot is if you can’t stand the heat then you should stay out of the kitchen. Or, hey, you made the bad choice so you gotta take the bitter medicine. And how about, don’t pick a fight then complain when you end up with a few bruises.

Cock-a-doodle if you can’t take it then perhaps you shouldn’t be dishing it out.

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Pillsbury Dough Bake Off held at Fernbrook Resort Freelton

Pillsbury Dough Bake Off held at Fernbrook Resort Freelton

The Pillsbury Dough Bake Off is one of the world’s most popular events. Though not quite as well received as the Olympic Games or the Miss Nude World Pageant, still it is much more popular than the International Ebola Fair and the World Cup of Soccer.


 
The quadrennial event is always well attended and famous faces seen in the crowd at this year’s Bake Off included such renowned gastronomists as Justin Timberlake, Chef Boy-ar-Dee, Duncan Hines, Dr & Mrs. Pepper, Mr. & Mrs. Walter Butterworth and that Rooster from the box of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes.
 
                                                                                                                                                                       

No doubt you will remember there was an international public outcry when much more popular (and some say more suitable) choices of Three Mile Island, Chernobyl and the Marianas Trench were passed over in favour of tiny Fernbrook Resort. Criticisms of Fernbrook included its inability to afford the games, the remoteness of the venues and the unusual ritual of fecal matter flinging which is an accepted part of daily life in the tiny enclave.

But the little resort proved them wrong.

The games, which were presided over by the mayor of the resort ‘Doc Ballard’ a geriatric long-haired mongrel of undetermined parentage, were an overwhelming success. Generating revenues in excess of over $380 stemming mostly from lost change and deposit bottles rescued from the trash. Plans for the money include the mowing of lawns, filling of potholes and an investment in nuclear weapons.

“Watch out Millgrove,” yapped Doc Ballard, “We’re coming for you!”




Results from the marquee events of the 2014 Pillsbury Dough Bake Off saw pigs-in-a-blanket winning the sack race, Snap Crackle and Pop winning the six-legged race and a rather large Toad-in-the-Hole won the egg in spoon competition. Disappointingly, the Jolly Green Giant won the weight-lifting competition but was later disqualified when a drug test showed high amounts of ‘extract of green pea’ present in his urine.  



As always, the closing of the games is marked by the Great Smorgasbord. Where attendees are encouraged to over indulge themselves on a variety of treats.

Barked Doc Ballard as part of his closing remarks, “I officially declare these games to be closed.” Before he jumped off the podium and added unawares that the microphone could still catch his voice… “Damn that was a hell of a fine smorgasbord…and what I wouldn’t give for the occasional Gaines Burger. Because anything beats a big steaming bowl of Al poo.”

Cock-a-doodle ouch!
 


Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Bitter Homes & Gardens (Edition 2) at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton


Bitter Homes & Gardens (Edition 2) at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

A prior blog (Bitter Homes & Gardens and the Bully of Fernbrook Resort, Freelton) has been dedicated to the past antics of the bitterest bully of Fernbrook Resort. For those who don’t remember, he is distinctive in both voice and appearance. If you don’t believe it you can check out his doppelganger at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9KtRJNaGPlk .

So what’s the bully of Fernbrook Resort been up to lately?

Well, after sixteen long years, he finally got an indoor dishwasher. Yeah, that’s right, he moved his decorative haute couture dishwasher indoors from his backyard. What a shame as it was the only thing adding any class to the yard. I’m not sure why the sudden redecorating but maybe he’s gonna start washing his paper plates and dixie cups indoors.

Best of all, with all the man-hours he saves washing plastic cutlery he has more time to devote to being a bitter bully. So what’s he added to his repertoire?

According to one early awakened neighbor and some other early awakening neighbors it has been alleged that this good ole boy has started awakening and annoying them in the early AM hours. How? Well, instead of just driving his vehicle out, he drives around and out of his way to flash the high beams (of his vehicle NOT his wife – wow you have a dirty mind) into a home BEFORE making his exit. He goes out of his way to do this. He takes a circuitous route that delays his exit, flicking on and then off his high beams after he passes the home witnesses allege. This new behavior has happened consistently over a couple of weeks. What a https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35WgpMq6e3o

But on further reflection… maybe he’s not doing this to be mean. Maybe he’s just doing this to see what’s inside the homes of others. He’s looking for decorating tips. And one of those tips that he garnered was that a dishwasher is meant to be installed in a home. Not in a yard.

If that is in fact true, here’s some other home decorating hints that he might consider:

 - Replacing that collection of crying clowns on black velvet. I would say that they are out of fashion but I don’t think they were ever in fashion.

 - Get rid of all those lawn gnomes and that plastic flock of pink flamingos. They went out of style about the same time crying clowns on black velvet came into style. never.

 - In fact why not donate all the ‘objets d’art’ that are ‘decorating’ the yard (notice the quote marks – they weren’t placed their for humorous intent).Every one will appreciate you for not only classing up a dump but also for making a charitable offering to the local landfill.

 - And how about putting air in the tires of any vehicles adorning your property. It improves not only their aesthetics but also their gas mileage.

You’re probably thinking that this is the end – but by all appearances this is just the beginning.

Cock-a-doodle-http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWNFB71MvTs

Friday, November 28, 2014

Justin Bieber Approved Natural Cure for Baldness found at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton


The utter absence of Fernbrook Resort posts can be explained via our attendance at the Annual Conference of People Who Like to Meet Annually. The Annual Conference of People Who Like to Meet Annually (or ACOPWLTMA) is a conference for people who like to meet no more and no less than once every year. And it’s always good fun. If you only like to attend one conference per year then we highly recommend ACOPWLTMA.

But of course all fun things must come to an end.

And soon we were back at Fernbrook Resort in Freelton.

Where, on our return, some chicken impolitely clucked on the shininess of the extreme upper portion of my pate. Yeah, that’s right, no, “Hi, how are ya?” or “Welcome back!” instead they say, “Where’s the rest of your hair? Still on vacation?” And of course I wanted to reply, “Yeah, it’s partying with your brain.” But some people can’t handle the truth. So I just smiled politely and slowly backed away.

I don’t mind being bald. My Father was bald. My mother was balding. My brothers and sisters were bald. Even my pet eagle was bald. In fact the only member of our household that had any hair was our hairless Chihuahua. Michael. That fuzzy little furball had more hair then an entire Woodstock Festival. Go figure.

But the comments got me thinkin’…

How come scientists can figure out how to do something complicated like fill a doughnut with jelly or construct a Caramilk™ chocolate bar but they can’t do something simple like find an effective and permanent respite for the follicly challenged?

Because it didn’t take me long to find one. A cure for baldness. It certainly works for me. No one’s noticed a thing. All you do is let your remaining ‘side’ hair grow really long. Second, you take the side hair and sweep it up and over the hairless portion of the head (or chromedomium as scientists refer to it). Finally you get a big hunk of #6 Canada Goose Grease and plaster those little suckers right down to the scalp so tightly that a typhoon couldn’t move them. And you’re done. That’s it. No one will ever know that you’re hiding a big big secret.      

And here’s the best part, Justin Bieber has agreed to be the spokesperson when the marketing campaign begins.

And Mr. Bieber is not just the spokesperson – he’s also a client. We ripped off that toupee he called a head covering then swept the remaining natural hair strands up over his head, plastered them with #6 Canada Goose Grease three weeks ago. And no one has noticed. Not the paparazzi. Not the news media. Not even the strippers down at Club Bum Touch where he is a frequent (and generous) attendee.

No one.

Stayed tuned for the infomercials and a likely Nobel Prize for Peace.

Cock-a-doodle- In our absence it seems that there has been another round of rooster clucks and petty mickey mouse goings on (oh Joy!) and we’ll be revealing them in upcoming exciting and not to be missed Secrets of Fernbrook Resort.

Friday, November 14, 2014

A Tommyknocker, a Peeping Tom and a Giant Chicken at Fernbrook Resort Freelton


A Tommyknocker, a Peeping Tom and a Giant Chicken at Fernbrook Resort Freelton
 
I was talking to some neighbours the other day and they had a surprising tale to tell. At 6:05 of the AM on Wednesday November 5th, 2014 (in the year of our Lord) some one or some thing banged on the back window of their home before running off faster than Ben Johnson on a cocktail of steroids (Ben Johnson the sprinter not Ben Jonson the dramatist).

And this wasn’t the first time such an event had taken place.

It had happened once before in June. And once prior to that in February.  

And a couple minutes after each occurrence, coincidentally, a car was heard starting up. Then driving away. Some sort of roostermobile if their description is correct.

They don’t know what to make of it.

But I think I do.

No doubt it was a Tom · my · kno · cker (noun).

A TOmmyknocker of course is one of those malevolently evil and narcissistic creatures that goes around tapping here and there and causing childish trouble.

Though too it could be a peep·ing Tom (noun).

A peeping Tom of course is one of those weird perverts who derives sexual pleasure from secretly watching people through the windows of their homes.  

But there is one other choice as well.

No, not an adult male turkey gobble gobble (ha ha ha good parallelism though) but rather some sort of chicken. A giant rooster perhaps. In search of an early morning bowl of Purina Instant Rooster Chow™. Because as fate would have it, adjacent to those neighbours it is alleged doth reside a giant lazy rooster with poorly veiled narcissistic tendencies.

Now if we could just put a name to that giant rooster this Hardy Boys style mystery could be put to a rest.

Cock-a-doodle-gobble gobble gobble




PS - I only used the word doth just because I wanted to sound cool – like I had read Shakespeare or Marlowe or Pope or Ben Jonson (the dramatist not the sprinter).

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Dog Elected Lord Mayor of Fernbrook Resort Freelton – Justin Timberlake finishes 4th!

Dog Elected Lord Mayor of Fernbrook Resort Freelton – Justin Timberlake finishes 4th!

It’s official – the recount is in and a canine has been elected Lord Mayor of Freelton’s ritzy Fernbrook Resort.



In a surprise result ‘Doc Ballard’ a geriatric long-haired mongrel of undetermined parentage handily beat out the office incumbent, a weathered piece of plywood purchased at Beaver Lumber in 1983. Also running for the job was a medium-sized rock with a thick vein of quartz running through it, which finished third. Disappointed fourth place finisher Justin Timberlake rounded out the hotly contested campaign.



“The other candidates seemed to treat this race as a dog and pony show,” neighed Doc Ballard’s Campaign Manager the world famous Mr. Ed, “but we avoided that and won because we stuck to the issues that were close to the people’s hearts.”

Issues which included the hotly debated FMP or ‘Feline Management Policy’ and Dog Feces Flinging.

“No more cats!” barked Doc Ballard (here the new Lord Mayor interrupted himself with a bit of a self-cleaning before he continued). “From this moment onward all animals of the feline persuasion will be forced to wear a big yellow mouse around their necks while out in public. Those who refuse will be interred in special camps until their disposition can be decided. And that goes for their supporters too! This is Canine Country now!” Doc Ballard yipped sharply.

When pressed about his Dog Feces Flinging support Doc Ballard barked, “Personally I believe that we should all let feces lie where it is deposited. I know I do. It’s what nature intended. And I know the plant life and the fields just love it! That’s how I got their votes. By unabashedly pooping all over the ecosystem. But if someone wants to fling some feces around… what the hey… it’s good exercise. And with my plans to resurrect the spring Dog Feces Flinging Festival and perhaps add a fall festival as well. It would be good for the local tourism industry… which will be great for the economy.”

At this point the news conference was interrupted by a disheveled Justin Timberlake. Timberlake withdrew a soup bone from an old shopping bag, tossed it far into the distance, whereby the Lord Mayor immediately jumped down from his lectern and gave chase    

In the Mayor’s absence Justin Timberlake said, “Personally I enjoy a bit of recreational flinging of dog feces, I only entered politics because of Doc Ballard’s Feline Management Policy. Apartheid, whether it be based on religion, skin colour or degree of feline-ness, should not be tolerated. I hereby immediately renounce my citizenship in the nation of Fernbrook. I am moving to the US of A where I will take up singering and actoring and make it my career.”

When asked if he had any final words Timberlake replied, “whether it be the oppression of all cats or simply the removal of one cat I predict a cock-a-doodle catastrophe for those who are responsible for this dastardly policy.”

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Cat Napping could be a Catastrophe in the making at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton


Cat Napping could be a Catastrophe in the making at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

I don’t know the difference between a catnapping and a cat burglary. Other than for the fact that it involves the disappearance of some sort of semi-precious feline. Who would steal a cat? And what do people do with the cats that they steal? Is their some sort of secret black market where ill gotten cats are bought and sold? Maybe cats have a hidden value that makes them worth more than what poor slobs like me think that they’re worth..

I doubt I’ll ever know.

My neighbour’s cat, his name (or perhaps her name, I’m not really clear on that point) was Pétr. Short for Pétrifiée. Would sit in the same spot for hours on end. Slower than a five-toed sloth. Slower than a three-toed sloth even. Some mistook him (or her) for a stone statue. Yet blink and she (or he) would move quicker than the eye could follow.

But Pétr is gone now. For the best part of a week.

It is unproven but it has been alleged that a bad ole chicken lured innocent little Pétr into his van with a box of Tender Vittles™.

Actually he just picked Pétr up by the tail, put him in his van, and drove away, I just wanted to put in a plug for delicious Tender Vittles™ Pétr’s favorite food I am told.

Needless to say poor little Pétr hasn’t been since.

I mentioned the absence of the always present feline to my now cat-poor neighbours. Who confirmed the feline’s disappearance.

C’est la vie.

But it got me thinking. There’s a neighbour who works for the Canada Revenue Agency (CRA), he told me that when a criminal is caught with stolen property, that the CRA will reassess the individual. They add the dollar value of the stolen goods to the criminal’s income and then tax them on it. Hilarious.

Unless you’re the criminal that is.

I remember a story on the CBC (W5 I think) where the Canada Revenue Agency went after some average self-employed Canadian who had his own business. The guy was assessed a tax debt for tens of thousands of dollar. The guy took the CRA to court, and it took sixteen years… but he won. Though by then the CRA had taken away his business, his home all his assets etc. The guy had nothing. And the CRA did not have to make restitution or pay any damages for the trumped up tax debt they used to steal his life’s earnings.

That’s a catastrophe

And even if the CRA had been forced to provide restitution the guy still lost sixteen years of his life.
  
Now I’m sure that whomever took Pétr was just some good ole boy playing a joke. And that Pétr will be returned unharmed in the VERY near future.

But if Pétr is not returned?

C’est la vie.

Sometimes catastrophes happen in life.

But wouldn’t that be ironic if a catastrophe that ensued was actually induced by the theft of a cat?

Cock-a-doodle-stay tuned for the exciting conclusion to this mystery.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

It’s a Charlie Brown Halloween for Fernbrook Resort Freelton


It’s a Charlie Brown Halloween for Fernbrook Resort Freelton

Well, it’s just about that time of year when everybody dresses up and tries to scare the pants (and dresses) off of everybody else.

And at Fernbrook Resort in Freelton it’s no different.

Everyone’s discussing how they’re going to dress for the big Halloween party and it seems like everyone is going as either a Dominatrix or a Submissive. Which is strange because I thought we were supposed to wear costumes.

It was suggested that I dress as Charlie Brown.

So I guess I won’t be in need of a costume either.

And at first I took no little offense at being told I dress like Charlie Brown. But after researching the famous child thespian I’ve come to quite a different conclusion. Because according to my internet sources Charles ‘Don’t Call Me Charlie’ Brown is quite the character:    

- A convicted bigamist, having married women in four US states, Romania and Guatemala.
- Is in arrears for child support payments for his thirteen children
- Was a recently indicted for providing financial support to both Boko Haram and ISIS.
- An outspoken opponent of Canine-Feline intermarriage he assaulted The Cat in the Hat at a Rally supporting such marital unions.

So he’s much more bad ass then Alfalfa of ‘the Little Rascals’ fame.

And he dresses better too!

So I guess this Halloween I’ll be dressing like Charlie Brown.

I just hope no one comes as the Cat in the Hat.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Bitter Homes & Gardens and the Bully of Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Bitter Homes & Gardens and the Bully of Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

"It's about time that they cleaned that place up!"

You didn't have to see the speaker to recognize the voice - it was the alleged bully of Fernbrook Resort.

Have you ever seen that old 'Tales of the Wizard of Oz' cartoon (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=brqnui9dV9o) from the 1960's ? Based on the Frank L Baum book of the same name it has all the same characters. Dorothy. Toto. The Scarecrow. The Cowardly Lion. And of course the Tin Woodsman who, in the cartoon, was named Rusty. And who had a voice to match. Sounding like a jagged and rusty tin can being scraped across a blackboard. A voice quite similar to that of the alleged Bully of Fernbrook Resort. Which is what makes that voice so instantly recognizeable to both the hearing and the hearing impaired.

When our family moved in the alleged tough guy was an individual that was immediately pointed out to us as completely avoidable. A bully. Not a' gud ole buoy' in the least we were told. And with his non-stop string of mickey mouse comments and questionable actions we would have to agree. Some of the more memorable include: When a neighbour helpfully (but accidentally) pulled weeds out of his garden and the alleged bully found out, he started clucking loud threats that he should go over there and chop down some trees in retaliation. I've seen him baiting stray cats til they scream. When another neighbour put up a fence, the day after he mouthed off about it to one of his visiting pals, that same pal ran into the neighbour's fence with his car I was told. And his latest comment was, "It's about time that they cleaned that place up!" A neighbouring family had spent a few hours tidying up their accused eyesore and the bully had noticed.

So a few nights later, while on an unguided walking tour of the prestigious resort, we decided to check out the pristine state of the alleged bully's proud property. Obviously, with his statements, we expected to be viewing some wonderful Garden of Eden with numerous horticultural awards, guided tours and valet parking.

And, to our surprise, we weren't disappointed.

I'm just kidding.

We were shocked by what we discovered.

We now know why the Amazon jungle is disappearing... and it's not deforestation. It's because the bully of Fernbrook Resort has been stealing it weed by weed and transplanting his ill-gotten foliage behind his home. His yard has more weed than an entire season of Breaking Bad. If Walter White hadn't died then I'd know where to find him. In this guy's back yard. And it wouldn't surprise me if Jimmy Hoffa was found alive and well back there either. He's probably brunching with a Sasquatch (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28zXvk9kBBc) right now. But we'll never know of the existence of either because of the yard's sorry state. Truthfully, last week a troop of thirty-year old Girl Guides marched out of that mess. They got lost as kids making their way to the front door to sell their deliciously overpriced cookies and it took them two decades to find their way out. And did I mention the rusted out car with the flat tires? Well now I have.

But I guess when your property is an award winning botanical masterpiece featured annually in 'Bitter Homes and Questionable Gardens' magazine then you have every right to criticize the state of the yards of others.

Cock-a-doodle take the mote out of your own eye before removing the beam from your neighbour's.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

At Fernbrook Resort Freelton... Building Barriers Makes Senior Chickens Less than Exemplary!


At Fernbrook Resort Freelton... Building Barriers Makes Senior Chickens Less than Exemplary!

Remember when we wrote that Fernbrook Resort had a lot of good eggs?

Well, we're carefully rethinking that decision.

What happened?

Some neighbours put up a short (in length and height) fence on either side of their walk.

And the Result?

Senior chickens at Fernwood Resort have their wings in a flap over the offensive fence.

Why?

Because the fence is there.

But have they bothered to ask the family why they put up the fence? Or have they asked the family to take down the 8 inch high barrier?

No.

Instead, whenever they pass the home they begin loudly squawking "It's terrible!" or "How horrible!" and "Awful isn't it!" PRETENDING THAT THIS LOUDNESS IS THEIR NORMAL SPEAKING VOICE before adding that the fence is blocking the road. One senior chicken even blames the fence for Ebola and the downturn in the Canadian dollar.

Of course I walked over to check out the offensive eyesore that has the senior chickens boo-hoo-hooing into their Metamucil. The barrier is not pretty (though I've seen much worse). But neither is it on the road. The roads at ritzy Fernbrook Resort are pot holes decorated with the odd piece of gravel. Yeah. In fact the potholes at Fernbrook Resort are so deep that the Canadian Olympic Diving Trials have been held here on three separate occasions.

And of course I talked to the neighbour - I was the second to ask about the sudden appearance of the barrier on their 'front lawn'.

And the response.

Thoughtful (yes, that is sarcasm) Fernbrook Resort chickens often park their vehicles, SUV's Cargo trucks etc. on the tiny front lawn (instead of using the parking lot 20 feet away). On a number of occasions they have even blocked the walk to the home.

The barrier was erected in order to discourage these ever so thoughtful chickens from blocking the walk their vehicles.

A simple explanation

But of course the whiny senior chickens at Fernbrook Resort, instead of asking for an explanation, just loudly squawked complaints.

Seriously... what do these old cluckers have to complain about? They're not old enough to have lived through the Depression and they're too young to have served in the Second World War. And though they're not baby boomers they're ridden the crest of the baby boom wave to live the 'Life of Riley'.

But are these spoiled old clucks happy?

No.

Instead they sit on their decks and yell at passing kids to eat their vegetables. They loudly complain that the earth is too round. That ice cream isn't as cold as it was when they were youngsters. That bananas are too yellow. Not like when they were kids and the earth was exactly the correct roundness, ice cream was plenty cold and bananas were a lot less yellow.

And of course they complain that some family put a fence on his front lawn to stop them from parking their clucking cars from blocking their walk.

Why can't the Fernbrook chickens be mmore exemplary? Like Foghorn Leghorn? Or Big Bird? Or his son basketball legend Larry Bird?

Cock-a-doodle... why?

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Famous Examples of Exemplary Chickens for Fernbrook Resort in Freelton

Famous Examples of Exemplary Chickens for Fernbrook Resort in Freelton


Well, we've received a large number of anonymous e-mails from chickens (and several from turkeys) accusing the proprietors of this blog of being anti-fowl or 'chickenism'.

Accusations like that are incredibly hurtful!

We thoroughly enjoy chicken. (Especially when accompanied by their neighbour 'stuffing' and their close friend 'the side order of mashed potatoes and gravy'.)

However our detractors may have a point. While there are some truly bad chickens out there... there are also large numbers of exceptinally tasty err... good chickens. Those who would give you the feathers off their backs. So, to clear our proud name of the detestable 'anti-chicken' label, we've decided to make a list of some of the many good chickens we have come to know and love.



Chicken Little
 - was a brave chicken who led many of his friends to their untimely deaths at the hands of the notorious Foxy Loxy. Chicken Little had courage. The courage to publicly stand up for his convictions (as misguided as they later proved to be).      



Foghorn Leghorn
 - was a legendary actor. Yet he never received one Oscar nomination due to the discrimination against chickens that was prevalent in the Hollywood of his day.Yet this foul play did not deter him. He plyed his craft with complete professionalism and to the utmost of his abiltiy with nary a complaint. Today Mr. Leghorn is regarded as a comic genius whose body of work has stood the test of time. In fact he is more popular today then he ever was before.  



Big Bird
 - his stand against the Viet Nam war landed him in jail three different times during the late 1960's. Upon his last release, and finding that his hen had left him for Aloysius Snuffleupagus (whom he later worked with), Big Bird moved to New York City and settled in a nest in an alley on Sesame Street. Where he turned his pacifist views into a television show of the same name. Sesame Street. Today Mr. Bird is a well known anti-war advocate and philanthropist and his eldest son (Larry) is a well known basketball player.




The San Diego Chicken
 - as a flamboyant youngster he was openly mocked for his outrageous dress. Yet this did not deter him. He gained a large measure of fame working for the San Diego Padres (baseball) and, upon his retirement, opened a fashion design store. Today the San Diego Chicken is considered to be a leading avant avant-garde designer and runs the world's largest clothing empire that caters exclusively to chickens and other fowl.

These are just a few of the many chickens that other chickens should aspire to.

If I were counted among chicken-kind, God willing, perhaps I could aspire to such lofty heights.

But, alas, I was born lacking the crucial DNA that excludes me from such.

But to those of you who do have the appropriate DNA...

Cock-a-doodle get to work.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Petty Theft & Petty Vandalism by Petty Chickens at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton


Petty Theft & Petty Vandalism by Petty Chickens at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Well, I was talking to a Fernbrook Resort neighbour and it looks like some chickens escaped the hen house for a rollicking night of fun off the farm.

And what was on their chicken-brained minds?

Theft and vandalism.

Of the petty nature.

What was it this time?

A neighbour has an old cedar chest in their always open garage. The chest was empty other than for some paperwork advertising the chest's maker, warranty etc. Nothing of any value.

Well, some dastardly chicken(s) managed to find their way into this unguarded fortress of riches and, using their tiny brains, somehow figured out how to open up the complicated chest. And then took that worthless (but pricelss to someone with a chicken sized brain I guess) paperwork. Next using their talons (or perhaps their beak) they broke one of the stays (that keep the chest from falling shut). Before they closed the chest back up and silently flew off into the dead of the night.

Are these chickens (a) Criminal masterminds? or (b) Or what?

I think selection (b) the 'or what?'choice is the appropriate answer to this mind-boggling multiple choice question.

If the stay had not been broken then you might think this to be simply a sad case of some kleptomaniac chicken(s).

But because the stay was broken you would have to assume that some (of the) Fernbrook Resort chicken(s) are holding a silent grudge against the robbed and vandalized neighbour. And were trying to make a point.

But because they are too chicken to confront the object of their rage (and the object of their rage most likely does not have a rare chicken-to-english dictionary to understand their clucks and cackles) no one is ever going to know what the point of these cowardly chickens is.

Andddddd I know what your thinking... how do you know that it was chickens who comitted this awful act of terror and destruction?

Well, having read the highly regarded 'Abnormal Behaviors in Domesticated Fowl' by Hamilton Hickmman (a book previously cited by this blog) I learned that chickens are only brave when a target's back is turned and, also, when the sun goes down. And since the back was turned and the sun was down there can be no doubt that this heinous crime was conducted by one or more chickens.

Cock-a-doodle invite your enemy over for a microwaved bowl of Delicious Purina Instant Rooster Chow ™ and settle your differences once and for all.

(Note - this is NOT a paid for solicitation for the Purina Company OR any of their many fine products or Purina Instant Rooster Chow ™ which is on sale at all participating stores starting this Monday - grab a box and cluck up a boewl today!)

Monday, September 1, 2014

I Live in a Meth Lab at Fernbrook Resort Freelton


I Live in a Meth Lab at Fernbrook Resort Freelton

If you'll remember, as a result of the complex rating system used to classify homes at prestigious Fernbrook Resort in Freelton Ontario, our trailer heaven was re classified upwards. To the more prestigious Crack Den status (from Meth Lab). However we later learned that the step up was in error and the state of our residence was so questionable that not only were we ordered to stop referring to our home as a Crack Den but we were also banned from telling folks that we live in a Meth Lab.

And then this happens.

Last night around the Witching Hour I hear someone scratching at our door. So I open it. And and who was it? One of Fernbrook's most elite and well respected residents: Dextrose Morphine Junior. I know that's an unsual name and, apparently, though spending much of his life in the Principality of Andorra, he was born in Viet Nam to parents of Iraqi and Ugandan heritage. He told me that he speaks several languages including English, American, Canadian and that he's currently studying Australian.

So he's no dummy.

Anyway Dextrose looks me straight in the eye and says in his heavily Spanish accented Canadian, "Hey muchacho, I need to score me some meth. Can you do me a solid?"

Of course I took the question as a compliment (imagine us living in a meth lab) but all the same I had to tell my guest, "Sorry Dude, this ain't no meth lab," I replied in a profoundly disappointed voice.

But Dextrose, without even hesitating, shoots back: "No worries man, sooooo how about you fill up my crack pipe then?"

So I filled up his pipe and he trotted off into that good night.

I didn't really give him crack, I gave him cubes of sugar. And he didn't seem to know the difference.

I know what you're thinking, CUBES OF SUGAR? What are you? A refugee from the 1930s? No one uses cubed sugar anymore. Well I do use cubed sugar. At breakfast I enjoy building little forts out of them which I then bombard with Maltesers (TM). And when I'm done playing? I eat them. Try doing that with Lego! I also ate a Mrs. Potato Head once and trust me, those things aren't made out of potatoes. Talk about your false advertising.

Anyway... the point of this incident is, is that if one of Fernbrook Resort's finest and most upstanding citizens, the highly eductaed and world travelled Dextrose Morphine Junior, can mistake our unclassified home for a Meth Lab then, at the very least, we deserve the Meth Lab rating AND the improved social standing that goes with it. Because, currently, our low social standing only permits us to converse with non-Siamese cats. And trust me on this, after half an hour talking to a cat, you feel like you're on crack. Really bad crack. A trip that will scar you for life.

So, to make a stupid story short, I'm going to appeal our reclassification.

May reader's thoughts and prayers be with us during this most trying of ordeals.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Great Garden Shed Robbery (Crime Doesn’t Pay) at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Great Garden Shed Robbery (Crime Doesn’t Pay) at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

For those who are not up to speed some of the Fernbrook Resort chickens were overheard loudly clucking about a local garden shed they were planning on heisting. Apparently the shed is where the Ark of the Covenant is rumoured to be resting.

(Why anyone would want to mess with the Ark of the Covenant is beyond me. In Grade 8 history class we learned that the Ark could melt the face of a World War II stone-faced German soldier. And if the Ark can melt the face of a Nazi grunt than it can easily deep fry a chicken.)

Anyway, quite honestly, there does not seem to be much going on here. Yet the plot doesn’t seem to have completely fizzled out either. And though at least one of the leaders of the brood still seems committed to the crime others are wisely distancing themselves from the idea. As a result, membership in the flock has become quite fluid and several members of the group appear to have flown the coop. The concerns appear to be:

- Names

The very best criminal gangs have really cool names, you know, like Liberals or Conservatives or New Democrats. Without a cool name you have to use your own name. And whether its before the crime or after criminals (other than for politicians) absolutely abhor the publication of their identifies. (My suggestion is choose a cool name, like the Bird Brains. A name like that demonstrates your intellectual superiority over us mere mortals.)

- Exit Plan

Smartly, unwilling to use a local road that was in plain view they know they have to carry the garden shed’s priceless treasure over land. But they’re having trouble securing an alternate route through either the adjoining chicken run or over neighboring Disneyland for their mickey mouse operation. (My suggestion is that since you’re chickens – use your wings)

- Timing

The group did decide that their criminal action will take place on a Sunday night/Monday morning or else a Wednesday night/Thursday morning. But are in deep discussions over which date is the most preferable. (My suggestion is that they phone their soon to be victim and set up an appointment. That would take out all the chancy guesswork)


NOW, before continuing, all you kids out there reading this: STAY IN SCHOOL!

CRIME DOES NOT PAY!

Well, that’s not really true, crime does pay… just not well. Unless you’re an international jewel thief – that pays really well. Smugglers do good too. And drug kingpins. Art thieves too. Insurance fraud. Second story jobbers. Embezzlers. Blackmailers. Bribe takers…

And… come to think of it… criminals (other than for legal criminals such as politicians) don’t declare their ill-gotten earnings at tax time. Yeah, that’s right, criminals don’t pay taxes on their income. So even if you don’t earn a lot, if you’re not taxed on that income then you’re probably much better off than a law abiding taxpayer. Criminals all have nice cars. They work good hours. Dress sharp. And criminals get all the cute sassy dames (if local cinema offerings are any indication of criminal dating life).

You know what?

Criminals have it pretty sweet.

Why the heck do we even need book learning? I bet higher education is just some criminal organized scam to get us high paying jobs to make us work fifty hours a week so that we can afford expensive dental plans and so that we can buy stuff we don’t need and then have that stuff stolen from us while we’re at work by some criminal who works five measly hours a week and doesn’t declare his income. I’m not kidding!

Though criminals (other than for politicians) don’t have dental plans.

And I believe (at least according to Law and Order Special Victims Unit) that’s how criminals (other than for politicians) get caught. Cops just show up, shout, “show me your pearly whites”, and if you have snaggle teeth (or worse) well, then that’s it. Jigs up. You’re under arrest. Case closed.

So any heist at Fernbrook Resort would be quite easy for the police to solve. Names or no names.

Why?

Chickens don’t have teeth.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Ghosts and Hauntings Found at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton Ontario

Ghosts and Hauntings Found at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton Ontario

I have been using gravity ever since I was a little kid. And quite honestly it’s great. I love it. So much so that I use it 24 hours a day seven days a week. Quite honestly it’s addictive. Once you start using it you just can’t stop. Though while I am quite familiar with gravity in no way do I consider myself an expert on the phenomena. And I say this even after having read Aristotle, Galileo and Newton. Who some less learned people wrongly attribute the invention of gravity.

Getting to the point, if you’ll remember… the handlebars on a bike were found turned up on three different occasions. And by up I mean that the brake pulls were pointed towards the sky. Nothing has happened since the third incident. Today I decided to try a little experiment.

1) Let’s assume that no one tampered with the handlebars.

This is easy to assume. But remember that I’ve had Fernbrook Resort’s neighborly neighbor’s flinging dog feces about the property and onto the roof of my 120 sq ft trailer palace. I have found questionable placing of hot cigarette butts more than once. And there are several other incidents which I have not yet written about simply because I don’t know how to assess them (i.e. coincidence or the work of chickens). But as a result of repeated unexplained problems you can see how the worst (tampering) might be the conclusion  immediately jumped to by myself.

2) And lets assume that I’m in full possession of all my faculties.

This is not easy to assume. Even by folks who know me well. So if you’re reading these posts without knowing me than, no doubt, you’re all but certain that I am secretly writing this blog on the occasions the Freelton Mental Health Center & Car Wash lets me out of my strait jacket to play with soap bubbles.

And the experiment?

I wish I had thought of this previously but what I did was to painstakingly slowly loosen the bolt on the bike handlebars. To see what would happen. Would they move? They did! When loose enough the handlebars slowly rotate counter clockwise and the brake pulls point toward the earth. Down. Which is the opposite direction to which I had found them in the loosened state. Counterclockwise and up. Nine out of ten scientists have confirmed that ‘down’ is the opposite of ‘up’ (the tenth scientist was a Canadian answering under Stephen Harper’s direction – go figure).      
  .
I completed the experiment six times. And each time the result was the same. The break pulls ended up pointing towards the ground. Though after much study and considerable research I think I have an answer for this weird discrepancy.

Ghosts.

That damn bike is haunted.

I mentioned previously that I was no expert on gravity. This despite having more than a passing familiarity with it. And I stand by that statement. However I am an expert on both ghosts and hauntings. Not only have I studied the award winning Ghostbusters documentary (with the irascible Bill Murray) but I’ve also reviewed the voluminous case studies of one Casper ‘the friendly ghost’ (published monthly by Harvey Periodicals) at length. So I know what I’m talking about. The bike is haunted. It has to be. There is just no other plausible explanation.

Whew, I’m glad that’s solved.

During my studies I also solved another ghostly mystery… Casper the friendly ghost? He’s really the ghost of Richie Rich. Yeah. Richie Rich’s parents probably offed the snot nosed brat for the insurance money. Just put pictures of Casper and Richie side by side. You’ll see.    

Whoa… would you look at that… it’s beautiful… sorry, I’m gonna play with some soap bubbles before the orderlies come and strap me back in.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Human-Chicken War Looming at Fernbrook Resort in Freelton, Ontario??

Human-Chicken War Looming at Fernbrook Resort in Freelton, Ontario??

Well, the olive branch of peace may have been defoliated by one of the chickens at Fernbrook Resort in Freelton, Ontario. If so, war, which wasn’t even on the menu just a scant few days ago, is on the table and ready to be served. Piping hot.

And though I want to be mad, I can’t be.

Because to be upset would mean that the guilty chickens were reading this blog and decided that ‘war’ isn’t over until they cluck that it’s over.

They can’t be that feather-brained.

So they’re not reading this.

Which means Rooster isn’t receiving meds for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. The residents are unaware that their private library is being pilfered. The Noxema Girls at reception don’t know that they’ve been complimented on their beauty. Lapchicken is unaware that he’s being svengalied (technically that’s not a real word but you know what I mean). And so on down the line.  

What happened to bring about the possibility of war?

My mother always said that I was born wearing skates but I prefer to say that I was born riding a bike. Either way that’s a hell of a difficult birth and hats off to Mom’s everywhere for giving birth to kids wearing any sort of sporting equipment. Or just for having kids. Anyway, just about any thing that could wrong with a bike I have experienced. And survived. Broken chains, cracked rims, exploding brakes, I’ve even broken a bike frame in half.

This past week however it was something new.

I get on the bike and immediately I noticed that the handlebar was loose and that the handbrake pulls were pointed up in the air. I grabbed an allan key, repositioned the bars and went on my way. I didn’t think anything of it. One of those things that happens I supposed.

Two days later (the day after the olive branch was proffered) the exact same thing – I walked out into the shed, handlebar loose, brake levers up etc. etc. I just figured that I hadn’t tightened it quite enough. So I re-tightened it and went on my way.

This morning it was the same thing. So I tightened it up once more… and while I was tightening I got to thinking. Why would the brake pulls be pointing up in the air? If the handlebar became loose they should point toward the earth. Shouldn’t they? Because of their weight. For those of you familiar with the eccentricities of gravity and gravitational pull this will make perfect sense to you.

It would be nice to be certain that it was just a accident. But even now I’m not 100% convinced that it's not just a coincidence. My questions then:

Had I done a bad repair job? (Two in fact)
Was the three times loose handlebar just coincidence?
Was some chicken playing an underwinged trick?
Were aliens involved?

I tackled the alien angle first and, using the internet to research and according to enquiring minds, aliens occupy themselves with crop circles, disemboweling cows and random probing of various human orifices. I don’t have cows or crops and I hope you’ll take my word for it when I tell you I haven’t been probed. At least I don’t think I have. I guess they drug you or something. It’s all kind of hazy. Anyway absolutely nothing about handlebar loosening.

Could I have done a bad repair job? Twice. I don’t know but, yeah… it’s possible.

Coincidence? The thing is, coincidences don’t come in threes. That’s why they’re called coincidences. Singular one-time events. So it just couldn’t have been a coincidence. Could it?

Which leaves the idea that perhaps some featherbrained chicken wanted to irritate me but not hurt me. Or, if I did get hurt, they could think, well, if he didn’t see the handlebar was loose by the brake levers pointing up then it was his own fault. And so a salve for their conscience if a couple of eggs err… legs… got broken.

So any data I have on the causation of the loose handlebars is purely empirical at this point. I have nothing hard to base a hard conclusion on.

But if I did?

And the cause of the handlebar loosening did turn out to be fowl related?

I would issue an official Declaration of War on all chickens and chickenkind of Fernbrook Resort. If chickens are tossing lit cigarettes around the property and loosening handlebar bolts on bicycles and… and… well… then it’s time to stop being tolerant. The fuse is lit. And I’m sure that I would have the support of the late Colonel Harland Sanders for this military action. Sanders of course is known to have hated chickens so much that he fried every last one of them – in a style that the Geneva Convention now bans – and known as the horrible Kentucky Fried torture.

But I would not fight like a chicken.

I would not lie, I would not gossip and I would not attempt to damage or to cause personal injury to any chicken, chickenkind or their property. When I indicated previously that being mean ate away at my insides like acid – I meant it. I would lose sleep. And I will not lose sleep over this. So, instead, I would use federal law, municipal bylaws and provincial statutes to extract order. If I’m wrong? There will be no foul. And if I’m right… there will be no fowl.

And for those who get bored reading blogs they can simply tune into CNN for all the latest news and developments. CNN being the Chicken News Network.

Cock-a-doodle-stay tuned.

Friday, August 15, 2014

All Quiet on the Western Front and at Fernbrook Resort in Freelton

All Quiet on the Western Front and at Fernbrook Resort in Freelton

My apologies to Erich Maria Remarque for stealing the title of his wonderful book. But the title is so apt and the book’s true message, anti-war, is so fitting.

Because things are quiet.

The dog feces flinging seems to have stone cold stopped. Though it’s too soon too tell about the cigarette butts. And I haven’t even discussed the kiwi (fruit not the bird), cauliflower, pink chewing gum etc. etc. It’s long list.

But if the flock at Fernbrook are going to behave – then maybe the ‘war’ is over.

Though if it is over that would mean that perhaps someone of Fernbrook Resort had found this blog. And decided that while they liked to fire… they didn’t have the stomach to be fired upon. And have run away. Which seems unlikely. Because the only thing expanding faster than the universe is the Internet. Meaning this tiny blog is unlikely to ever be found. Let alone read. But if this blog has been found... the only person(s) that could connect these writings to the writer would be the dog feces flingers. The cigarette butt tossers. And so on. The bullies. Because I haven’t breathed a word of complaint to even one soul.

Why haven’t I complained?

Today I’m a tubby wide load and very much out of shape. But growing up I was a decent athlete who could score and very often was a captain to boot. As a captain you have to lead by setting a positive example. Or else the team will disintegrate. As an offensive presence (a double entendre for those who might not recognize such) you can’t instigate or retaliate because you can’t score sitting in the bin. You have to tolerate the cheap shots (another double entendre for those who might not recognize such) and know that one of the boys has your back. And, truthfully, I always knew that one of the boys had my back. It’s much easier to be tolerant when you know that a wrong will soon be righted.

So, even today, I am still extremely tolerant of bad behaviour.

I have a long fuse.

Unfortunately when you’re faced with mean people they often mistake the long fuse for someone who has no fuse at all. They think you’re a whipping boy. And so when you finally raise a fist – they get confused.

"HEY, you can’t fight back, you’re a whipping boy. You’re supposed to sit there and take it. I don’t want to fight anymore."

Boo hoo hoo hoo cry me a blog.

Bullies can dose it out only until it forced to taste their own mean medicine – then the self-righteous crying begins.

Meanness is self perpetuating. A perpetual motion machine. When you let it. But what good is perpetual motion that doesn’t accomplish anything? Movement that just keeps you spinning in circles is a waste of time and energy.

An exercise in useless.

I know for some people that being mean is like a dose of cocaine. It gives them an inexpensive high. But a high they constantly need more of. So they get meaner.

For me being mean to someone else is like stabbing myself in the heart. Then carrying a ten thousand pound weight. It’s a heavy load. I have a heavy conscience.

So I just can’t do it.

When faced with mean people (or people I think might be mean) I do my best to avoid them. Be polite. Say as few words as possible. Exit stage left. And take the long way home. ‘X’ them out. I just don’t need pointless drama. If I did I would watch reality television twenty-four seven.

And if any of the Fernbrook chickens, who I believe at least some of to be employees or their close friends, and who fling feces, steal library materials, toss cigarettes etc. etc. were to somehow find this blog?

If this ‘war’ is over, than I forgive you for your mean behaviors.

Though while I forgive your behaviors in no way do I excuse them.

All the same I am quite willing to let bygones be bygones.

And let sleeping dogs lie.

Take the hint.



Please.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Firebugs, House Fires, Smoking Chickens & Pink Lighters at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Firebugs, House Fires, Smoking Chickens & Pink Lighters at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Kind of strange… I was outside cleaning up the property, went in the house for a couple of minutes, came back outside and found a smouldering cigarette butt on the lawn.

I didn’t think much of it – just cleaned it up and went back to work.

I went in the house a second time to grab a tool and when I came back outside what did I find? A second smouldering cigarette butt on the lawn.

Was someone watching me? Is someone watching me?

Sounds paranoid I know.

So I forgot about it.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

On several occasions since I’ve found cigarette butts tossed into the carport. Beside a pile of loose wood. And like everyone else around here my carport is also made of wood. It’s a bonfire waiting to happen.

But now that smoking chicken is getting bolder.

A couple days after cleaning some dead brush away and moving it to the edge of the property I found a blackened cigarette butt right beside the brush. Blackened because it had been tossed hot and allowed to burn straight down to the filter.

What would have happened if a light breeze had blown the hot butt into the dead brush? Or if one of the other tossed butts had come into contact with something flammable? If you need someone to answer those questions you’ve the common sense of a chicken, you’re a careless smoker... or both.

Or perhaps you’re not careless.

You’re tossing flaming butts because you have an unspoken axe to grind. But being an overlarge pot-bellied chicken you don’t have the guts required to confront the source of your anger.

So, instead, you toss cigarette butts.

Now I know that with my winning smile and outgoing bubbly personality that there’s no way that anyone could ever possibly dislike me. So… are you mad at my fence? Perhaps my carport dissed you? Or maybe you don’t like some of my trees? I’ll be honest – I had issues with a certain oak tree once (several years back this was) but I sat down and worked it out. Result? Now we’re the best of friends. And today I’m godfather to a batch of strapping young acorns with bright futures in the lumber industry.  

I believe that I can identify the brand of cigarette from the butts (all the same). But I don’t want to name it because if someone from Fernbrook Resort were to accidentally run across this (it’s not that Fernbrook residents can’t read it’s just that with their preoccupation with dog faeces flinging I assume that they don’t have the time to read) and more than one chicken around here sucks on that brand, false accusations might arise were this blog ever to be discovered. And I would never want to see someone falsely accused. Gossip is a horrible thing to do to someone (chickens on the other hand never give a second though as to the effects of their actions or false words).

So here are some points for our smoking chicken to ponder – fire is almost as unpredictable as a female (to be honest both sexes are equally unpredictable but I decided to repeat this negative stereotype of women to inflate my already oversized ego and reinforce my awesome masculinity).

Getting back to fire, what I mean by unpredictable is that once fire is allowed to run free, you don’t know where its going. There are many many trees here. Homes are packed very closely together. The vast majority of which have large exterior propane tanks.

You may get lucky and burn my home down if that is your goal.

But perhaps it will be some other home that gets torched instead.

And whether my home gets it or not, with the closeness of all the homes, the large amounts of fuel (wood) readily available and an explosive accelerant (propane) in close proximity – you could end up taking out half of prestigious Fernwood Resort.

Your home included.

If I lose my trailer mansion – big deal! That’s what insurance is for. Though I sure would hate to lose my collection of Picassos from his Periodo Azul. I would hate to lose my extensive accumulation of Meso-American pottery. But most of all I would hate to lose even one of my many beautiful Carl Faberge eggs (which one day I would like to bequeath to my grandchildren or, having none, to those acorns who I so proudly Godfather). There is not enough money in the world to replace those emotional attachments that you have for the special things in your life.

And where does the pink cigarette lighter fit in?

Well, when that overlarge chicken walked into the carport to deposit his butt (cigarette), he accidentally dropped his flaming pink lighter.

I’ve contacted Fernbrook 5-O and CSI Freelton is examining that very same lighter for featherprints as I write this.

Cock-a-doodle-Butt Out!
 
 

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Examining the Bottom of the Piss Pot at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Examining the Bottom of the Piss Pot at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Today I’m at the bottom of a different social strata, the ritzy Fernbrook Resort crowd, so I decided to delve into some of the different descriptive terms used that, historically, describe the different layers of society.  If you want to know a bit about me I grew up beneath the very bottom rung of a different society’s social ladder. I was so poor that while other kids were wearing designer clothes I wore a Hefty Cinch Sac. Wearing a trash bag with holes cut out for my arms and legs put me in a lower social stratum then even the kids who wore potato sacks… who of course mocked me. And the only pet I ever had? It was a cardboard box. Of course it was a stray and not one of those expensive store purchased boxes. But I loved it all the same. One day I came home from school and my pet box was missing. I looked and looked but I couldn’t find it anywhere. My parents said it must have run away. Two nights later we had cardboard box for dinner.

Did you know that once upon a time the floors in the homes of the poor were dirt?

And from this came the custom of saying, ‘dirt poor.’

Wealthy folks had rock floors that would get slippery when wet so they spread straw (commonly called thresh) on the floor to secure their footing. To block the thresh from being kicked outside they placed a piece of wood in the doorway.

And so came into the custom of a doorway being referred to as the ‘thresh hold’.

Did you know that they used to use urine to tan animal skins? Poor families used to pee in a communal pot and once full the pot’s contents were sold to a tannery... those who had to do this to survive were called ‘piss poor’.

But worse than that were those who couldn't even afford to buy a pot...they ‘didn't have a pot to piss in’ and were considered lower than piss poor.

Did you know that hundreds of years ago most people got married in June not out of tradition but because May was the month of the year when the warmer weather made bathing more common, cleaning of clothing easier to do… and so on… So by June you smelled pretty good. However, just to be safe, the bride would carry a bouquet of flowers to hide any offensive odors that might still linger.

And so came the custom of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

Did you know that once upon a time when the bath of the home was filled that the man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean hot water, followed by any adult sons, then the women and finally the children. Last of all came the babies. And by then the water was so dirty that you could actually lose the baby in it.

And so came the custom of saying, ‘Don't throw the baby out with the bath water!’

Way back when poor homes were very low to the ground and had thatched roofs which consisted solely of thickly piled straw. Many animals including cats, dogs, mice, bugs etc., found a thatched roof the best place to protect themselves from the elements.

However when it rained the roof became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof.

And so came the custom of saying, ‘It’s raining cats and dogs.’

Because roofs were straw with little or no wood there was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This was a real nuisance, especially in the bedroom where bugs would mess up a clean bed.

And from this came the custom of saying, ‘Night, Night, Sleep Tight, Don’t let the bed bugs bite.

And this is also how and why the origin of the canopy bed, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top, came into being – it helped protect sleepers from falling creepy-crawlies.

Did you know that back in the old days only the richest people regularly ate meat? Poorer people were often vegetarians – not by choice, but by forces of economics. However when the poor did obtain meat it was always a cheap cut from a pig.

And from this came the custom of saying, ‘bringing home the bacon.’

Bringing home meat made the poor feel a little less poor… so they would hang the meat up and show it off to their guests before proudly cutting off a small bit to share.

And from this came the custom of saying, ‘sitting around and chewing the fat’.

Bread was divided according to status, bakery workers got the burnt loaf bottoms, families were sold the middle and the tops of the loaves? They went to the wealthiest of families.

And from this came the custom of referring to the rich as the, ‘upper crust’.

However being rich wasn’t a protection against all of life’s ills. Those with money often had plates of pewter. Unfortunately food high in acid, like tomatoes, leached the acid out of the plate and onto the food. Causing food poisoning. This is why for many centuries tomatoes were considered poisonous. The rich also preferred drinking out of lead cups. Poisonous lead when combined with alcohol could knock out a drinker out of commission for several days – leading people to believe that they were dead.

And from this came the custom of the, ‘dead drunk’.

However death being an uncertain thing families would often lay the imbiber out on a table then sit around the table, eating and drinking, to see if the ‘dead’ might awake.

And from this came the custom of holding, ‘a wake’.

Did you know that in years past that burial plots were often re used – they would dig up the coffin, remove the bones and then re use the grave. Shockingly, better than 1 in 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside. Folks were being buried alive. So came the short-lived custom of tying strings (attached to bells hung outside of the coffin) to the wrist of the deceased. If the bell was heard to ring they would dig up the deceased.

And from the deceased being found alive we received the custom of saying, ‘saved by the bell’.

And while being at the bottom of Fernbrook Resort society may not be the most favorable position there is still one rung lower in life – the ‘dead ringer’. The dead ringer was what the deceased person who was dug up too slowly was called.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Shock, Disappointment and Tears at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Shock, Disappointment and Tears at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Well… got a letter in the mail today; it wasn’t regular Canada Post delivery but rather an intra-office letter from the Powers-that-Be at Fernbrook Resort, and the letter’s contents were a shocker.

By the end of the missive I was in tears.

Recall how I mentioned that we were so proud to have our property upgraded from ‘Meth Lab’ to the more prestigious ‘Crack Den’ classification? And that, while nervous, we were aiming for the even more coveted ‘Crack Whore’ status? Well as it turns out, the letter has informed us that our ‘upward reclassification’ was a mistake. We should have been downgraded. No longer are we permitted to proudly refer to our property as a ‘Crack Den’. And neither can we use the lofty term of ‘Meth Lab’. Apparently we’re far worse than either of those. So much worse that they don’t yet have a name or descriptive for our property.

But what on earth could be worse than living in a Meth Lab we wondered?

Well, after some Internet research we came up with some possibilities:

‘Scrap yard’ – we were so impressed with the 1976 Pinto (in the yard since we purchased the home) that we added a Lada and a Yugo. It seemed like a good way to class up the joint but in retrospect the additions may not have gone over well with the neighbors.

‘Federal Government Disaster Relief Program Participant’ – this description fits our property to a ‘tee’. But our government pays $300 for a screw, $1200 for a hammer etc. etc. and I’m afraid that this designation will have the neighbors thinking that we’re freaking millionaires.    

‘Dung Hill’ – with all the feces liberally distributed around the property by well-meaning though misguided ‘neighbors’ this is a definite possibility. But since we’ve worked hard to remove the little brown gifts this hardly seems accurate.

‘Trump Tower’ – have you ever visited? If so then you’ll have to agree that the ‘Dung Hill’ tag isn’t quite as bad as it seems on the surface.

Though perhaps our new reclassification name will be a little more personal – to remind us of our low place in the Fernbrook pecking order.

‘Haircut Tragedy Zone’ – usually I just stick a bowl on my head and snip away. Recently all I could find was the colander (that’s what happens when you reside in a trailer packed with trash)… and a colander is round like a bowl so... I just… I just hope the hair starts growing back soon. I hate being called ‘Patches’ by every snot beaked chicken in the neighborhood. And that goes double for their chicks.

‘Fashion Challenged Troglodyte’ – I couldn’t help myself. The attractive saleslady (another drop dead gorgeous Noxema girl) said that this year everyone would be wearing pink and black plaid pants with a yellow and orange checked argyle sweater.

So what was I to do?

I can down a case of Jack Daniels and a hardened cop would think I had only sipped some iced tea. But give me even a half thimbleful of a woman’s beauty and I’m completely intoxicated. A wreck. A plane crash. And not one of those little two-seater Cessna’s either. I’m a Boeing take down the building type of plane crash. A complete disaster. Without wing, hope or prayer.

Her beauty was so shining that my cognitive faculties were completely impaired.

So I bought the pink and black plaid pants complimented by the yellow and orange checked argyle sweater.

And I still wear them.

Every day.

They may not be attractive but they are durable.

Very durable.

Why couldn’t they have been manufactured in China damn it?

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Abnormal Behaviors in Domesticated Fowl by Hamilton Hickman & Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

Abnormal Behaviors in Domesticated Fowl by Hamilton Hickman & Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

You’ll remember that Rhode Island Red and her flock were alleged to have decreed at an awfully loud hen party, “If you’re funny… than you must be gay!” a gathering that the entire park could hear.

Well, folks had a long discussion about the inappropriateness of the comment combined with the loudness of the Cluckfest... and the overt loudness was bothersome as the flock was much noisier than usual.

And distinctly so.

Leading us to ask was the comment “If you’re funny… than you must be gay!” an actual belief of the flock? Or did they have something else in mind. Were they trying to offend someone they thought to be in hearing distance of their loud cackles? A slur perhaps? Maybe they were trying to provoke a response or engineer a specific action from someone they thought could overhear them?

That’s three possibilities.

Now if you discard any belief the flock has in the “If you’re funny… than you must be gay!” salvo. And you recall that Rhode Island Red has a homosexual relation (and so the flock has no overt prejudices) then that leaves only one possibility, that the flock wanted to be overheard (hence the exceptional loudness). They wanted to engender a specific response or action from someone. But if that’s true, who specifically and what specific action the chickens wanted to engineer… well… that can only be guessed at.

Why can that only be guessed at?

Because you can’t talk to chickens. And this is not about the difficulties regarding the translation of a chicken’s mindless clucks to English (or any other language). It’s much more scientific than that. However being unfamiliar with the behaviors of chickens a copy of Hamilton Hickman’s ‘Abnormal Behaviors in Domesticated Fowl’ was obtained (but not from the Fernbrook Resort library – if they ever had a copy some chicken probably borrowed it. Permanently. [See a previous blog entry  http://fernbrookresort.blogspot.ca/2014/07/fernwood-resort-freelton-confirms-that.html for a chicken’s definition of borrow])

Getting back to Abnormal Behaviors in Domesticated Fowl, Hickman notes that the very largest members of the chicken family (who are most often found domesticated and wingless) are one of God’s most unusual creatures and that, while having a spine, unusually, they possess no backbone.

Moreover large or big chickens firmly believe that as long as they’re pretendingly polite to the face – that they can say and do whatever they want (prevaricate, fling dog feces, etc.) when that same face is turned away.

Furthermore, any object of a big chicken’s scorn is not allowed to get upset. Or retaliate. Why? Because (citing the Eastern Mud Hen Inference) they’ve always been polite to your face. And for the rightfully offended to take offense would be offensive… to the big chicken. A double standard for sure. But if you reread your Abnormal Behaviors text you will note that the double standard is a trait common to chickens. As is denial. Confront a big chicken about something stupid that they’ve clucked and they’ll deny they ever said the clucking thing.

Finally Hamilton Hickman teaches us that not all chickens are of the appearance that convention expects (feathers, beaks etc. etc.) and that some chickens can be quite human in appearance, lacking wings and possessing features such as noses, hair and fingers. Hickman doesn’t comment on this but I guess that’s where chicken fingers come from.

Abnormal Behaviors in Domesticated Fowl by Hamilton Hickman is a great way to become acquainted with the various mannerisms of most tamed bird species (but especially chickens) and is a highly recommended research tool. By both veterinarians and psychologists.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Fernbrook Resort findings make it official?? “If you’re funny… than you must be gay!” ???

Fernbrook Resort findings make it official?? “If you’re funny… than you must be gay!???

Well, after a couple of weeks missing in action Rhode Island Red has returned to the nest safe and sound.

Which is good news.

Even better news however is the fact that she’s in clucking finer form than ever before. In fact just the other day she was up at the crack of Noon. Or perhaps it was One. Or two-ish. Or… well, whatever the time, Red held a Cluckfest for a half dozen or so of Fernbrook Resort’s finest hens to celebrate her return. And they were soon clucking so loudly that every neighbor in the park could hear their non-stop gabbling.

And just what were they so loudly ruffling their feathers about?

Homosexuality.

After much discussion the flock is alleged to have come to the conclusion that, get this, that if a person is funny that they’re gay. Unquestionably. On this there can be no debate as it is their official finding. In fact one of the silly cluckers, the Blue Hen of Delaware, was so impressed with the finding that she scuttled back to her coop squawking like a parrot the whole way home, “Cluck, cluck, cluck, if you’re funny, you’re gay, If you’re funny, you’re gay, If you’re funny, you’re gay, cluck, cluck, cluck…”

Now I know what this sounds like… that it's make believe. Nope.. There is just no way that anyone could make up something this vapid. The flock had a long loud drawn out ‘philosophical’ discussion (which for them is any matter that is talked about for more than two minutes) before reaching their official pronouncement.

You know what this means don’t you?

William Shakespeare (playwright of several comedies) gay.
Eddie Murphy (American comedian) gay.
Paul Lynde (center square on Hollywood Squares) gay.
Tina Fey (American comedienne) gay.
Every member of Monty Python (English comedy troupe) gay.

Okay, Paul Lynde actually was a homosexual (not that there’s anything wrong with that). As was Graham Chapman (not that there’s anything wrong with that) of Monty Python fame. But the rest were straight shooters (not that there’s anything wrong with that) according to legend.

My personal pronouncement?

That the thought ‘if you’re funny than you must be gay’ is actually sillier than ‘if you’re beautiful than you must be stupid’ credo that is held by some. Fortunately for me I am neither physically attractive (not that there’s anything wrong with that) or remotely funny (not that there’s anything wrong with that) so no one will ever mistake me for being dumb or gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

And how was this conclusion reached?

Just like beauty and brains are mutually exclusive traits so are humour and preference. Science has confirmed this. And, coincidentally, one of my too many siblings is homosexual. And he is about as funny as twenty-four simultaneous toothaches. He laughs at traffic accident fatalities and enjoys stealing candy from babies. I’m not kidding.

And you know what else is funny? Though only coincidentally so and not ha-ha so… Rhode Island Red has a relative who is homosexual. How could someone who has a homosexual relation make a public statement that is so completely groundless, baseless, tasteless and thoughtless?  

Sigh.

But consider this… if having a sense of humour really does mean that you’re gay, and every time I hear Red’s cluck I break out laughing, by her own definition doesn’t that mean that… I mean I wonder if… what I’m trying to say is… is that I wonder if Red is…

Cock-a-doodle-I don’t really wonder…

…I just put that in there to see if I could make someone laugh (I hope there’s nothing wrong with that).