I have a perfectly good excuse +PLUS+ I Sooooo Don’t Dig Dug-Up Ford

dugupI admit that “perfectly good excuse” thing sounds a little defensive, and it didn’t work with Miss Smedley, either, but it’s been AGES since I’ve posted something.

This blog, the tainted well from which I drew the idea and some of the content for my book — the set of cranky, anti-social triplets named Pee Dee Ef, Epub and Paperback currently clawing its way out of my man-womb — has been sorely neglected as I bear down, deep-breathe and scream for an epidural in the form of heaving great cartloads of e-money jabbed into my aching bank account. And I was rather looking forward to a little break just to have a good guy-cry and let the mental stretch marks heal…

Acolyte on duty — !  I require a full-body-to-body application of your finest replenishing cream with colloidal factors and vitamin e, and don’t forget the light touch and upward, circular motion this time!  {You know, and can I just say, seriously. Millennials! Pretty as sin, but self-absorbed — !}

Unluckily for both me and him, the nightmare Dug-Up Ford is he, who thicks man’s blood with cold — who you might mistake for the exhumed, reanimated corpse of a gratefully forgotten two-bit demagogue of a former “Mayor” of Toronto, but who is actually the Dug-Up Ford who’s now become the leader of the Conservative Party in Ontario — having pulled on for his full-body fat suit, in the manner of Hannibal Lecter, the suppurating flesh-envelope of that thankfully dead ex-Mayor brother of his, Rob — (should have whacked that bleached, beached whale a few more times with the edge of my shovel, make note for next time) — has replenished my tanks of gall and bile with premium fuel, and I will not spare you the full force of my smug, elitist, Downtown Toronto gay sensibilities as I labor for Dug-Up to follow his sibling into the political grave he so richly deserves. Stay tuned for THAT one.

If all else fails, I’ll call up Maggie Atwood — who just barely escaped being fired as a cultural icon by Robbie Baby Bobby Booby, getting tattooed all up her arms and then forced to run the proposed Front Street Ferris Wheel in a pair of dungarees — and we’ll throw her collected works at him — in hardcover, mind you — until enough sharp corners have caught him in the temple that he keels over, or at least learns some respect.

In any case, I recommend Scarberia General Hospital reinforce the floor in the furthest corner of one of their public wards, prepare two of their largest beds, then push them side by side ready to receive der Führer des Ontariolumpenproletariats. The prognosis is poor.

There’s no need to find out what his “platform” will be. Cut the waste, stop the gravy (yeah, check out your belt notch, Dug-Up, and get back to us on THAT one), and did I mention cut the waste.

The complete, hard-core conservative playbook which is in fact the only two ideas they ever have:  Lower taxes, tough on crime.  It’s their little-black-dress-with-string-of-pearls of policy: Goes absolutely everywhere, darling, and they always feel pretty when they throw it on.

Good ol’ regular, middle-aged-to-elderly heterosexual white guys, str8-tards, in a word, from Don Trump to Dug-Up Lump, anywhere you find them in the world, all share the same simplified, nay, simpleton, world view and the same resentment of their betters.

Yeah, you heard me, betters, because five kajillion Dug-Up Fords do not supply genetic material of sufficient quality or quantity to replace one little fingernail of one Margaret Atwood.

Ms Atwood has a legacy, a body of work, an international reputation. They study her work in universities, for chrissake; write Ph.D. theses about her novels and poetry. Margaret Atwood, through a lifetime dedicated to literature, to a life of the mind, to wrestling with big ideas and creating big tales that enlighten and engage and entertain a receptive worldwide audience, did much of the heavy lifting over the course of five decades to put Canada on the cultural, indeed any, map.

But with one good, disingenuous awww, shucks Margaret Who, a Dug-Up Ford tell us that, sure, those Toronto elites get that high-falutin’ stuff, but not good, decent, down-to-the-salty-earth regular hockey-playin’ guys!

And yet you guys, you Trumps and Lumps, despite your nauseating posture of fake humility and down-home folksiness, have to angle your heads to get them through a doorway, so highly do you not-so-secretly esteem yourselves. And so you are impatient: with rules, with the rule of law in particular, and with restrictions and with consultations. It’s your show, isn’t it, baby?

Why do you guys even run for public office, when you so patently despise the word “public” in any form? The reason for the rule of law, the rule of anything, is that we’re all in this together. And it’s your job as a leader to have a vision for your country or province or city, to understand all our concerns and make decisions that are in the public interest, not in the interests of you or your bank account or the interests of the person who paid for your election or of the lobbyists who lobby you as mayor but also as owner of a business. That’s called conflict of interest.

That contempt for the public good is what your disgusting, disgraceful, pushin’-up-daisies crack-addled brother displayed when he elaborately and disdainfully took himself out of the city for Pride, thus making it OK to disrespect the LGBT community.  It’s not all about you, your people, your company or your fucking ego.

You know what I hate most about Don, and Dug-Up and all their ilk?  People like them make it cool to be stupid.  And I hate that so many people in the Greater Toronto Area are suddenly going to be so fucking cool.


Otherwise, I have been laboring like a raft-full of Roethke’s on Ritalin prepping the e-book for EPUB format and whatever the Kindle version is called.  Oi ve voy! says I, which is Dutch for “more tedious than tulips!

The format is exquisitely demanding, though e-books have no pages and, while I must deploy Word 2016 styles with the precision and consistency of a 21st-century Gutenberg or the conversion program will spit out my book like a two-year-old with a mouthful of puréed spinach, e-reader readers can blithely toss out my  painstaking layout and design for purple text on black, basically redesigning my book.

Then one cold white night I got cold feet about Amazon and Barnes & Noble and my one go at fame, so I took out all the “fucks” and replaced them with “frigs” and “fuddle-duddles” (expecting a call from Justin’s lawyer as I assume Pierre held the copyright in perpetuity on that one) and just made the ideas more dirty; plus I keep re-writing everything and making it “better”, which I will have to force myself to stop doing or I will be found six months from now at my computer mummified in a brittle exoskeleton of dust, Peak Freen biscuit crumbs and cheap native cigarette smoke.

As a by-product of creating the book I’ve also discovered my own distinctive “style” of creating digital imagery and illustration from boring old AP photos and selfies, which has produced some humdingers.  Please note that “humdinger” can fall on either side of the positive/negative divide. (Titanic survivor: “That was one humdinger of a trip, eh?”) Few of these images will be in the paperback version, and for sure not in color, so, hellooooo — collector’s item.

Buy the PDF version and you’ll get an automatic upgrade to the e-reader format of your choice as soon as it’s available — » check out the details here.

Fun fact of the day: 

On this day, in 1781, English astronomer William Herschel discovered Uranus.

And I say, join the crowd, Bill.  Join the crowd.

Yuk, yuk.



Bell Canada Introduces New Mental Health Program for Canadians Who Choose Bell Canada

Bell Canada today announced the launch of “Talk To The Hold Button!”, a new mental

health initiative to support customers who have been driven insane by its price-gouging, entitled attitude, bored, outsourced employees and devious billing practices.

“We recognize that many people who were previously happy, calm and full of self-esteem are quickly reduced to haggard, listless complainers once they’ve had to deal with us,” said company spokesperson and part-time excess data counsellor Lloyd Spackle.

“And that’s even before they go to small claims court to contest the four-figure roaming charges!

“We want you to know that we totally expect your business and will promise anything that keeps you hopeful and coming back, if only to try and understand why a $50 Bell Mobility plan costs $328 plus tax.

“So go ahead and “Talk To The Hold Button!” Just because we’re not going to listen doesn’t mean you can’t get it off your chest!”

Increasing numbers of consumers are exhibiting what psychiatrists are slowly identifying as a whole spectrum of “Bell-ogenic” mental health concerns, such as “Bell’s Palsy”.

Intrigued, we visited BP sufferer Mildred Anderson at CAMH, where we attempted to interview her through the tiny, barred window of her padded cell. However, we were shocked when she responded inappropriately with what seemed to be random security credentials.

“Ten-digit phone number! M4X 1K3! ‘Anderson’ with an A! I already told you! Star hash-tag zero six hash-tag! ‘Gone With The Wind’! No, I don’t have the original packaging! Phone number! I was speaking with Karen! Postal code! Blue! Mother’s maiden name! I already told you! Oh God!” she screamed before collapsing on the floor.

“She was on hold for forty-eight minutes,” explained Head Nurse Susan Blanchard, spraying aerosol Valium into the cell.

“Then the twelve people she spoke to over the next hour asked her for the exact same information, put her on hold again, then passed her on to another one. Luckily, one of the more senior employees stopped laughing for a second, heard Ms Anderson hyperventilating, then left a handwritten note on the lunchroom bulletin board saying someone on the morning shift should probably call 9-1-1 if they had a moment, but only if Ms Anderson could fax them four pieces of photo ID.”

As our investigation ramped up, we became aware of the existence of a shadowy network of “Bellaholic’s Anonymous” support groups, where grieving customers who’ve simply given up on limited “unlimited” data plans and returned to landline phones can try to obtain “closure”.

We managed to infiltrate a meeting of one of these highly secretive groups, held in a mid-town Toronto church basement, by posing as former iPhone X owners.

“We admitted we were powerless and that Bell Canada had become unmanageable,” the group intoned.

“This meeting is now open for sharing,” said the group leader for the evening, Harry M. “Yes, Steve!”

“I’m angry!” said a young man with red, puffy eyes.  “I’ve been awake for three days drinking coffee and trying to understand how a loving Creator could make beautiful, perfect babies, then allow Bell Canada to exist! It just doesn’t seem to make sense!”

“Hi, I’m Betty and I’m a former Bell user,” said the next person to share. “Eighteen months this Wednesday by the grace of God! I spent ten dollars a month for five years to rent a twenty-dollar modem, then they charged me fifty dollars and barred me for life because I didn’t wrap it up and Purolater it back to them with a nice thank-you card!”

Betty’s lips were trembling. “Am I a bad person?”

“I spent thousands of my tax dollars so Bell could do research, then they charge me hundred and fifty a month for TV!” said an elderly woman who self-identified as “Sally Y”. Sally’s arms were covered with crude tattoos and her hair was pulled back into the taut ponytail known as the “Ontario Works facelift”.

“They sent me to Penetanguishene for six months, eh, cause I hacked into American Netflix with an Android box. Jesus Christ, all I did was watch a couplea ‘Golden Girls’ re-runs!”

“Hi, I’m, like, Tiffany, and I’m three days Bell clean!” said a girl of around sixteen, to encouraging smiles and murmurs from the group. “But then I signed up with Virgin, is that, ummm, like, a relapse?”

Following up with Lloyd Spackle by phone, we asked whether Bell wasn’t being a little heavy-handed and even a teensy bit criminal, considering it was sustained for decades with public money but now seems determined to restrict, mislead, even terrorize its customers.

“You don’t seem to be in our system,” he explained.

“Can I have your ten-digit phone number followed by the pound key?”

“Talk To The Hold Button!”™

fake bell

We have e-book!

My e-book is here! 
Start 2018 dyspeptically right!

Download a free sample !

Over 200 hilarious, quirky, satirical, silly, shocking and chortle-out-loud pages, suitable for laugh marathons or for dipping into at your leisure.


(Think “Quality Street”, but without your dog staring at you as you unwrap the cellophane.)

With all-new content, delightfully dyspeptic memes, bold and “artistic” (= weird) photo-illustrations and thoughtful lists to fulfill my “pillow book” mandate. 

  • Snort with derision at my subversive Facebook Life Events
  • Get ready for the week with your Existential Forecast (avoid GAP “relaxed fit”)
  • Practise your Trump knock-knock jokes with the man himself (or face waterboarding, your call)
  • Whip up an absolutely frightfully jolly cockroach hat for Ascot!
  • Hear Princess Happy’s New Year’s greetings before she hits the ice floe (try not to flap your wrists),


  • Get your AGA cooker ready with some damp 2 x 4’s in preparation for the simplified fourteen-hour Kraft Dinner recipe from Elizabeth David—the scholarly recipe that never made it to the press!

and tons more!

» Click here to grab a copy for $5 CAD + tax, only until February 8th

To enjoy your e-book to the max, be aware that:

  • this e-book is in PDF format. You can open PDFs right in your browser of choice or you can use one of the many available free apps such as Adobe Acrobat Reader.  No special hardware or e-reader required.

  • this book is intended for adults, contains graphic language (ask your kids to explain it to you), and deals with LGBT, political and other mature subject matter.  (I’m a gay male liberal, what did you expect?)

Look, just do it, OK?

Throwback Thursday: With Plain-Talkin’ Aviatrix Traila Earheam

“ Hey, chaps. You will no doubt recall

ThrailaEarhamerthat I’m the very first semi-butch Lesbian to fly solo across the Atlantic “no-hands” (see photo) and without a helmet, with my hair in a Louise Brooks bob, wearing only a skimpy camisole for publicity purposes plus a pair of primitive non-polarized Ray-Bans and with only a plump, unidentified medium-sized mammal across my shoulders for warmth.

“That’s a helluva lot of firsts in one go.  Jeezus!  But when you’re a gal, you know—you gotta do at least a hundred impossible things before the sun reaches the meridian to get the same respect a man does for just remembering to zip up his fly-front trousers after he takes a whizz.

“Strap down my bosoms with a tensor bandage if it ain’t the truth!  I’m real sorry to cuss, ladies and gentleman.  Real sorry.

“Oh, and the aircraft you see was a 1928 early pedal-powered bi-plane with propellers.  Pedal-powered, did you get that?  Yes, siree.  That’s why all the girls call me “ThunderThighs Earheam”, and a lot more besides.

“How do I do it? Damned, excuse my French, if I can explain! But on that maiden voyage, if you’ll pardon the expression – hey – you – yeah you – could  you hand me my “Parfait d’Amour” on the rocks, chuck?  Ta ever so – yeah, as I was saying, I was so bushed, if you’ll pardon the expression – that I set down my aircraft right in The Green Park, London, near enough in front of Buckingham Palace, that is, and just friggin’ lay on the lawn until a Beefeater, if you’ll pardon the expression, came round and kicked me rather harshly in the head and said, “Move along, little Missy! There’s a chap!”

“But if I’m anything, I’m resilient.  Me and my unidentified mammal, Shmul, walked the streets of London until I came up with this poem.  Here goes, ’cause I ain’t a bit shy about it:

Thoughts on London after lying right smack on the lawn in Green Park, getting kicked in the head, then going for a walk ~

I wandered London’s chartered streets,
With Shmul, my medium-sized mammal,
And there I found that harlots young—
Each syphilitic in her marriage hearse

And sporting a sequined evening purse—
Went crazy for my Sopwith Camel
And yes, siree that night sure was fun.

—Traila “ThunderThighs” Earheam ©1928

“Not sure of the last line, I’ll be honest with ya. It’s kind of a slanty rhyme and not real poetic, like. Anyway, that’s as far as I got with the poem.

“I sent it to that Edna Millay who called me an “imagiste”, which I thought was praising with faint damns, frankly.  Then she asked me if I’d ever met Bonnie Parker, whoever that is, because my talent reminded her of this Bonnie person, not quite sure how to take that.  So much for Edna Millay, what a lipstick Lesbosnob! A semi-butch sister is obviously on her own, not counting her mammal, as far as poetry goes.

“At least I don’t prance around with some Pulitzer Prize shoved out in front of me like a g-d hostage!

“So, whatever. I’m here to offer inspirational throwback doo-dads, so here we go:

“Girls, girls girls!  You can do anything! Anything a man can do! Better! And with a whole lot less fuss and attention-seeking! Don’t let the guys get you down, just roll your eyes when they call you “little Missy”, and swat their hands away when they get ambitions on your person.

“Or do what I do: when they try and appropriate your front bumps, if you’ll pardon the expression, just reach over without a by-your-leave and squeeze their Damson plums, squeeze ’em real hard till the pips squeak and say, “How do you like them egg-rolls, Mr Goldstone!”  That’ll give ’em a run for their money.

“You girls can fly solo across the Atlantic, you can circumnavigate the globe, you can do anything you put your mind, your skimpy publicity camisole, your medium-sized mammal and your determination to do.

“And if you disappear trying – well, by all the garter belts and corsets on Susan B Anthony!  At least you’ll keep ’em guessing for the next hundred-odd years.

“So there’s yer inspiration!  I’m real tired now, my thighs are throbbin’ and if you don’t mind, there’s a spot on your front lawn with my name on it.  Ahhhh, that feels good…. come on over here, Shmul. Make with the mink pillow impersonation … if you’ll pardon the ex… pre… sss…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… “



This plaque is on the front lawn
of my apartment building, at
392 Sherbourne Street,
Toronto, Ontario




Marketing MasterClass with Derek Bhohner: # 4205—Effective copywriting*.

*{demonstrated using my announcement: “Things you might not know about my February 1st e-book launch party that’s being live broadcast!”}

“It’s not in my nature to post anything about


my February 1st e-book live-broadcast launch party, or anything else for that matter, that amounts to less than a 1,000 word essay about my launch party, the one on February 1st and that’s being live-broadcast—an essay that’s been painstakingly edited down to about 800 words.

You know, about a party I might be having, say, on February 1st, and I should probably add, in the year 2018.

A year in which technology amazingly and jaw-droppingly permits us, we who host e-book launch parties, to live broadcast them.  Even in the dead of winter!  On February 1st!  I mean, you’d think the live broadcast would just, like.  Freeze!

And yes, you may have noticed, I edit that launch party announcement by at least 200 words! Roll over, Flaubert!  I mean, seriously!  Live broadcast!

But I just had to take this opportunity to whet your appetite about a couple of features of my February 1st e-book live-broadcast launch party that  you probably didn’t know about!!*

(*The secret to writing super-effective marketing copy is to use live-broadcast high-quality keywords over and over in your copy, but in an extremely subtle launch party way so that February 1st people e-book live-broadcast launch party don’t notice.


Derek Bhohner, Marketing Ghurhu.

It’s a skill, and frankly, February 1st e-book, you either have it or you live-broadcast launch party don’t.  February 1st e-book live-broadcast launch party.

And god help you if you try to, like, pad your copy in the launch party hope that, sometime on or around February 1st, 2018, a year in which technology drops its jaw and still is able to live broadcast, you know, your e-book launch party, that Google’s algorithm will favour YOUR launch party live broadcast over anyone else’s!  Don’t even go there!  February 1st!

—Derek Bhohner)

Two words:  Stripper pole.  ssy gangbang big boob MILF virgin teen live-broadcast launch

I settled on the words “stripper pole”, not because there’s absolutely without question going to be a stripper pole, a pole for strippers, or even just the type of stripper pole that strippers take off their clothes and show their big MILF boobs while spinning around AT my February 1st, 2018 big boob MILF e-book live broadcast gangbang launch party.

No, in fact it’s not at all certain about either the stripper pole that strippers use to flash their big MILF boobs in public displays of gangbang sex while spinning around, OR the stripper pole itself, completely devoid of any MILFs, big boobs or teen virgins.  No, I just discovered that the keywords stripper pole got better placement than, for example, “boobs, big boobs, great big MILF boobs or teen virgin pussy gangbang BBC sex” did.

And if that doesn’t get you watching my February 1st e-book live-broadcast launch party in 2018, then listen up:  This is going to be the ONLY launch party that’s being live-broadcast on February 1st that boasts a soon-to-be-member of the Royal gangbang e-book big boob Family whose name rhymes with “Vegan teen virgin Sparkle” pussy.

At least, in 2018!  Party!  E-book!  Launch!  Prince pussy gangbang Harry’s big boob MILF fiancée!

Stumped?  I bet you are!  Well, to help you out, there’s a Meghan MILF gangbang pussy Markle clue embedded somewhere in this MILF announcement!  And the Meghan will be Markle invited as a special gangbang guest of honor to my February 1st e-book live-broadcast MILF launch pussy party!  With the big boob Meghan Markle gangbang MILF whose name rhymes with Vegan pussy MILF Sparkle! ¹

Hope to see you there!

ussy gangbang big boob MILF virgin teen live-broadcast launch


¹  No purchase necessary, with the exception that people who do not pre-purchase the e-book will be on my personal launch party shitlist until they die. /  “Live-broadcast e-book party” does not imply party will be live, nor broadcast, nor e, nor a book, nor a party. / Organizer reserves the right to substitute any random book, e or not e, for the actual e-book, whether or not launch may or may not happen./ Party may or may not be associated with launch. /Launch may or may not include an actual e-book launch or the organizers may substitute just getting some random guy on the street to read a page/ Live party Inc reserves the right to substitute someone who looks vaguely like Meghan Markle / a transgender person who simply admires Meghan Markle / someone actually called Vegan Sparkle / or in a pinch George Clooney /  for the actual Meghan Markle herself. More rules, more rules, more clooney, more george, more meghan, more markle.  pussy gangbang big boob MILF virgin teen live-broadcast launch