satire

How Much is a [Gay] Life Worth?

twenty-five years with the possibility of parole


Bruce McArthur will be 91 when he is able to apply for parole. CREDIT: Pam Davies/CBC

Bruce McArthur, the serial killer who targeted gay men in Toronto from 2010 to 2017 — yes, for eight years — and who evaded capture even after being brought in for questioning as a suspect in 2013, was finally caught, say Toronto Police, “after we got aggressive.” *

* all italic text in this post represents a verified fact or an actual quote.

Don’t break a nail, will ya? Apparently after eight years of abject failure, our bungling boys in blue were forced to butch it up, skip their “Iron John” retreats, ceramics workshops and macrobiotic cooking classes and try something more radical, more “think-outside-the-box”.

“If he’d been black, some scumbag drug user or a homeless person, it would’ve been a different story,” said an officer assigned to the case who preferred to remain anonymous. “We would’ve haunted that muthafucka day and night until he was nailed to the wall!

“For example, we advocate for the full sentence in cases of trafficking in meth — life in prison for those assholes!

“Can you imagine the untold harm it causes to choose to use a drug in the privacy of your own living room that your betters have unilaterally decided is just wrong, except in cases of substantially the same drug being prescribed by doctors, or that will be legal tomorrow, now that they’ve figured out how to make lots of money from it?

But getting back to snuffing out queers, with them we totally throw the book for jay-walking or for looking a little emaciated and not disclosing. Like, one cough in your face and you’ve got the AIDS, no question! Try explaining that to your kids!

“We generally save the gentle, non-investigative approach for white guys who tell a good joke and can obviously hold their drink. That leaves us with lots of energy for the important issues, like covering up our incompetence and beating up perps down by Cherry Beach. I mean, you gotta choose your battles, right?

“Unfortunately, Mr McArthur took unfair advantage and pulled the wool over our eyes by being white and, we naturally assumed, heterosexual. The landscape gardening thing was a definite red herring, but the huge clay pots just shouted macho. What can I say? We all took the bait.

“As far as the anonymous tips go, we naturally figured, bunch of hysterical queens with nothing but animus towards any kind of authority. These guys had no father figure in their lives, so naturally they get antsy when someone with a bulletproof vest tries to tell them what to do.

“Also, when we asked Bruce if he’d lured all those faggots into his van, he said ‘no,’ ” the officer continued. “How could we have known that a serial killer would actually lie? It just boggles the mind! It’s like there’s no integrity anymore!”

Toronto Police have had a few misses in a the past while, and not just with the gay men who “disappeared,” which as we all know gay men tend to do anyway when they’re feeling a bit sulky or crave a little extra attention. There’s also the case of the girl from North Bay who failed to respond to her mother’s phone calls.

“We looked for that kid all over town,” said the rookie assigned to the case, “but I missed the class where they suggested that you should look in the immediate vicinity of where the person was last seen. That was an eye-opener, or in my case, not!”

The young lady in question, described in detail by our contact as “a piece of worthless trash who’d thrown away her life to use drugs and offer her sexual favours to any number of guys,” was eventually found by her mother, who, in her desperation, traveled the four hundred miles from North Bay to Toronto to do the search herself.

By a sheer stroke of luck, the canny mom went to the girl’s last address, looked to the right, and discovered an adjoining entrance where she found a body, and immediately recognized her daughter, who’d been strangled.

“Frankly, we wish the public would not take matters into their own hands. It makes us look like idiots!” our contact stated, clearly put out by this bit of amateur detective work. “And if that mom’s in shock, well, let that be a lesson to her. Leave the heavy lifting to the experts, guys who are able to discover bodies and not get so emotional about it. I mean, isn’t that just like a woman!”

McArthur typically lured his victims into his van, tied them up, sometimes used “g” (the date-rape drug) on them, then suffocated them. After some freaky business with a fur coat, he dismembered the men then buried them in various locations, including in giant planters on the properties of his landscaping clients.

McArthur cleverly avoided allowing the public to suffer distress from hearing details of the case by pleading “guilty,” thus obviating the need for a trial.

Justice John McMahon, at the sentencing, had the following tough words for the perp:

“Bruce McArthur, you are an a evil man who clearly deserves another chance. I mean, consider your age. If you didn’t have parole, it’s like — your life would be over! How would I be able to look myself in the face?

“Plus, you confessed. Obviously serial killers have gotten a bad rap! I say to the public, is there not some good in everyone?

“And there’s a fine line between retribution and vengeance, kind of like the fine line between killing someone because you hate them, and just killing someone for the sheer thrill of doing so. I can’t say that there was any personal animosity, here, just the devil-may-care antics of a landscape gardener who got a bit too enthusiastic with his being annoyed at poofters with, face it, no immediate family to get upset, and mostly brown skin.

“It could happen to anyone!

“We’ll run your sentences concurrently, so you can wow everyone with your best-selling memoir in twenty-five years’ time. Personally, I can’t wait to make a cup of cocoa with lots of miniature marshmallows, snuggle into my big armchair by the fire and have a good, scary old read!”

We attempted to reach Justice — but her voice message said she’s on permanent leave of absence.

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This is How You Blackmail Jeff Bezos, Guys

maybe just a little more contrast?

DEAR MR. BEZOS: YEAH, SO. JUST READ the descriptions of those pics the National Enquirer got their hands on, and should Amazon customers see them — which would clearly be in their best interest — they would, quite frankly, question your business judgment. I certainly do!

I do also have just a few really quite minor suggestions about your Instagram filters, but let’s save that for the bit in the deli when we sign the “catch and kill.”

Alright, here’s the deal: Basically, the “sketch” and “cartoon” options are not considered, you know. Au courant, at least, if you want even a shot at being an “Influencer.” But more on that later.

Honestly? I’d say just a little more contrast. Remember that “brightness” is all about the mid-tones, and jeepers, don’t miss out on the red-eye reduction! Saves you hours in post! Are you getting this down?

Now on to the blackmail bit, and apologies for the delay, which I’m sure must be making you feel a bit antsy.

So, you’ve revealed just a teensy bit more than you intended. Now we know what that bulge in your pants was. We thought it was just a great, big, rolled-up wad of billions of dollars in corporate welfare you got for building your second HQ in New York City — that sleepy, second-rate wannabe town that’s been aching for someone, anyone, but mostly you, to help it break out of that loser mentality that’s kept it beaten down and struggling.

That’s how it’s been in New Amsterdam, right? Ever since the Dutch dropped anchor thinking they were somewhere in southeast Asia, and proceeded to eke out their wretched lives eating tulip bulbs with the dirt still on them, forcing their women folk into sexual slavery — exposing themselves behind plate glass windows as they proffered their freshly-baked Apfelkuchen. Ja, das schmeckt!

But, no. It was your, and you may want to ask the little ladies and kids to leave the room at this point, “semi-erect manhood;” due, I have no doubt, to the “cleavage” on display; and as far as business judgment goes, nice try with the “fully-erect manhood and two great big naturals available when you join ‘Prime.’

Nice try but no cigar, except with the simulated depiction of oral sex.

My interest, among other things, peaked, just a little, at “nether regions,” and it raised an eyebrow at the felicity of an AMI executive being named “Mr. Pecker.”

Are you serious?

The Peckers consider baby names:

“If it’s a girl, let’s name her ‘Brandy’. It’d be nice to have a stripper in the family, especially if she goes the ‘European-style’ route. If it’s a boy — how about Richard? No?”

Sometimes, Mr. Bezos, life is perfect.

The folks at AMI apparently read a lot of trashy pulp novels from the 1950’s (“She was a Kitten with a steno pad… but a Tigress on the percale sheets!”) and I squirm with delight at their inability to say “penis,” “erection,” or “pubic.”

Even my five-year-old great-nephew can say those! At least, he could before Doug Ford replaced the Ontario sex-ed curriculum with free copies of “Saint Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians.”

Reading the tantalizing, babelicious descriptions had raised my temperature to such a degree that — well.

I had to take things in hand.

Five minutes under a cold shower, which is apparently all my landlord is able to provide this week, has ruined my Galaxy S2. Waterproof, my eye!

Let’s cut to the chase, Mr Bezos, or now that we know each other so much better, how’s about I just call you Jeff? Hmmmm?

Or, sure, maybe just stick with “Mr. Bezos.” Mr. Bezos is fine. Not a problem.

I’m not going to pussyfoot around, here. I publish this on my blog (readership approaching one hundred, it’s possible my mom subscribed twice, but whatever), OR I get free shipping OR next-day delivery, I’ll decide later, on… Well, I dunno.

That iPhone 10 is lookin’ pretty damn tasty, Mr. Bezos.

OK, OK, relax! It was just a thought. No, really, forget it.

Sheesh! Jump all over me or what!

I’ll be fine. I’ll just — stick it in a bag of rice.

My phone.

OK, so text me. No, call. Yeah, nearly had me putting it in writing, you sly dog! Ha! Nice one! You’re good!

All the best,

Dave “Pecker” Roddis

P.S. 
I’d be happy with even the 8GB iPhone 10, just so you know. Also, about the semi-erect thing, Cialis works great, with, honestly? only a really small chance of stroke, with just a slightly bigger chance if you’ve taken aspirin in the past ninety days. And if you get the generic ones from India you get 50% off your next purchase. I’ll send you a coupon.

They call it “the weekender,” that’s just man to man between you and me, and I think you’ll find it’s totally worth the risk. Start with half a one first and see how it goes, is my idea.

Aspirin! I know, seriously?

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Keep your kids, like. Ignorcent?! (TM) with Dug-Up Ford and Susan Dreamy, D.D.

Hi, I’m like,

susandreamy

Susan Dreamy?  D.D?  That’s Doctress of Dreaminess, OK?  And I’m here today to help you live a dreamy,

Life?  Also to talk to you about the things that are really, really,

Like, important?  OK?  So let’s get, like, started?

So Dug-Up Ford and like, the Conservatives in Ontario, have, like. Your kids best interests.

At heart?

They know that being like, a Doctor or Doctress of Dreaminess takes hard, like.

Work?

And they want your kids to live a dreamy, you know, life?  Just like. You know.

I do?

They want to keep your kids, you know.  Ignorant and Innocent, OK?

That’s why they came up with this new, awesome, like.

Conservative Thing?

It’s called

Ignorcence!™

And they tee-emmed it, which is so you know that it’s like.

Theirs?  OK?

Ignorcence™ is like, ignorance, but super dreamier cause you’re like. Innocent, too!?

Conservatives know that your kids are being distracted by like, shhhhhhhh!!!!! naughty things? 

Like wobblyboobies or crotchpackets and sticking goggodoodies up your, you know.

Gash?

That’s wrong!  You don’t find out about, like naughty things like your poodangle or your whattamahoozie in school!  That’s like, dirty snowflake stuff!  Not dreamy, OK?

It’s better for your kidz to focus on arithmetic and, like.

Yeah!?

So Mr. Dug-Up and the Conservatards are doing, the right, you know. Thing? And rolling back naughty! whisper! sex! ed!  So we can forget all the stuff that’s not dreamy!

And then your kids can learn about whipwangs and bleedywunckets, like, after school!  Your kids will be, like.

Ignorcent!™

and so fucktarded dreamy about sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhh!!!! SEX!

It’ll take like, five of them? Working together just to figure out how to stuff Johnny’s peeperdoodle??!! into Jenny’s, like.

woofooney???!!

Like at recess?  You know? But they can always do that for, I guess, like.

Homework?!?!?!

That’s, like, your Ford vote working for Ignorcence™! Like, day and night!

Let’s make Ontario Ignorcent™ again!   Thanks Mr Dug-Up!!  Thanks for your

Ignorcence!!!???™

Also, when your kids go on, like, Facebook, there are sometimes, like, GUYS?  Who sound really really dreamy cool, but then they want to meet you after class is out, but it’s like OK?

Because your mom and dad sent them!  That’s like.

Super dreamy??!!!

Brandy met someone about a month ago, and we, like, just got the postcard from, like.

Brazil?!??!?!  

Brandy’s having an awesomely awesome dreamytime and meeting a lot of cute, like.

Boys!!!??

Brandy is super super IGNORCENT™!  Thanks Mr. Dug-Up, you’re, like.

SUPER DREAMY!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!??

And so is being your new thing, like IGNORCENT!
Except that’s SUPER SUPER AWESOME, too!


DREAMY, LIKE.  JENNIFER!!?? INTERVIEW!?!?!?!?

Hey there!  Jennifer!  You look super super awesomely dreamy??!  How is your, like,

Ignorcence!???????????????™

“It’s OK, I guess. Yeah. Feels good. I dunno. Protected. Whatever.”

That’s, like.  AWESOME, and, like. The twins?

“Well, you know, fucktard Fords. I drank some dishwashing soap and hot water and jumped up and down for three hours.  Finally that lady down the hall managed to scrape them out with a coat hanger.

“Johnnie and I named them Ford-Blobs One and Two. Then we buried them in the back yard, but the cat dugged ’em up.  Gross.

“We’ll just fuckin’, I dunno. Wait for the full moon. Worst case scenario, like, pray harder and bury ’em deeper next time?  

“So, like, sorry but I gotta finish my relief map for geography class. Nice talkin’ to ya.

“Oh yeah, if ya see Johnnie, tell him to come home and hurry up cause I’m still fuckin’ bleeding.”

That’s SUPER SUPER DREAMY JENNIFERRRRR !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have a DREAMY LIFE, GUYS!  IGNORCENT™!!!????!?  OK?????!!!!!???!?!?