Christy Clark kicks off her campaign

Yes, I also had a tractor in my sinus cavity...until one particularly huge sneeze, and now we have 3 windows to fix.

…and the outside of me looked like this…

At one point, Bob and I were hacking so much, that if aliens had come to earth and our apartment was their first contact, they would have thought that human beings communicated using a loud and annoying hoarse kind of honking, accompanied by some projectile mucus.  I’d like to see Tom Cruise make that sci-fi movie.

So, I guess the most exciting thing in the last week was an audition for a pharmacist.  Although, in my effort to try to match my headshot, I decided to curl my hair, which was a pretty good idea, until I went out into the snowstorm.  By the time I got there I resembled, not so much my headshot, but more like…well…see photo above.  So, if they were casting for the pharmacist at the haunted lunatic asylum, I think I’m a shoe-in.

In the meantime, a beauty shot of the handsome boy we’re babysitting.  I call this Cat Contemplating Giant Clover and Subsequent Post Chewing Vomit.

More to come…

From: “John Edmond”

To: “Bob Robertson”

Sent: Wednesday, December 19, 2012 5:58:52 PM

Subject: Forwarding message from space

Hi Bob,

You may recall that we met when you did your reading in November ‘11 at Collected Works Bookstore in Ottawa (which, sadly, is closing Christmas Eve).

I got this message earlier today from my old friend Chris Hadfield, which he asked me pass on for your advice:

“John,

It’s 6:15 p.m. local time in Kazakhstan, and we just took off three minutes ago. I didn’t have time for this before blast-off, but it’s so important I’m sending this from the cramped capsule that Yuri used. I know you know Bob Robertson, the author of Mayan Horror. It was the last book I read before we left. Could you please forward this to him, as I desperately need his advice. None of Bob’s answers to Questions from Troubled Readers helps in our unique situation.

I’m terribly worried, John, about what will happen Friday, when we’re miles above the world. When the world ends, will we still be part of the world, so we’ll end too, or will the world simply disappear beneath, so to speak, our feet? If the world ends and we stay in orbit, how do we maintain orbit when there’s nothing left to orbit? And will we never have anywhere to land – I mean, 147 days with a Yank and a Ruski are one thing, but perpetual orbit – I’m sorry. Will we disappear or survive? – as Bill Clinton might have said, that depends on what “world” means. Religious folks talk about being in the world but not of it – well, I’d say we’re of the world but not in it. So please get Bob to explain where that leaves us. And don’t let him just say, up in the air. I want a solid answer, and I mean solid.

I should have paid more attention to our noble leader, Stephen. His church in Ottawa, the East Gate Alliance, is really plugged in. Their website says, “ The second coming of the Lord Jesus Christ is imminent and will be personal and visible.” ( http://www.eastgatealliance.ca/index.php?page=beliefs ) I bet that’s Friday. That explains, of course, why Steve doesn’t bother making puny human efforts to save the environment – why would he? Scientists are just missing the truth. But why did he let me go on this mission only to get hung out to dry? I just don’t know. I’m sure Bob will have all the answers.

Please pass this on to Bob as soon as possible.

Desperately yours (and Goodbye),

Chris”

So, Bob, I know you’re the best qualified person in the world to advise on empty space. Can you say anything to help Chris in this existential crisis?

In case there’s a Mayan/East Gate error, and disaster is deferred, Merry Christmas to you and Linda.

John

John Edmond

Dear John,

I well remember my reading at Collected Works Bookstore last November. One of the most wonderful bookstores I’ve ever been in. Please tell me that when you say “..sadly, is closing Christmas Eve.” you simply mean closing until it opens a few days later. You were very kind to me and to repay that favour, I will be happy to add a final segment to my “Questions From Troubled Readers” to honour and help soothe the troubled mind of your friend and Canadian astronaut hero Chris Hadfield.

Dear Chris,

I hope this reaches you before 11:11UT on Friday when Mesoamerica’s most famous calendar (well, next to the “Nude Grannies of the Yucatan” calendar) comes to a screeching stop and our beautiful earth is pelted by rogue planets or rebel asteroids or even a storm of Tory Tweets (which has already caused considerable damage to much of Canada). Chris, what you will see as you sip your Tang (or perhaps astronauts have moved on to Red Bull these days, I don’t know) and gaze in awe out the window of the space station, will be something only the great Noah has been able to witness. Mind you, he had animals in the ark with him and I’m assuming you don’t, although it would be a really neat PR move if it turned out that the IKEA monkey is up there with you guys, and he actually knew how to assemble a Klobo loveseat. Anyway, your worry about going into perpetual orbit, as a result of Armageddon, is one you should put from your mind. You see, and look at me telling a scientist like yourself things like this, life always goes on. You will return to earth safe and sound after conducting your many experiments like the one where you see if earthworms can survive re-entry without wearing protective suits. You will spring forth from your capsule and look around picturesque Kazakhastan (I believe that’s their tourism slogan for 2013) and, perhaps be the only human left on earth, other than your American and Russian comrades. There’s even a joke that will appear in the distant future that goes…”A Canadian, an American and a Russian walk into a post-apocalyptic world. The Russian looks around the flat barren landscape and says, “Da, iss good place to start Mafia, control everything and people will fear us. The American squints out at the brown, flat, unending horizon and says, “This is a good place to open some fast food restaurants and serve giant-sized portions and people will love us.” The Canadian, who has been quietly listening, finally speaks. He says, “Are we in Saskatchewan?” So, you see, Chris, most, perhaps all of us will be gone to meet our Maker, or as a dyslexic friend of mine likes to say, “Some day, I’ll die and meet my baker”. Some of us will be off to be rescued from the clutches of Yamaraj by Yishnu and Siva and still others will descend into the flames of Hell and have to bunk in with Rush Limbaugh Karl Rove and John Baird, but, you, Chris, will have the opportunity to start life again and get it right this time (Here’s hoping either the Russian or the American astronaut will be female), which means no Harper Conservatives, no Republicans, and definitely no more episodes of Survivor. You will be, in the words of Leonardo DiCaprio, “King of the World”. Rather than worrying about disappearing into oblivion, Chris, you should revel in the fact that you will be the new Mad Max, and, I believe he is an actual future historical character. Be at peace my friend, wave farewell to us as you pass over Canada at 11:11UT (2:41 in Newfoundland) and wish us well. Mostly, remember that of the three people left in the world, one will be a Canadian and that means the world will be okay. Safe trip my friend. Thank you for reading my book. My life and my bank account are richer for it…well, certainly my life.

Bob Robertson

December 18, 2012

Now let me just cover a few things before I get to Toronto.  First of all, I am writing this on my birthday.  Thank you for your good wishes…those were good wishes, correct?  I have, despite using roughly 42 creams that clearly state on the TV commercials that they ‘turn back time’…turned 54.  So, as most of us do when we click over another hard driven kilometre on our internal odometer, I feel turning 54 is as good a time as any to put myself up on the hoist and see how the old chasse is doing.  It seems the undercarriage is mostly hanging in there, but earlier this year I did have to visit the doctor for what he called a vitreous detachment.  At first I thought he said ‘virtuous’ detachment, so I very quickly told him that happened a long time ago in the back of a Pinto after a Bay City Rollers concert.  Ok, my standards weren’t very high then.  As it turns out, according to the man with the certificates on his wall, it’s all about eyeball parts detaching themselves from the mother ship, which I believe is me.  Quite common after the age of FIFTY!  Thanks for underscoring that little fact, Doc!  So, looking at this from the most positive point of view, which, as you can imagine is very hard because of the ‘detaching’, I figure in a few years, my eyeballs are just going to shrivel up and fall out of their sockets, and I’ll just have to walk around with them in little bags, and take them out when I want to look at something.  Here’s a shot of me on the plane, realizing that soon I’ll be another year older AND I’ll have shrivelling eyeballs!

Now on to Toronto!  Bob and I are here on what we call a ‘bush beating foray’.  That kind of sounds like something from 50 Shades of Gray, but I’m talking ‘beating the bushes’ for work.  I’ll keep you updated on how that goes.  At the moment, everything is heading into Christmas stasis, so there won’t be much to report for a few weeks as all those who can make decisions about shows etc. will be either drunk  or incapacitated from chronic uncontrollable post turkey farting.  In the meantime, we’ve been out and about in the exciting city of Toronto, and I thought I’d fill you in on a few bits of news here.  First, and I think most important; Toronto has been invaded by GIANT glowing horned alien creatures.  Well, everything here is sort of bigger, which began a few years ago when Toronto decided to ‘super-size’ their mayor.  So in turn, everything else needed to be giant like the maybe former-but-not-quite-former-yet-mayor Rob Ford.  Anyway, these glowing aliens have taken over the Eaton Centre and I sense it won’t take much to set one of these things off and they just start eating folks alive…very much like the former-but-not-quite-yet-former-mayor Ford.  Here’s proof they exist…

….look out people!!  You’re about to be consumed by radioactive Martian ruminants!

Over the years Vancouver has been accused of being a ‘no fun city’ and I now think that might be true.  I’ve been riding the train a lot lately back home, and I can tell you that people are all pretty withdrawn, staring at their devices, nobody saying hello, no eye contact.  Absolutely no one appearing to enjoy  their playlists.  Not so in Toronto.  And I say if Vancouver ever thinks it’s going to become a world class centre, it’s gotta start unleashing it’s groove… may I present Exhibit ‘A’…Dancing subway man

Yo YO!  That’s how a city becomes the centre of the universe mofo.

More to come.

Here’s what you’re missing…

“Hell and Purgatory kept everybody walking the straight and narrow, until 1999, that is, and that fateful July day when Pope John Paul the Second, the spokesperson for God on earth, officially announced to the whole world that there was no Hell. He had caught everybody in the Afterlife completely off guard. No memos, no warnings, not even a quick phone call to somebody up there to say, “Okay guys, I’ve decided to get rid of Hell.” Officials in the Netherworld went ballistic, according to an official of the Afterlife, speaking on condition of anonymity. It’s completely understandable that they would have blown their tops over this because, while it was easy for the Pope to just say, “Okay, people, there’s no Hell anymore”, it was everybody in the Sweet Hereafter who had to carry out the orders. There were a lot of angry souls over there that had to start the massive job of dismantling Hell. No easy task. First they had to get rid of millions of instruments of torture and Hell had the best of anyone. They had miles of dungeons loaded with devices like the Pendulum, the Rack, the Breast Ripper, the Spanish Tickler, Crocodile Shears, Foot Roasters, Knee Splitters, even Water Boarding rooms. Hell was like going to the biggest and best gym in town. They had every machine a cruel torturer would ever want, way better than anything Vlad the Impaler or Dick Cheney ever had. All these torture devices had to be melted down because you couldn’t sell this stuff. You couldn’t put an ad on Craig’s List saying “One used Chair of Torture for sale, in good working condition. Includes instruction booklet personally signed by Idi Amin.”

Mayan Horror is available everywhere books are sold and online at all the usual book sellers. Hurry. Failure to purchase might result in death.

Here’s what you’re missing…

“First, no matter what age the children are, all parents must stop using that dumb expression, “Now, now. Stop crying. It’s not the end of the world.” Yes it is, so find another reason for your child to stop crying. How about, “Now, now. Stop crying. 40 year olds are not supposed to be living with their parents.” The best way to tackle the sensitive topic of explaining to your children that human life is about to come to a horrible end is to divide the explanations into age groupings because the approach used will differ based on the age and education level of the child. Some children, for example, are only capable of speaking in monosyllables, such as 15-year-old boys. So let’s start with explaining to toddlers about the end of the world. To define a toddler I’m going to use the Hardy-Laurel Toddling Principle that “a toddler is a human who walks with a toddling gait”, toddling being a style of walking requiring the legs to be spread apart and simply lifted and slammed down as you go forward, coming to rest when you fall headfirst into a bookshelf. Toddlers, on average, learn only by taste and pain, tasting everything from plastic toys to crusty cat excrement and then the aforementioned pain of that headfirst fall into the bookshelf. So, how to explain to your toddler that the world will be engulfed by flames or drowned or blown apart, whichever one it is, on December 21^st, 2012. Well, stand down. You’re off the hook if you have a toddler. There is no way a human with a vocabulary of “Da-da”, “poo-poo”, “pee-pee”, and “good girl” can comprehend the concept of tectonic lithosphere plates being massively overlain by either or both of two types of crustal material. “Pee-pee” will be the result for all of us, of course, but really, it’s way beyond the grasp of a toddler, so relax.”

Mayan Horror is available everywhere books are sold and online at all the usual book sellers. Hurry. Failure to purchase might result in death.

Here’s what you’re missing…

“The Mayans had a whole bunch of calendars, but the one that concerns us is the calendar the Mayans called “The Long Count Calendar”, a calendar that was designed to go for thousands of years. So the question we are all asking ourselves right now is, “Why does this calendar stop at 11:11am Universal Time on December 21^st, 2012?” Nobody really knows the answer, but I have a theory; burn out. The guy who chiseled the calendar just got fed up. The chiseler, let’s call him Mictxecacihuatxl, was chiseling away on his rock when he just said, “Screw this noise! Do they have any idea how long it takes to chisel 10 thousand years worth of dates? And they’re only paying me 20 beans a month and all the chimichangas I can eat! Forget it! Maybe it’s time to open that dance studio I’ve fantasized about.” And the chiseler downed tools just after chiseling “12/21/2012” and went off to open “Mictxecacihuatxl’s School of Mexican Hat and Chicken Dancing”. You may think that sounds like an odd way to condemn the world to ruin, but nobody else seems to have any better ideas as to why the Mayan Calendar stops on December 21^st.

One more important thing about the Mayans is that they weren’t a monotheistic society, which, for you those of you who didn’t get past grade 6, means the Mayans didn’t believe there was just one god. The Mayans were a polytheistic society that worshipped all sorts of gods. There was Cizin, the god of death, Chac, the god of rain, Yum Kaax, the god of corn. The list is endless, you’ve got Discoxxatil, the god of dancing, Xtramunchiz, the god of late night snacks, Maaloxx, the god of upset stomachs, and who could forget Inebriatoxixil, the god of drunks. You get the point, for everything in ancient Mayan society there was a god you prayed to for more corn, less rain, no hangovers or plenty of chips and salsa. This just reinforces the point that this will not be the Christian God’s Armageddon because in order to make it a godly event, all 1300 of the Mayan gods would have to have gathered together and tried to get an agreement to wipe out the earth. Impossible. I know for example that Shitzaputzl, the god of profanity would never go along with it. No, we’ll have to leave it as a mystery as to why the world will end just because the Mayan Calendar runs out, but I’m very fond of the exhausted chiseler theory.”

Mayan Horror is available everywhere books are sold and online at all the usual book sellers. Hurry. Failure to purchase might result in death.