The Rise of the Parti Quebecois 1976: The Party's Over

One of my friends from childhood, Terence Bowman has written a blog on the October Crisis from the perspective of a six year old which is quite charming and familiar.   I confess that at that age I had much less political awareness than Terence who was considered as the closest thing to an intellect in our age group.  The only thing I can remember is that my parents were undecided of who to vote for and the Union National kept coming up as a possible alternative to the man with the Buddy Holly glasses.

I remember feeling slightly sorry for Robert Bourassa for having to wear those glasses because my parents forced me to wear the same type.  The only other thing I remember was Pierre Burton having a talk show which looked pretty intense and far too serious for me to be interested.  Hey, put Pierre up against the Flintstones and I am going to choose the prehistoric cartoon every time.

The real shock that waved through our little Anglo conclave happened six years after the October Crisis of 1970.  Up until 1976 with the exception of some minor bumps, our Anglo community was a cut-off little island from French Quebec.  We were the Hong Kong of Quebec.

As Terence had pointed out, we did have a limited French program.  While I recall "Chez Helen", I do remember those televisions in the classroom showing us programs from France.  There was this woman who came on and said these phrases in French.  She would repeat each phrase with a whisper and we would have to repeat it in unison during the "whisper".  Our French lesson were never Quebecois but with Parisian accents. I kept my "Parisian" French until I got out to the workplace and adapted all the crude Quebec "joual".

Anyhow, the separatist Parti-Quebecois came to power in November of 1976.  The great migration of English headed down the 401 to Toronto and never looked back.  Of the dozen or so friends that I had made on our block, only myself and one other family remained.  I was devastated.  I remember asking my father when we were moving but we stayed put.  Eventually life went on and I made other friends.  That was one true political event that affected our social lives and it started the slow process of further integration with the majority French population. 

Toronto natives always look at me incredulous when I fix them with a stare and declare in all seriousness that they should name one of their streets after Rene Levesque for giving them so much wealth, people and power by instigating that migration.  Toronto supplanted Montreal as the largest city something which Montreal has never recovered from.

The Fellowship Of Facebook

I have often thought about this wonderful and terrifying tool we have in Facebook.  Over thirty years ago, we would never have had the tools to keep track of so many people in our present and from our past.

The incredible thing I find about Facebook is the amazing ability to snare "new" friends and ignore them all at the same time.  The novelty of Facebook is very intense that everyone who gets hooked on it, invites every person that he or she ever knew.  Catch up with old friends and ex-flames from the past and turn it all into one big reunion party.

However, then you discover why so many of those "friends" were not great friends in the first place.  Like running into an old acquaintance on a long bus ride, you eventually run out of conversation.  Once the common talk and catching up is done, phase two kicks in.  Phase two in Facebook is when you decide to go silent on many of your friends postings.  You may decide that you have had enough but you don't want to be rude by outwardly "rejecting" the said person(s). Remember that person can see all your friends and can spread some pretty wild gossip in no time.

So the act of ignoring swiftly enters the Facebook arena.  It is one of the great passive aggressive features that Facebook has.  "I have Jane Doe as a friend but she has all these stupid applications that I hate and her posts are so dumb. I don't want to rock the boat, so I will put her news items on "hide" so I can get this skank out of my life."

"Jane Doe" does not know any better and goes on ranting and raving and attributing your quietness to...well..  your quiet side.  Of course if she inquires to your new found inactive state, you can always say the lie that everyone gives and believe me, everyone has said this - "I am not on Facebook that much anymore."

Dare I say that you learn stuff about your family that maybe you would rather not know.  Personal postings that are not intended for family viewing come to mind.  How about finding out that someone in your family has Paris Hilton as a role model?  Quick, the "hide" button, THE HIDE BUTTON!!

Facebook does allow us to keep track of those important people in our lives that may have moved to other places.  For those close friendships that may have diminished over years of losing touch, it is an invaluable tool that allows to stay in touch in an inexpensive fashion.  So let my "Friends" list grow astronomically with people who really care as little about my life as I do with theirs.  I can put them in "Limited Friends" and remain the quiet one.  Come to think of it, I do have some quiet friends out there....hmmmm.  Next week, we will learn all about the "BLOCK" button otherwise known as the Facebook restraining order.

A United Nations Address

Looking at my stats, I have seen that I have an international albeit a small audience.   So on my little podium known as my desktop computer, let me address my supporters all around the world before they get back to that world and conveniently forget who and what I am about. (Too late)

I see the majority of my viewers come from Canada.  That is nice to see because one thing we really appreciate in Canada are our own bright stars who flee down to the United States to make it big.   Then, we proudly make them our own.  If we had not done this, Superman would be fighting for "Truth, Justice and the Canadian Way".  Yes, Superman flew down to New York or um...Metropolis where he made it big, leaving us with ....Captain Canuck.  Yikes!

I did not get much support in the Middle East with my site so far.  I guess I did not write "death to Americans" enough throughout my blog although with that phrase in this one sentence, I should be able to get one viewer from Syria.

Speaking of Americans, they represent my second largest fan following.  Still no talent scout from L.A. banging down my door with a mega dollar contract in his hand for signing.  Nah, in order to do that, I have to have a gory, blood-soaked, graphic blog equivalent to something like Maury Povich and some surprise cross-cultural and maybe cross-species paternity tests.  What point was I trying to make again?  Oh yeah, welcome America!

Checking in at number three is beautiful exotic India.  I was thinking that if there was a way to cyber hook up with every "Kwiki-mart" between here and New Jersey, I would reach at least a tenth of India's one billion people.  Mind you, most of them probably would not understand a word that I would have to say unless I quoted something basic out of "Hindi For Dummies".  By the way, I have found a way to get my annoying cloying cat out of my studio room.  If he hangs around an annoys me, I put on a Bollywood film and he gets the message real quick.  Thank you, India!

There are five supporters in Singapore and I personally know one of them.  What a viral explosion!  However, I have to keep it clean on here because Singapore is an extremely clean country and there are heavy fines for people who read smut or smut-like topics and that includes swearing.  Fudge!

Checking in next is the enigmatic country that does not know what to call itself.  If you ask any Londoner where they are from you could get at least four different answers.  "England, Great Britain, the United Kingdom. Britain or even the UK".  Whatever the case, they do have a more sense of modesty here than in America.  If you ask an American where he lives he is more likely to respond - "on the greatest f***ing country on the planet!!".  Sadly, Britain has been on a steep decline.  First, the sun did set on the British Empire, the Beatles broke up and we are left with ... Susan Boyle.  Oh and Charles is next in line to be king with his wife Camilla.   Ta Ta!

Rounding out the bottom of the list are some former Soviet republics - Russia, Hungary and the Czech Republic.  When Ronald Reagan and his advisers toured the Kremlin, they got to see Gorbachev's luxury accommodations.  Reagan who was already past seventy stood up to Gorby and said "Mr. Gorbachev. tear down this wall!"  Gorbachev responded "NYET!"  Reagan was not to be denied.  "TEAR DOWN THIS WALL!"  "NYET!" came the answer.  It was tense.  World War III was imminent.  Finally, a nervous Soviet adviser whispered to his American counterpart.  "He thinks you want to tear down his bedroom wall."  After the adviser relayed the info to Reagan, he declared, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down the Berlin Wall."  Gorbachev agreed and the two men hugged signalling the end of the Cold War.  They then spent the rest of the afternoon testing out the bounciness of Mr. Gorbachev's luxury bed.   Welcome back to Capitalism!

That concludes my address. If your country is not mentioned here, send me a note and I will be more than happy to mock it...umm as nicely as I can of course.  I'm Canadian, I will be gentle to keep the peace.

Roger Federer, Rafa Nadal, and Andy Murray: The Three Baseliners Live in Concert

SATIRE — Hey middle-agers and seniors!
Are you longing to the glory days of tennis?
Can't keep up with the new and upcoming faces of the racket sport?
Do you remember the days when tennis was about hitting the ball to the other side of the court and not worrying about top-spin, racket technology, or which banana or power drink was needed for replenishment on the change-over?
Do you hate having to watch players towel off after every single point?
Well, have we got news for you. Ronco, in association with Hack Productions, brings you...

The Three Baseliners In Concert
Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, and Andy Murray sing the praises of the older generation of tennis players.  They sing their hearts, hearkening to the days when men's tennis shorts were...well...just short!  Here they are singing that classic song:

Johnny Mac (Sung to the tune Jimmy Mac)
Johnny, Johnny, oh Johnny Mac when are you coming back
Johnny, Johnny, Oh Johnny Mac when are you coming back.
My arms are tired blue, no one hits the ball like you
I am going to lose the set when you charge to the net!
Johnny, Johnny, oh Johnny Mac when are you coming back
Johnny, Johnny, Oh Johnny Mac when are you coming back.

Yes, when the Three Baseliners get singing you'll be wishing for chippin and charging. Here they are singing about another baseliner Ivan Lendl tribute:

Robot Man (Sung to the tune Nowhere Man)
He's a real robot man.
Hitting all his wild forehands
Doesn't give a chance to win for nobody.
Never sad and never jolly
Doesn't know the serve and volley
Making all his Wimbledon plans for nobody.

Order now and get a five-setter of walloping hits sung by the best movers and shakers around!  The Three Baseliners drive home their points so well there is no return service.  Here they are grinding it out in a daring but glowing tribute to Bjorn Borg:

I'm a Borg (Sung to the tune "Bitch")
I'm a Borg, I'm a stroker
I am stern not a joker, there is nothing I can't do
I send right across to you
I'm a God, I am Thor
I am better than before
I can hit down the line
Wimbledon will be mine
You know I couldn't have it any other way.

Purchase this package now and we will send you a free Rafael Nadal/Roger Federer duet performance.  Watch and admire their unswerving dedication and passion as they sing:

To All The Players I Beat Before (sung to "To All The Girls I Have Loved Before)
Nadal:  To all di players I beat before
Federer:  We bagled their asses out the door.
Nadal: I know it may be wrong.
Federer: But we enjoyed it all along
Both:  To all the players we beat before.

Call our operators now and mention the code "Tim Ruffin's a hack" and we will give you the entire collection for the low, low price of $49.99USD (that is 249 pounds if you are a Murray fan).  Our operators are standing by hoping to get your credit card. 
Soon you'll be hearing "The Three Baseliners" crooning it out for a glowing Rod Laver tribute:

Tie Me Tennis Shoes Up, Mate (Sung to the tune Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport)
Tie me tennis shoes up, mate.
Tie me tennis shoes up.
I've been falling all over the place
Tie me tennis shoes up.

You'll get these and other great songs like the Andre Agassi-inspired "Crystal Meth Persuasion" and the Tipsarevic-inspired "I wear my sunglasses on court."
Call and order now and we'll even send you the crappy wooden racket that Bjorn Borg won his first tournament with. Our operators are standing by!

My Brother And I

I was nine and my brother was turning seven.  Our parents brought us to the zoo.  We had the notion that if we bugged them enough we could get them to take one of the animals back home with us.  Lions, tigers, chimps, kangaroos, koala bears, coyotes...we hounded them endlessly for them all.
By the time we reached the zoo gift shop. the idea of each getting a stuffed animal was much more easy to accept by our parents in light of the constant animal demands we had made earlier.  I got a zebra and my brother got a tall giraffe.  On the long car ride home, my brother and I played with our own newly acquired animals.  My brother was proud of his long-necked giraffe which took up a lot of space in the car.  He took every opportunity to wave it around saying it was better than my zebra.
He started picking on my zebra.  That giraffe became the boss of space and things in our car ride and there was nowhere that my zebra could hide.  Regular attacks coupled with my brother's taunts that his giraffe was king put me in a deep state of misery.  My father decided that before we got home, that we would go through the car wash.  As the car went on the assembly line to be washed by the heavy clunking machinery, I leaned over to my brother and told him that his giraffe's head was stinky and that he needed to be clean.  My brother looked out the window, saw the spritzing and flying soap everywhere and decided to give his giraffe an instant shower.
Without warning he lowered the window and poked his giraffe's head out into the car wash chaos.   The giraffe's body convulsed and my brother instinctively held on to it.  A storm of soap and water entered our back seat of the car and all hell broke loose.  My parents yelled, I was getting soaked and yelling, my brother was yelling trying to save his endangered giraffe.
My father put it in gear and sped through the car wash.  The car came out of the car wash covered in soap because we skipped the rinse and dry cycle during all of the chaos.   However, the real drama unfolded when my brother finally got his giraffe back in the car.  THE HEAD WAS GONE.  He shrieked in a mixed form of terror and sadness while I laughed my ass off.  The harder he cried, the harder I laughed.  My zebra suddenly became the prominent stuffed animal in the car as I proudly waved it everywhere while my brother continued to mourn over his headless animal.  My parents drove on in the front with a wish to get home and a sense of disbelief from what had just transpired.  My brother tried to convince them to go back and get the head.  Out of the question.  The mere thought that my father would have to go through a middle of a car wash, find a soaking mess of a giraffe's head just to bring it home and have to figure out how to sew it back on was too much.   My parents did the only thing they could do.  They arranged a small stuffed animal funeral and buried the headless giraffe out in the back yard.   I am sure that many years later when new people moved in and started to dig up the earth for a garden and came across a headless but buried stuffed giraffe, the house would probably go up for sale soon after.

The State Of Hamilton Comedy

Watching my half-brother Mike Vecchione on "Last Comic Standing" had re-awoken the impressionist comic in me.  I had been working on a few impressions in the last few years but was never building towards anything like a comedy set.  While I respect all of what my demi-brother has accomplished (he was recently on Jay Leno), I profess that we do not share comedy styles which is a huge relief to me.  Last thing I want to do is to be a carbon copy of a comic unless I can mimic him to a fault.

I have spent the last month or so honing my material and getting up the nerve to get on stage and test my comedy chops.  I have done that at two places in Hamilton.  First is at Hooters Hamilton.  I kind of had a difficult time explaining to my wife that there really was a comedy night every Tuesday.  I was half-expecting a "Yeah, right.  You are doing comedy.  Sure you are."  But she was okay with it and so I went.  The host there is Donny Coy.  Mr. Coy is like the guru MC there.  Donny is an expert at weaving current going-ons in the place right into his act.  He is there as a beacon to new and upcoming comics.  He will be the first to congratulate you on your successful set or relegate you to what he calls the "B" list.  One of his favourite comedians is Manolis Zantanos (that's Greek not Mexican, folks).

First time I saw Manolis, I thought "holy crap, Hollywood got it wrong. Here is the guy who should be playing Captain Kirk"  As far as I know, he does not do a Captain Kirk impression but he has the physique and the look and I bet he could do a Kirk without it looking like a parody.  For a guy who has the appearance of looking lost in direction, Manolis is more than accomplished.  He is also very affable (WTF is that, he would say) and has certain down to earth qualities.   Manolis likes to hang out at Hooters and also frequents the Staircase Theatre on Thursdays.

The Staircase Theatre is an old seemingly run down mansion with a ...you guessed it ...a staircase.  One of the rising comics there is fifteen year old Mayce Galoni.  I can almost hear every comic whisper under his/her own breath as he takes the stage - "F***, he is only fifteen!!!" To have someone who is thirty years younger  doing the same thing you are and doing it quite well, is very ego challenging.  On this particular night, he brought his sister.   He left her at the table to do his act.  In the middle of his act, he mentions that his sister is gay.  HE OUTS HIS SISTER IN PUBLIC!!.  I am looking back to her and then back to him as he continues through it.  No reaction from her.  Wow.  He must have prepped her for this.  Only later, I figured out that he had a second sister and I now realize why she wasn't there.

You cannot read or see any comedy in Hamilton without running into the name Patrick Coppolino.   His act is completely raunchy and not for the faint hearted.  Then he metamorphoses into a completely shy and inward guy.  Kind of a bit creepy but then I realize that he could see me as a much older and bigger creep.  If Patrick is the introverted comic then Cliff Myers has to be the ultimate extrovert.  Cliff is a big man and uses his size as a comical weapon in his act.  He is comfortable in improv which I have found funnier than his prepared stuff.  Watch what you say about him because he comes across as vengeful so uh....Nice Cliff...nice Cliff.

I have learned a few things about the Hamilton comedy club scene.  Like all things, you have to be a hustler to get gigs and network to the extreme.  You also have to bring at least two people to Hamilton Yuk Yuk's if you want to perform there (A-holes!).  I've learned that crowds suck in humour that I particularly don't find funny.  They love it when a comic can acknowledge in a good-nature way that their jokes did not go over well or that they sucked.  I have also seen that even in the bowels of Hamilton, there are young comics with stars in their eyes, hoping that some talent scout will somehow get lost and stop by Hooters for a drink.  Or maybe some well known comic will stop by and take notice of the new talent and set them up with important contacts.  As improbable as the talent scout scenario is, I have seen the somewhat celebrity comic show up, finish his act and spend the rest of the evening at the bar while the "B team" got their chance. 

Finally, I learned that although I like to do impressions, my comedy power lies more in my written words.  I really enjoyed setting up my jokes in written fashion but well...my delivery sucked.  In the end, my nerves did not help.  I had some fun, met a few acquaintances but am going back to what I do best which is writing.  I think I will leave the stand-up to my 1/2 bro even if I am the funnier one.

The Coming Of Jesus: 2000 Years and Counting.

In roughly twenty-three years from now, we will be marking the two thousandth year that Jesus was crucified upon the cross in Jerusalem. Christians are mostly of two minds when considering this fact. A good portion of the charismatic (ie crazy ones) ones all clamor and start talking about the time for Armageddon and the second coming. The second group of more moderate Christians like to revel in the fact that their religion is so old.

Let's liken Jesus to a friend of yours. He takes you to a local pharmacy, keeps the car running and says "I'll be back". You wait there and wait and wait some more. Finally, the car eventually runs out of gas and it's cold outside. At some point, you are going to mutter to yourself - "F*** it, he's not coming back." Except in this harsh reality, it has not been a few hours, or a day or a week or a year. It has been two thousand years! How much longer do you need before you finally face the fact?

Don't even think about complaining to your Jewish neighbor about this. It is not just because he doesn't want to hear about Jesus. He's been waiting a whole lot longer for his own Messiah. It's been closer to four thousand years for him. Jesus did not make the cut for him and Jesus was Jewish.

Come on. You cannot blame human beings for being skeptics after two thousand years. Why the long wait? There must be something better going on in the universe out there for Jesus not to have shown up by now. If he ascended to heaven and heaven is a billion light years away, we might still be able to get a good look at him out in the cosmos with one of our high powered telescopes. Anyhow, for now the wait is still on.

Binge 2010: The Mardy Fish, Andy Roddick, Novak Djokovic Dinner (Satire)

SATIRE — Somewhere in New York on the upper west side, they got together for their secret dinner.  They were excited.  It was the anticipation of the event plus the fact that none of their respective coaching staff knew.  Mardy, Andy and Novak sat down, each neatly and formally dressed. Their table was on the second story with a multitude of customers just below them. 
It was a suave French restaurant which boasted two stories of fine atmosphere and dining.  There were loyal patrons on both floors soaking up the elegant ambiance and quite ambivalent to its exorbitant pricing.
Djokovic:  You having something from the seafood section, Fish?
Fish:  Very funny, Joker.  Gawd, you should have been in stand-up.  Your jokes, your impressions and the way you look when a shot does not go your way....
Roddick:  Come on, ladies.  Let's get down to why we are really here.  Let's get this five course sucker started with an appetizer.  Waiter!
Waiter:  (In a French accent) Good evening, Monsieurs.  May I take your ordeur.
Roddick:  Yeah, I am going to have five cheeseburgers, onion rings, a slurpee....
Djokovic:  Hold on there B-Rod...
Roddick:  It's A-ROD....A...like the first letter in the alphabet or is that not the first in the Serbian one..what is it...Alpha? Call me Alpha Rod...
Djokovic:  Look, you cannot go ordering American fast food in a French restaurant.  (To the waiter) Monsieur est-ce que vous pouvez porter les escargot pour tout le monde avec un belle bouteille du vin?
Waiter:  Bien sur, Monsieur.  Je reviens.
Fish: What the hell was that all about?
Djokovic: I just ordered the appetizers and a nice bottle of wine.
Fish:  Awesome dude.  I don't care what kind of crap they make here as long as they cook the red meat medium rare that is all I care about.
Roddick:  Hey Fish you did quite well out there before the US Open.  Joker, you did well from the start of the US Open.
Fish:  And you did well at neither events.
Roddick:  Get off of my back, Fish.  Do you realize that each of us has beaten Roger Federer.  How many people can boast about that?
Djokovic:  Um... Nadal, Berdych, Baghdatis, Murray...
Roddick:  You know what Djoker, just shut up.  Okay.  Shut up.  Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else finding a new ailment in case you have to retire?
Fish:  Hey guys.  We are here to binge.  Cut the crap, here comes the waiter.
The waiter serves them with freshly baked escargot swimming in a delicious garlic sauce. The three men devour the appetizer.
Fish: That was great.  What the hell was that?
Djokovic:  In the interest of everyone involved, I will tell you later on in the evening.  I went ahead and pre-ordered the main course and you guys are going to love it.  This place serves the best Beef Bourguignon ever.  They are going to bring it out and leave the pot in the middle of our table.
Roddick: An all you can eat beef buffet?  That is awesome!!!
Fish: Truly excellent!!
Five minutes later, the waiter brings out a huge pot of Beef Bourguignon and places it at the middle of the table.  He gives each athlete a healthy portion of buttery smooth mashed potatoes. The men eat at a ravishing pace and in only slow down about 45 minutes later.  Finally, all of them pull to a slow stop and each one is holding their belly. 
Fish:  Oh my stomach!  I used to be able to put this away with no problem but I am not sure I am going to keep this down.
Roddick:  Me too.  This stuff really weighs you down.  It came down with a vengeance and my stomach has a little bounce.
Djokovic: I guess this is as good as any time to tell you that the appetizers that you ate were really snails swimming in garlic.
That revelation was the last straw for Mardy Fish.  He stood up but his newly grown belly caught the end of the table hurling its contents over to the unsuspecting patrons eating below. Large amounts of Beef Bourguignon splattered all over the floors, tables and people's faces. 
The large heavy pot landed square on top of an obese bald man who was eating a Waldorf salad.  He ate a piece of the beef before realizing what happened.  "Not bad" was all he said before conking out of consciousness and falling to the floor.  His nagging wife got up and looked at him.
Nagging Wife:  You see, I told you red meat was bad for you but oh no does he listen...
High above the wavering chaos, the three men watched in horror the calamity that their fallen food had caused.  Watching at the rail, Roddick was the first to hurl downwards adding his own contents to the swirling pandemic below. 
Fish, not to be outdone, followed suit.  Djokovic who did not feel sick, felt compelled to vomit to keep the bond of friendship between them intact.  Meanwhile, the first floor patrons slipped and slithered to the exits adding their own regurgitation to the growing sloth. 
After all the accounts were settled with the restaurant, the three went out the back exit and stood on the street waiting for their rides.
Fish: Well, we will have to do this again sometimes.
Roddick:  Yeah but not here though.
Djokovic:  With all the money we threw at this restaurant, I still do not think they will have us back.
Roddick: Strange as this may seems, I am hungry again.  Anyone for Skyburgers?
Fish: I am in.
Djokovic: Me too.  But this time I think we will do take out and maybe eat in the limo.
Roddick: I am with you on that one.  Let's go.

END OF BINGE I

2010 US Open: Venus Williams vs Francesca Schiavone (The Transcript)

SATIRE — One of the most compelling and dramatic matches at the US Open this year was the Williams-Schiavone match.  It is now available in fine print for all to enjoy.  Upon special request, it can even be ordered in braille for the hearing impaired.

First Set Highlights
Williams: Aargh!
Schiavone:  Aw hee!
Williams: Aargh!
Schiavone: Aw hee!

Second Set Highlights
Schiavone: AW HEE!
Williams: AARGH!
Schiavone: AW HEE!
Commentator:  That is great tennis.  The crowd is even into it.  They are helping either player by softly chanting AARGH or AW HEE when that particular player is about to hit the ball.
In a completely unrelated incident, a 47-year-old man staying at a seedy hotel in the Bronx, phoned the police when he kept hearing his neighbor's television up to loud.  He described what he thought was a Nadal-Sharapova tennis match.
Raphael Nadal:

UNGHHHH! Maria Sharapova: APPOOO!
Rafael Nadal: UNGHHHHH!
Maria Sharapova: APPOOO!
The neighbor continued to notice that the tennis shots must have gotten faster because each player was picking up speed and volume.  Strangely, it all seemed to subside with a large UNGGGHHHAPPPOOOOOOOO!
The police arrived and all were completely surprised that the real Rafael Nadal and Maria Sharapova came out of the room holding lit cigarettes.  Upon going their separate ways Sharapova gave a Nadal a little smack on the rear and cooed a small "appooo."
No charges were laid.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTmCmGFv-nw&feature=player_embedded

A Dennis Miller Rant On The Current State Of Tennis At Bleacher's Report

Hello Tennis Boobies,
Your articles have been coming out like “Ellen” with her big announcement from her sitcom.  It has been slow, painful to watch, and the climax was like …”oh it’s a gay thing.”
Now, I don’t want to get off on a rant here people, but do you call yourselves writers?  I’ve seen better writing on a grimy inside of the men’s’ bathroom stall.  At least that takes my mind of the minor constipation caused by the one too many cheese nachos from Taco Bell. Bad news is that I got to get out before 2:30 rolls around.
You people at Bleacher Report carry on like you actually know these tennis players.  Have you ever actually talked to these people outside their sport?  Ever talked to Roger Federer on an escalator to a three-story department store?  No, because he doesn’t go there and if he did, you would be stammering there in front of him like Forrest Gump trying to figure out which chocolate is giving him the hives.
The people I like most about B/R are the plagiarists.  If you don’t know what plagiarism is, look it up on someone’s article and then copy and paste it on your own. Might as well also do the same with “originality” and cap it off with that great word “irony.”
As we speak, there are at least three articles up that are stating that Roger Federer’s career is over.  Did you guys get together for a sleepover before deciding that all of you were going to spew the same pajama party sh*t? Were you keeping an air tight alibi for each other?

Then we have the Rafa haters, the Roger haters, the Novak lovers.  These articles are like a mixed party snack gone bad.  You never know which one of them is going to make you vomit before it’s too late.
How about those classy, stylish people who call themselves the Brits?  I tip my hat off to you, wave my bowl of strawberries at you, smile before I curtly declare:
Get the f*ck off of Murray’s back already, you vulturous snobby geeks from Coronation Street.  “Oh Dear, Murray has disappointed us again.”  If you showed him half the support you have for lower life animal forms, you might want to have a “jolly old chap” victory celebration when he reaches the fourth round.  Then, maybe, then he will play freely without the weighted burden of British fanny fans on his shoulders.
Here’s a revelation for all you soft hearts out there who feel for these athletes when they lose.  You know what, SOMEONE has to lose.  These athletes get paid a lot of money win or lose. 
My heart goes out to Novak Djokovic for his loss against Rafael Nadal.  Because $200,000 is not enough to assuage his ego, he needs my sympathy to boot.  Poor Roger Federer lost and collected a mere $150,000 and probably the bonus for maybe winning the US Open series.  God, I feel so bad for him.
Lastly, I know I am going to get the comments from the various imbeciles out there not brainy enough to read HUMOR (or HUMOUR if you are Canadian).  If you don’t understand the tone, google Dennis Miller and look up “rant.”  “Oh I didn’t like his rant, it was too angry!”
Support your fellow female writers on this site before you click on the soft porn links.  Of course, that is just my opinion and I could be wrong.

U.S. Open 2010: Roger Federer in 'The Bourne Descendancy'

SATIRE — Jason Bourne was on the run....again.  Momentarily, he forgot where he was.  After all, he had been running away from the authorities from all over the world.  As he sprinted on, he began to search his mind.  Was it Rome, Moscow, London, Nairobi, Cedar Rapids, IA.....Cedar Rapids??
He remembered now.  He pilfered two ears of corn from a farmer's field.  Unfortunately, the farmer had his four acres of corn under video surveillance and called the local authorities.  Now two police cars were in hot pursuit of the ever-sprinting-ahead Bourne.
They surrounded him.  He stood with his hands in the air as the three police officers approached him.  In one swift move he karate chopped, kicked and subdued the officers instantaneously.  However, in his "too quick for the eye" movements, he also elbowed himself in the back of the head, knocking himself out cold.
He woke up on a small town Iowa prison cell.  He was strapped tightly to his chair which was bolted to the floor.  A huge obese man garbed in a local authority uniform with an over-sized belt holding up a gun and a baton.
Deputy:  I am Deputy Amos E. Anderson.  You are going to talk to me and start by stating your name and where your from.
Bourne: I got nothing to say to you.

Deputy:  Then let the torture begin. Fellas come in here.
The fellow officers come in and the deputy leaves the room.  They work Bourne over for two and a half hours.  His face is littered with bruises, black eyes and puffed out lips.  He is coughing out blood when the deputy walks back in.
Deputy: Well now.  You got something to say, now's the time to say it.
Bourne:  You won't get anything out of me.  I am the best at what I do.
Deputy: Oh and what is that?
Bourne:  If I told you, I wouldn't be the best.  Let's just say that I am a Roger Federer at what I do.
Deputy: Roger Federer, huh?  You like him?
Bourne:  He is the best. No questions about it.
Deputy: In that case, Mr. Mystery man.  We have a treat for you.  Hank, bring that DVD machine with the projector in here.  Bring the Roger Federer loop film in here as well.
As they set the DVD projector up, the deputy had a wry grin on his face.  Bourne continued to look out ahead, ready for more physical torture. 

Deputy: Face him toward the projecting wall and make sure he is tightly bound that he cannot look away.  Oh and make sure those metal clamps forcing his eyes open are on tight.
Deputy:  May I present the Federer-Djokovic match already in progress.  The score is presently 5-4 for Roger Federer and he has two match points.  Oh and just in case you missed it, this part has been looped over again and again.
The highlight reels plays over and over again.  Bourne starts to breathe in quick paces.  His veins bulge and bulge.  He starts to shake convulsively.  After the second loop starts, he looks about to explode.
Bourne:  ARGGH.  Okay, Okay I will talk.  My name is Jason Bourne and I took those corn.  I'll do whatever you want.  Just stop the DVD....just stop it!!!!!"
Deputy:  Ok, Hank.  That'll do.  Mr. Bourne that will be $4025.
Bourne: $4025?  It was two ears of corn I took!
Deputy:  Well, that is $25 for both ears of corn, $2000 for the officers you took down, $1500 for my time spent interrogating you and $500 for the DVD rental equipment.
Bourne:  This is outrageous!

Deputy:  Hank, run that footage again and program it to stop tomorrow morning.
Bourne:  Okay, Okay!  I will pay it. I'll pay the $4025.
Deputy: You mean $6025.
Bourne: What ...um I mean yes I will pay it.  Just let me out of here.
Bourne pays the fee and sets off on the lonely Iowa road.
Deputy:  Hank, keep that DVD guarded safely.  It's a real Iowa cash cow.  
The officers giggle amongst themselves and head out to their local donut shop.

Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal Secret Agreement To Trade Clothes (Humor)

SATIRE — Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal have reached a secret deal to trade clothing styles for each of their respective dominating Grand Slams.
Nadal has been sporting the same outfit that Federer wore three years ago, being dubbed "Darth Federer" during the evening matches.
Nadal was not coy for his reasoning. "I nid every chance to win US Open.  If I look like Rog, I will win like heem."
On the other end of the deal, Federer is rumored to be planning to sport the pirate attire complete with wife beater and Capri shorts for the French Open.  He is also reported to have been working on his loud groans when returning service. "If this does not work, I am going to build a huge clay castle on the side of the court and bury some unpleasant treasure."
Other players in negotiation for trade in style is Novak Djokovic and Marcos Baghdatis.  Djokovic is planning on growing his hair long and sporting a kerchief (Baghdatis-style) complete with a shiny crucifix.  He is now adopting the habit of kissing the ground wherever he goes.
For his part, Baghdatis is planning to get a buzz cut and go shirtless at the conclusion of his matches.  He has also been working on his Berdych and Soderling impersonations.
World No. 4 Andy Murray was perplexed.  "I cannot understand their thinking.  Did Rafa's sponsors run out of the pink colour?  He's a good friend of mine so hopefully he will take my advice to stick with something different than the black.  Personally, I would go after the Federer 2005 US Open outfit.  Just one thing stopping me though—my pride for being original."

Roger Federer Passes Torch To Rafael Nadal; Accidentally Burns His Knees

SATIRE — In a closed ATP award ceremony in Toronto, Canada last night, Roger Federer was given a torch that he was to hand over to Rafael Nadal to congratulate him on being the new world's number one in tennis.
As Nadal waited awkwardly, Roger made his way up the steps towards the podium with the flaming torch.  However, Federer missed the last step and fell forward towards Nadal's knees.
It seemed like it was a moment frozen in time with Roger holding the torch on Rafa's knees.   However in reality it was a good minute and it actually looked like Roger was out doing a good barbecue.
"Arrgghh!!!"  Nadal winced out in pain.  "My knis!!!  My knis.", he screamed out.
Roger dropped the torch and went to Nadal's aid as did most of people there.  After a few more minutes, they decided to put Rafa in a stretcher and whisk him off to the hospital.
Before Rafa left, he made a desperate hand motion towards the torch which was still burning on the floor.  Roger picked up the torch.
"Don't worry Rafa.  Take a good year off to recuperate and umm.. you know, it looks like you won't be needing this now, right?  I mean, I'll hold on to it until...umm you know ... you feel you think you can come back and get it again, you know?
"I mean, it will be interesting to see if you can come back, you know.  So don't worry it is in good hands should you come back, you know?  Okay, thanks and bye and umm.. I will be by for a visit after the next grand slam okay?

The Onion: America's Finest New Source Except For Tennis [Satire]

SATIRE—The Onion News, a self-congratulatory satire paper circulating in the American West has decided to alter its slogan due to its poor tennis coverage. 
When asked why tennis was not listed in the sports section of the paper, Editor Joe Randazzo replied "Aieeeee, ma fung**le.  If I wanna write bout dat,  I ama gonna write about my squash buddies.  Besides, badminton is a fairy sport and it don't matter to me if that Raffie Nadali wins his French Badminton trophy again."
"I only gonna write aboud him if he joins da NBA...otherwise get da f*** out of my face so I can stuff it with my cannolies."
Senior editor Todd "toddie on the poddie" Hanson was more surprised by the question.  "Are they still playing that sport?  I thought they closed it all up when Jimmy Connors retired."
Contributing editor Danny Mulligan said he had nothing to contribute.
Each of the writing staff was asked about the French Open and was completely stunned to find out it had nothing to do with golf but said it did not matter because they hate all things French.
When asked who Roger Federer was, almost half of the writing staff thought he was a razor salesman. The rest drew a blank stare.
Editorial manager Kate Palmer, decided on adding the "except for tennis" to the Onion slogan because she said snubbing talented tennis writers and looking stupid was more of the American way and the Onion did not want to disappoint worldly views of this stereotype.

Real Cause Revealed For Federer's Lung Condition: Chain Smoking (Humor)

SATIRE — Tennis superstar Roger Federer today shocked the world by confessing that he is in reality a chain-smoker.  He held a press conference today in Basel, Switzerland to offer his sincere apologies in Tiger Woods-like fashion. Here is the transcript:
"First of all, I want to apologize to my wife Mirka.  I am sorry that I deceived you and the twins.  I realize the road to recovery is going to be long.  But I am committed to making amends and not having to cough through it."
"I want to make clear that in no way did Mirka ever hand me a cigarette nor did she ever suggest doing so.  She is completely innocent in this ordeal.  I want her and the world to know that I am using the patch and will return to smoker's therapy as soon as I am done here."
"My lung infection was my body telling me that it was not going to tolerate a pack a day while I compete in the Grand slams.  I want to also apologize to my parents for letting them down although, Dad, I did see some questionable plants you were growing downstairs in the basement where my bedroom used to be."
"I want to thank the players on the tour for their understanding.  I want you to know that I will be back better than ever and if you think I was tough after beating you while smoking "camels", you better watch out when I finally kick the habit."
"I hope to back for tennis someday.  I am not sure when that day will be but I think it could be for Indian Wells.  Indian Wells will be a challenge for me because of the great memories and smokes at the reservation over there.   I want to send a big puff out to my friend Chachi."
Although Roger Federer did lose Nike and Adidas as sponsors, he did pick up Du Maurier's and Malboro to compensate.
Upon finishing his interview, Roger was whisked away into his smokey limo where he was rumored to have said "Light me up!" upon entering it.

Andy Murray Inks New Deal With Colgate (Humor)

SATIRE — British No. 1 tennis star Andy Murray has inked a $3.2 million deal with Colgate toothpaste and he does not necessarily have to use the product.
Colgate spokesman David Hork said that he personally spoke to Murray and had very few specific requirements in order to fulfill his contractual obligations.
"Basically we want to see more of what Andy Murray does best and that is to roar like a lion and show everyone his pearly whites.  Whether Murray wins or not, is hardly consequential to our endorsement; as long as he is plenty happy or frustrated, then we are happy."
Andy Murray's dentist is equally happy about this, but not for the same reason.  "I have been after him since he was a kid to use Colgate.  I hope they urge him to use the product because he does not come to see me that often.
"I have resorted to blowing up his photo (see above) to find out if there is any significant decay in his teeth."
The dentist who refused to be named went on about the above photo.  "You see the upper left corner in Murray's mouth?  Check out sector E4.  There is a cavity in the waiting my friend, and you can't air brush that!
"I get frustrated when I see these pictures not only because of the incoming cavities, but also because I can never get him to open his mouth this wide when he is in my chair."
Rumors that a pending Scope Mouthwash endorsement are awash much to the chagrin of the front row of fans who are closest to Murray when he wins or loses a point.