There are a lot of people who are accusing me of not telling the whole story on the Doug MacLean hiring. They say that I could have hired any retard - say, someone off the street in Hamilton - to make sure the team sucks, why choose that blowhard MacLean?
Okay, I admit it. There was more to the hiring than meets the eye. Yes, I wanted a complete tool who would be sure to make the team into a bunch of losers - and to be frank, you are more likely to do that with MacLean than with some moron off the street. Hell, that moron could turn out to be some sort of hockey savant, right? But the rest of the reason for hiring MacLean was this: I wanted to prove that anyone can be bought. In the immortal words of Ted DiBiase, "everyone has a price".
Don't believe me? Check out this audio clip of Doug MacLean on the radio a couple of months ago accusing me of being a raving asshole and out to destroy the NHL:
And now he is working for me. Pretty good, eh? Like I said - anyone can be bought. Judges, media, lawyers, even an jerkoff like MacLean.
Oh - in case you were wondering, you heard correctly there - the host of the radio show pronounced my name "balls-lie". So yes, he was bought and paid for too. It's good to be me.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
In The Bathroom With Gary
So I ended up in the can at the same time as that twisted little gnome Bettman today. And it reminded me of something that happened to me back in university.
McMaster was playing Waterloo in football, and I was at the game and ended up in the washroom with some guys from McMaster. They were at their urinals and I was at my urinal and we were all pissing away and then when we were done I walked over to the sink to wash my hands and those guys just started walking out. So I yelled over "Hey, what's the matter, don't they teach you to wash your hands after you piss at McMaster?" And they yelled back "No, they teach us not to piss on our hands!"
I still don't quite get what they meant by that, but whatever.
Anyway - that is what I was reminded of today when I was in the shitter with Bettman, because after he pissed he walked out without washing his hands! I saw him! But then the weird part - and this is pretty weird - is that outside of the washroom he shook my hand and his hand was wet! How weird is that? I mean, if he didn't wash his hands after he was pissing, how could his hand be wet?
I totally can't figure that one out!
McMaster was playing Waterloo in football, and I was at the game and ended up in the washroom with some guys from McMaster. They were at their urinals and I was at my urinal and we were all pissing away and then when we were done I walked over to the sink to wash my hands and those guys just started walking out. So I yelled over "Hey, what's the matter, don't they teach you to wash your hands after you piss at McMaster?" And they yelled back "No, they teach us not to piss on our hands!"
I still don't quite get what they meant by that, but whatever.
Anyway - that is what I was reminded of today when I was in the shitter with Bettman, because after he pissed he walked out without washing his hands! I saw him! But then the weird part - and this is pretty weird - is that outside of the washroom he shook my hand and his hand was wet! How weird is that? I mean, if he didn't wash his hands after he was pissing, how could his hand be wet?
I totally can't figure that one out!
Why Do People Keep Asking This?
See this picture? Pretty awesome, I know - great looking dude, awesome suit from Moore's, stepping out of a bitching car. I mean, if I was a chick - especially a big-titted college chick looking to get some experience as an intern - I would be all over this:
So why do people keep emailing me this picture and asking me if Heidi dresses me in the morning? And when I answer "Yes, of course she does, why else would I have married the little shrew?" why do they all ask me if she hates me? Am I missing something here?
So why do people keep emailing me this picture and asking me if Heidi dresses me in the morning? And when I answer "Yes, of course she does, why else would I have married the little shrew?" why do they all ask me if she hates me? Am I missing something here?
Welcome, Doug MacLean
So Dick is insisting that we need to at least pretend that we aren't just using the morons in Hamilton for two or three years, and that we need to have some sort of "reason" for packing up and moving the team to Kitchener-Waterloo as soon as my real arena is ready. I had figured that "Hamilton is full of filthy working-class losers and the city smells like a sewer" would be reason enough, but Dick says no. He says we need to make sure the attendance starts to suck in the second or third year so we can get the hell out.
Personally, I think he is overreacting - once the average Hamilton jerk gets it through his dim little brain that the Maple Leafs won't be playing there every night ... the place will be half-full at best. But Dick thinks that we have to make sure the team sucks, too. Now, really, this is the Phoenix fucking Coyotes we are talking about here, how much worse does a team have to be? Just to be on the safe side, though, we are going to hire a bona fide idiot to help run the team, one who is not only a complete tool but who has proved it over and over again.
So please join me in welcoming Doug MacLean to our team. Take a bow, Doug.
Doug single-handedly made sure that the Columbus Blue Jackets not only sucked on the ice, but were a laughing-stock and a pariah in the community as well. He could quite easily be the worst executive in all of hockey - and that includes that weird Russian league where players just randomly die on the ice. Better yet, Doug doesn't know he is a complete failure, and thinks that he is being hired for his hockey "knowledge", so we can all get a good laugh every time he opens his big stupid mouth and says something moronic in that big stupid voice of his.
Hamilton and Doug MacLean - it's like they were made for each other.
Personally, I think he is overreacting - once the average Hamilton jerk gets it through his dim little brain that the Maple Leafs won't be playing there every night ... the place will be half-full at best. But Dick thinks that we have to make sure the team sucks, too. Now, really, this is the Phoenix fucking Coyotes we are talking about here, how much worse does a team have to be? Just to be on the safe side, though, we are going to hire a bona fide idiot to help run the team, one who is not only a complete tool but who has proved it over and over again.
So please join me in welcoming Doug MacLean to our team. Take a bow, Doug.
Doug single-handedly made sure that the Columbus Blue Jackets not only sucked on the ice, but were a laughing-stock and a pariah in the community as well. He could quite easily be the worst executive in all of hockey - and that includes that weird Russian league where players just randomly die on the ice. Better yet, Doug doesn't know he is a complete failure, and thinks that he is being hired for his hockey "knowledge", so we can all get a good laugh every time he opens his big stupid mouth and says something moronic in that big stupid voice of his.
Hamilton and Doug MacLean - it's like they were made for each other.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Hamilton Is Dead To Me Now
So these dumb fucks in Hamilton have some fucking nerve, is all I can say. Sure, if I get a hockey team I am only going to use their crappy arena for three years until I get a real arena in Kitchener-Waterloo. And sure I expect them to spend 200 million of their taxpayers' money on that ugly arena to make it fit for me to set foot in for those three years. And sure I expected them to tear the name of their beloved Victor Copps (anyone ever heard of this guy? I sure haven't) off of the marquee and replace it with mine. But does that give them the right to screw me over?
Of course not. I'm Jim fucking Balsillie! But they did ... those selfish miserable low-class FUCKS from Hamilton did.
Here is the deal: I told the mayor that he had to cancel the lease of the Hamilton Bulldogs - the team that was in MY arena - this summer, before the AHL schedule came out. He said "But Sir, you don't have a team yet" and I said to him "Listen, you filthy piece of garbage, I am fucking Captain Canada and you do what I say, it doesn't matter if I have one team or no team or five teams. If i say 'shit in your hat, Fred' you had better fucking well run out and buy a nice hat and take a fucking dump in it! If I say 'kill your kids and grind them up for sausage' I want to see you out running the fucking hot dog cart on the street that fucking afternoon! You understand, you pathetic little shit?"
Now, to be honest, I don't remember his answer to that because my intern du jour chose that moment to drop her Blackberry and then bend over and pick it up and I got a really good cleavage shot - god damn but I do love those college-girl tits - and I was distracted. But it shouldn't matter what he said, the dumb fuck should have just done it.
Now I find out that the AHL schedule is out and the Bulldogs have their dates booked with the stupid ugly arena and now I have to pretend that I am willing to work with them and co-operate and shit. Co-operate! Me! I'm Jim Balsillie - I dont fucking "co-operate" with anyone. People fucking well do what I say! Co-operating is for poor people. You know, like in Hamilton.
Un-fucking-believable. You filthy Hamilton fucks are really going to pay for this one.
Of course not. I'm Jim fucking Balsillie! But they did ... those selfish miserable low-class FUCKS from Hamilton did.
Here is the deal: I told the mayor that he had to cancel the lease of the Hamilton Bulldogs - the team that was in MY arena - this summer, before the AHL schedule came out. He said "But Sir, you don't have a team yet" and I said to him "Listen, you filthy piece of garbage, I am fucking Captain Canada and you do what I say, it doesn't matter if I have one team or no team or five teams. If i say 'shit in your hat, Fred' you had better fucking well run out and buy a nice hat and take a fucking dump in it! If I say 'kill your kids and grind them up for sausage' I want to see you out running the fucking hot dog cart on the street that fucking afternoon! You understand, you pathetic little shit?"
Now, to be honest, I don't remember his answer to that because my intern du jour chose that moment to drop her Blackberry and then bend over and pick it up and I got a really good cleavage shot - god damn but I do love those college-girl tits - and I was distracted. But it shouldn't matter what he said, the dumb fuck should have just done it.
Now I find out that the AHL schedule is out and the Bulldogs have their dates booked with the stupid ugly arena and now I have to pretend that I am willing to work with them and co-operate and shit. Co-operate! Me! I'm Jim Balsillie - I dont fucking "co-operate" with anyone. People fucking well do what I say! Co-operating is for poor people. You know, like in Hamilton.
Un-fucking-believable. You filthy Hamilton fucks are really going to pay for this one.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
About Hamilton
When I take the time to grace the unwashed masses with my Twitter feed I sometimes jokingly refer to the city of Hamilton as "Jimilton". I do this in jest, of course - it is a way to point out that the pathetic and desperate politicians there are so far up my ass that they will do anything I ask. If I pulled out my iPhone and called Mayor Fred right now and told him to rename the city as "Jimilton" he wouldn't just agree, he would probably grab the paint and run out there and change it himself just to bask in the joy of bending over backwards for me one more time.
That said, it is important to remember that I use "Jimilton" as a joke and as an example, and the absolute last thing I would want is to have that slimy little hole of a low-class city named after me. In fact, I would sue the bastards if they ever tried it, although that would probably be pointless since the place is a dump and has no money anyway.
Really, if you have never been to Hamilton then you have no idea what a hole it really is. Smelly, uneducated, low-class people, wandering around their ditchy streets, moaning about how they used to have jobs, and wondering if this week is welfare week or not (most of them are too stupid to figure out how to use a calendar). These are people who live from welfare cheque to welfare cheque, and when the money does come in they spend it on the essentials like beer and bingo and smokes and cable TV, and if there is anything left after that they might splurge on some luxuries like clothes or food for the kids.
I know what I am talking about here - my wife's parents are from the disgusting place, and we have to go down there every couple of weeks for a "duty dinner" and believe me, you just want to burn your clothes when you are done. Imagine grubby naked kids playing with rocks in the street while Dad is passed out on the porch from his three cans of cheap beer ("Make 'er a Laker, it's a buck a beer!") and Mom is out puffing her head off at bingo and you get the idea. Maybe add a pit bull or two for colour, and a gut-shot 17-year old minivan on blocks in back yard, and the picture is complete.
Filthy fucking low-class people, every one of them.
So why do I keep going on about putting my NHL team in Hamilton? Simple - despite the million or so faults, Hamilton has two things that make it perfect for someone like me:
Sometimes I actually have to pinch myself to make sure I am not dreaming. Free arena, free renovations and upgrades, and a city full of gullible saps that would say "thank you" if I shit in their hats.
It's heaven.
That said, it is important to remember that I use "Jimilton" as a joke and as an example, and the absolute last thing I would want is to have that slimy little hole of a low-class city named after me. In fact, I would sue the bastards if they ever tried it, although that would probably be pointless since the place is a dump and has no money anyway.
Really, if you have never been to Hamilton then you have no idea what a hole it really is. Smelly, uneducated, low-class people, wandering around their ditchy streets, moaning about how they used to have jobs, and wondering if this week is welfare week or not (most of them are too stupid to figure out how to use a calendar). These are people who live from welfare cheque to welfare cheque, and when the money does come in they spend it on the essentials like beer and bingo and smokes and cable TV, and if there is anything left after that they might splurge on some luxuries like clothes or food for the kids.
I know what I am talking about here - my wife's parents are from the disgusting place, and we have to go down there every couple of weeks for a "duty dinner" and believe me, you just want to burn your clothes when you are done. Imagine grubby naked kids playing with rocks in the street while Dad is passed out on the porch from his three cans of cheap beer ("Make 'er a Laker, it's a buck a beer!") and Mom is out puffing her head off at bingo and you get the idea. Maybe add a pit bull or two for colour, and a gut-shot 17-year old minivan on blocks in back yard, and the picture is complete.
Filthy fucking low-class people, every one of them.
So why do I keep going on about putting my NHL team in Hamilton? Simple - despite the million or so faults, Hamilton has two things that make it perfect for someone like me:
- An arena that they will let me use for free.
- Really, really stupid citizens and politicians who are too thick to realize that I only want to use their free arena for a couple of years until I can fuck off to Kitchener-Waterloo once my real arena is built.
Sometimes I actually have to pinch myself to make sure I am not dreaming. Free arena, free renovations and upgrades, and a city full of gullible saps that would say "thank you" if I shit in their hats.
It's heaven.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Sheep
"Baaa."
That is the sound my legion of "media relations" advisors hear when they get on the phone to the various newsrooms around Canada. Oh, the person picking up the phone at the other end may say something like "Globe and Mail, Shoalts speaking" or "Milton here" or "Kelly McPartland, may I help you?" but trust me, all my people hear is "baaaaa".
For those of you reading in Hamilton, where I know people aren't very bright, let me explain: "Baaa" is the sound a sheep makes. Meaning that most of the media in Canada are just like sheep. And sheep do whatever they are told, as long as you use small words.
Exhibit A: Earlier in the week we could have gotten burned by the fact that Fat Dickie Rodier - against my expressed orders - uses a Blackberry for confidential email. Everyone knows that Blackberry email is not secure. But no, Dickie has to go and use it, mostly because he can't stay inside at his workstation for five whole minutes without having to run out for yet another smoke. So he is out there the whole fucking day puffing away while he pecks away with those fat fingers of his and what happens? Not one, not two, but three email conversations get leaked out and it pretty much reveals me to be the arrogant, back-stabbing bully that I really am. But the chances of any of you actually reading about it (Hamilton people excepted, since I know none of you can read) in the Canadian media was pretty much zero. Except for one or two rogues at a couple of dirtbag papers (I'm looking at you, Toronto Star) everyone did what they were told and gave the story exactly zero coverage. No ink, no airtime, no nothing. Complete silence. Sweet.
Exhibit B: My PR flunkies sent out a release today wherein I get all huffy and bombastic about the fact that the NHL allows "criminals" into their ownership circle. And really, this is the height of arrogance on my part, since it is no secret that I am a criminal myself - last year the Ontario Securities Commission (a bunch of fucking buttinskys, let me tell you!) found me guilty on charges of stock and accounting fraud. They made me step down as co-CEO of the company and fined me a shitload of money. So you would think that any journalist worth his or her salt would call me out on that, including that fact in the story if they printed it at all. Well, guess what? Newsrooms across the country ran it literally word-for-word as we handed it to them, and never once - not once - added any mention about the fact that I am the ultimate pot calling the kettle black. A criminal calls a bunch of other guys criminals, and they all report it like Mother Teresa outing Adolf Hitler. I love it!
Now, the "criminal" thing, on it's own, is pretty much the worst of chickenshit wanna-be journalism. I mean, three minutes of research (twenty minutes for Hamilton people, since they are kind of slow) would have revealed me to be a compete and utter hypocrite. But the email thing - well, that is like fucking Christmas all over again. I mean, for any real journalist the contents of those emails would have been like a pork chop to a starving dog - but fortunately we are not talking about real journalists here. We are talking about idiots who buy into my whole "Captain Canada" act are willing to break pretty much every rule of fair and accurate reporting for a free Blackberry and a couple of t-shirts.
Damn I love this country!
That is the sound my legion of "media relations" advisors hear when they get on the phone to the various newsrooms around Canada. Oh, the person picking up the phone at the other end may say something like "Globe and Mail, Shoalts speaking" or "Milton here" or "Kelly McPartland, may I help you?" but trust me, all my people hear is "baaaaa".
For those of you reading in Hamilton, where I know people aren't very bright, let me explain: "Baaa" is the sound a sheep makes. Meaning that most of the media in Canada are just like sheep. And sheep do whatever they are told, as long as you use small words.
Exhibit A: Earlier in the week we could have gotten burned by the fact that Fat Dickie Rodier - against my expressed orders - uses a Blackberry for confidential email. Everyone knows that Blackberry email is not secure. But no, Dickie has to go and use it, mostly because he can't stay inside at his workstation for five whole minutes without having to run out for yet another smoke. So he is out there the whole fucking day puffing away while he pecks away with those fat fingers of his and what happens? Not one, not two, but three email conversations get leaked out and it pretty much reveals me to be the arrogant, back-stabbing bully that I really am. But the chances of any of you actually reading about it (Hamilton people excepted, since I know none of you can read) in the Canadian media was pretty much zero. Except for one or two rogues at a couple of dirtbag papers (I'm looking at you, Toronto Star) everyone did what they were told and gave the story exactly zero coverage. No ink, no airtime, no nothing. Complete silence. Sweet.
Exhibit B: My PR flunkies sent out a release today wherein I get all huffy and bombastic about the fact that the NHL allows "criminals" into their ownership circle. And really, this is the height of arrogance on my part, since it is no secret that I am a criminal myself - last year the Ontario Securities Commission (a bunch of fucking buttinskys, let me tell you!) found me guilty on charges of stock and accounting fraud. They made me step down as co-CEO of the company and fined me a shitload of money. So you would think that any journalist worth his or her salt would call me out on that, including that fact in the story if they printed it at all. Well, guess what? Newsrooms across the country ran it literally word-for-word as we handed it to them, and never once - not once - added any mention about the fact that I am the ultimate pot calling the kettle black. A criminal calls a bunch of other guys criminals, and they all report it like Mother Teresa outing Adolf Hitler. I love it!
Now, the "criminal" thing, on it's own, is pretty much the worst of chickenshit wanna-be journalism. I mean, three minutes of research (twenty minutes for Hamilton people, since they are kind of slow) would have revealed me to be a compete and utter hypocrite. But the email thing - well, that is like fucking Christmas all over again. I mean, for any real journalist the contents of those emails would have been like a pork chop to a starving dog - but fortunately we are not talking about real journalists here. We are talking about idiots who buy into my whole "Captain Canada" act are willing to break pretty much every rule of fair and accurate reporting for a free Blackberry and a couple of t-shirts.
Damn I love this country!
Friday, August 14, 2009
What's In A Name?
So people are wondering why they hear my name pronounced two different ways in the media. Sometimes they hear "ball-silly" and sometimes they hear "balls-ly" and they want to know which is right. Well, here is the scoop. My stupid parents and all my relatives and everyone I grew up with and went to school with pronounces it "ball-silly", which is obviously wrong. Myself and my PR team pronounce it "balls-ly" which is, of course, correct.
Now, I don't want to seem high and mighty here. The fact is that I also used to pronounce it wrong. I said "ball-silly" until last year when I hired an image consultant to find out why some people don't seem to realize how awesome I am.
"Why," I asked, "do some people refuse to realize how awesome I am?"
"Everyone hates you," the consultant replied, "because your head is shaped like a giant penis, and you are an arrogant know-nothing fuck. Also, "ball-silly" is a really stupid name."
Okay. You don't get to be a super-powerful business dude like me without being able to cut the wheat from the chaff. I immediately disregarded the first two items as unimportant and/or wrong, and concentrated on the obvious meat of the matter, the pronunciation of my name. I hired in a squad of interns from the marketing department at the university and we brainstormed for a few weeks and came up with "balls-ly" instead.
The problem, of course, is that being a public figure meant that the old and incorrect pronunciation of my name was already entrenched in the media. Getting it changed has been a real chore, but also turned out to be a great auditing tool for me. Now I just have to listen to the TV or radio for a couple of minutes to find out of a particular reporter is on my payroll or not. If you hear some talking head on the tube or some loudmouth on the radio refer to me as "balls-ly" then you know that they are on the take and will say anything that my PR staff tell them to say, all in return for a couple of free Blackberries and a "Make It Seven" t-shirt. But if you hear some reporter say "ball-silly" then you know they won't take my "incentives" and are therefore nothing more than a lying sack of shit and you shouldn't believe anything they say.
Now, I don't want to seem high and mighty here. The fact is that I also used to pronounce it wrong. I said "ball-silly" until last year when I hired an image consultant to find out why some people don't seem to realize how awesome I am.
"Why," I asked, "do some people refuse to realize how awesome I am?"
"Everyone hates you," the consultant replied, "because your head is shaped like a giant penis, and you are an arrogant know-nothing fuck. Also, "ball-silly" is a really stupid name."
Okay. You don't get to be a super-powerful business dude like me without being able to cut the wheat from the chaff. I immediately disregarded the first two items as unimportant and/or wrong, and concentrated on the obvious meat of the matter, the pronunciation of my name. I hired in a squad of interns from the marketing department at the university and we brainstormed for a few weeks and came up with "balls-ly" instead.
The problem, of course, is that being a public figure meant that the old and incorrect pronunciation of my name was already entrenched in the media. Getting it changed has been a real chore, but also turned out to be a great auditing tool for me. Now I just have to listen to the TV or radio for a couple of minutes to find out of a particular reporter is on my payroll or not. If you hear some talking head on the tube or some loudmouth on the radio refer to me as "balls-ly" then you know that they are on the take and will say anything that my PR staff tell them to say, all in return for a couple of free Blackberries and a "Make It Seven" t-shirt. But if you hear some reporter say "ball-silly" then you know they won't take my "incentives" and are therefore nothing more than a lying sack of shit and you shouldn't believe anything they say.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Blackberry Mail
I can't believe the number of shocked responses about my last post. Are you people all stupid? Of course we can read your Blackberry mail - what are you, completely naive?
Let me explain to you how the system works. And I will use simple terms so that any people from Hamilton who might be reading can understand. When you use a Blackberry, no matter where you are in the world, no matter who you are, the mail goes through a server farm at the Research In Motion headquarters in Waterloo up here in Canada. This is public knowledge, and while we don't actually broadcast that little detail we also don't deny it if someone asks.
Now, we will give you some mumbo jumbo bullshit about encryption and security and all, but the fact of the matter is this: You would have to be a complete bunch of morons to have this data at your fingertips and not just happen to make an unencrypted copy of everything and archive it away. For, er, security reasons. So yeah, we can read your mail if you use a Blackberry, don't go acting all surprised about it. I provide some hot big-boobed "assistants" for the boys over in operations, and they give me quiet access to the data. It's win-win. Well, for us. For you it pretty much sucks.
And I guess I shouldn't worry about anyone from Hamilton actually trying to read this. The words "Hamilton" and "reading" don't really go together.
Let me explain to you how the system works. And I will use simple terms so that any people from Hamilton who might be reading can understand. When you use a Blackberry, no matter where you are in the world, no matter who you are, the mail goes through a server farm at the Research In Motion headquarters in Waterloo up here in Canada. This is public knowledge, and while we don't actually broadcast that little detail we also don't deny it if someone asks.
Now, we will give you some mumbo jumbo bullshit about encryption and security and all, but the fact of the matter is this: You would have to be a complete bunch of morons to have this data at your fingertips and not just happen to make an unencrypted copy of everything and archive it away. For, er, security reasons. So yeah, we can read your mail if you use a Blackberry, don't go acting all surprised about it. I provide some hot big-boobed "assistants" for the boys over in operations, and they give me quiet access to the data. It's win-win. Well, for us. For you it pretty much sucks.
And I guess I shouldn't worry about anyone from Hamilton actually trying to read this. The words "Hamilton" and "reading" don't really go together.
Why George Gillette Hates Me
Okay, so here is the thing. A few months ago I was in Montreal and I was trying to get in to see Gillette and I called and called and I emailed and I even sent a couple of big-titted "interns" over there to try and get a hold of him, and nothing. The bastard wouldn't even return my calls - he thinks he is such a big wheel because he is an American and he owns all sorts of shit and he has way more money than I do. Arrogant fuck. I mean, all I wanted to do was stand beside a real NHL owner and maybe get some pointers, or a loan.
So I said fine, that's the way you want to do it, then you crossed the wrong guy, buddy. So I went back to Waterloo and I had the tech guys pull a dump of his Blackberry email and I saw that he was thinking about putting the team up for sale. Well, I did what anyone would do, I called one of my trained seals in the Canadian sports media and passed them the story. Big fucking deal! But then this asshole turns around and blackballs me at the NHL meeting in Chicago. I mean, what the fuck? Can't you take a little joke, George?
So yeah, this fuck throws me under the bus over a little email leak. Can you imagine? The prick - I am sure if it wasn't for him the other 28 owners would loved me. He spoiled the whole thing!
Jealous, that's what he is. Jealous.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Canadians Suck
This is why I love Canadians: They are so mentally weak and so irrelevant as a country that all you have to do is pretend just a tiny bit to be wanting to do something for them and they will jump up and down for you and roll over and do all manner other humiliating tricks for you, in some sort of pathetic gratitude for you taking the time to notice them. Honestly, they are like an ugly little dog that smells bad and that no one has the time or patience for, so all you have to do is toss them the crumbs of one half-rotted sandwich and they will canonize you as some sort of national hero.
Its sad and embarrassing. And also VERY useful for someone like me.
If any of them had even two brain cells to rub together they would be able to see right through me and realize that I don't give a rat's ass about them or this miserable country and I want a hockey team as MY toy, period. I don't care if it is in Phoenix or Brazil or fucking Nigeria, I just want my toy! But having an unpaid army of 30 million zealots, well, that makes it worth pretending that I want to bring the team "home". That, and the morons in Hamilton who are falling all over themselves to give me a free arena until I can build a proper one somewhere else.
Yeah, you gotta love a country full of idiots. Especially useful idiots.
Its sad and embarrassing. And also VERY useful for someone like me.
If any of them had even two brain cells to rub together they would be able to see right through me and realize that I don't give a rat's ass about them or this miserable country and I want a hockey team as MY toy, period. I don't care if it is in Phoenix or Brazil or fucking Nigeria, I just want my toy! But having an unpaid army of 30 million zealots, well, that makes it worth pretending that I want to bring the team "home". That, and the morons in Hamilton who are falling all over themselves to give me a free arena until I can build a proper one somewhere else.
Yeah, you gotta love a country full of idiots. Especially useful idiots.
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