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:

1. An arena that they will let me use for free.
   
2. 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.

As far as number 2 goes, you wouldn't think that there could be people that stupid. I mean, the lease agreement that I demanded they give to me specifically says that I can leave at any time, with no notice, and no penalty. You would think that would be a big ol' warning sign for anyone with a brain, but these idiots can't put two and two together and come up with a number even remotely close to four. The morons on city council and especially their sad little brain-dead mayor are so blinded by the idea that they will get some free tickets to see the Maple Leafs on the three or four occasions that they come to town that they are willing to do anything to please me. Even better, they are willing to pump millions of tax dollars into fixing up the arena so I can have a properly luxurious suite where I can hide from them during the two years I have put up with their infestation.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.