Can’t they just wire his jaw shut?

I’m speaking, of course, about the asshat-in-chief — you-know-who I mean — who recently stuck his foot in his mouth, yet again, when, with a look of utter surprise on his face (like he couldn’t believe his eyes), he turned to France’s new First Lady and said: “You’re in such good shape.”

As if that wasn’t bad enough, he then turned to her husband, President Emmanuel Macron, and  repeated it to him, equally incredulously  — Continue reading

(sigh) … those were the days …

Last week, last Wednesday to be precise, Julie over at Sow, Sew, So wrote a blog that really resonated with me; and the next thing I knew I was taking a little night owltrip down memory lane.  She was talking about how she used to be able to stay up late and never seemed to get tired.  Boy oh boy, do I ever get that.

When I was in my twenties, back in Montreal, I don’t think I got four hours sleep a night.  I’d work all day. Then I’d meet a friend at her favourite bar — Tiffany’s on Crescent Street.  It’s gone now, sadly.  It was in a Victorian style house — the bar was on the main floor and there was a terrific restaurant, owned by the same guy — George Durst — upstairs.  At that time he was Montreal’s club king; and he was definitely a very strange guy, okay creepy.  He had two pet cheetahs he would walk on leashes, like a couple of dogs.  They Continue reading