• Personal Chef
• Complimentary sweat suit
• In room vending machine restocked daily
• 5 pools, each with a swim up diner
• Daily hot dog and pie eating contest
• Courtesy golf cart for all on-premise transportation
• Free Wi-Fi

Husband/Wife Exchange Package

• Luxury accommodations in same or separate rooms
• Spousal exchange program
• Complimentary sex toy gift basket
• Full-service brothel
• On-premise divorce lawyer
• Free Wi-Fi

Marine Package

• Underwater bedrooms
• Complimentary scuba lesson (sex with instructor included)
• Breakfast/lunch/dinner fish & seafood buffet
• Choice of one (1):
-full day charter fishing trip
-to be read Old Man and the Sea by a Hemingway-esqe character
• Free Wi-Fi

Sun Worshiper Escape

• Personal towel/lotion boy/girl
• In room tanning bed
• Complimentary Speedo and/or thong
• 3 open-air restaurants, 2 restaurants with retractable roof
• No dress code (designated nude areas)
• Free Wi-Fi

The t-shirt first appeared on America’s radar when the Navy introduced it as an undershirt. Purpose: To cover up sailors’ chest hair.

Did these hirsute naval officers pioneer the seaman’s love of the t-shirt? No sir. Long before these knights of the open water donned this garment, fishermen along the Mediterranean shucked oysters in it.

Men on every street corner in Europe used its rolled up sleeves to store their cigs.

It’s a formidable look – like that of a clothed panther. Full of machismo. Until the day a smarmy CA tells you your legacy is insolvent and its finely ribbed neck tightens around your throat.

At that very moment it ceases to exist as an icon of style and becomes a sponge for your free flowing tears. The American Dream it once symbolized now ripe with failure.

Men’s sizes: S, M, L, XL, XXL.

Colors: Black, White, French Blue, Heather Grey, Original Navy Blue, Heather Burgundy.

4-Wale Cord Pant

You’re out in the country when you spot a farmer, plowing his field. You don’t remember the crop, but you do remember he was wearing corduroy pants. Extra-wide-wale corduroy pants.

Your favorite professor. It wasn’t his lectures on semiotics or the global village you remember, but the enormously-wide-wale pants he always wore.

Here’s another thing you’ll want to remember: No matter how velvety the thick ribs of corduroy feel, they won’t take away the sting that accompanies a court’s rejection of your automatic stay.

But the sturdy knees will come in handy as you continue to take it from the creditors who are now able to liquidate your remaining assets.

Men’s even sizes: 32 through 46. Hemmed (max: 37”) or cuffed (max: 33”).

Colors: Golden Tan, Navy, Charcoal, Taupe, Chocolate.

The moccasin of Presidents and Kings

Noblemen first favored this footwear as they allowed for the silent pursuit of game.

But when the tables have turned; when you’re the game, how good are they? Well, I’ve been wearing them for two months straight and everywhere I turn there’s another goddamn creditor with their hand out.

Do these heartless bastards even comment on your 1890s style moccasin? No sir.

They simply remind you that the court did, in fact, reject your re-organization plan and that, even though the company still bears your name, you’re no longer in control. Then they ask if the cheque you wrote them will bounce.

Feel free to bounce your oil-tanned, full-grain leather bound foot off their ass.

Men’s whole and half sizes: 8 through 13.

Women’s whole and half sizes: 6 through 10.

Color: Brown, with contrast Natural stitching.

Handsome Thug Cap

Read the name. What else needs to be said?

Thug Life. 2Pac 4ever.

Colors: Rust, Black and White.

Men’s sizes: S, M, L, XL

I may tug upon your pant leg and say “egg” over and over and over while leading you by hand to the fridge; I may ask you to open the fridge so that I may grab the eggs from within; I may wrangle a frying pan from the cupboard, drag it to the stove whereupon I may point at the element until you light it; I may jump up and down while you scramble the eggs while now screaming eggs over and over and over; I may, upon completion, guide you to my chair and have you strap me in; I may do this while now singing the word egg over and over and over, and then, when you place the first bite upon my lips, I may spit it back out, smile, and refuse to touch another bite, and you, dear parent, may do nothing at all about it. Unless, of course, you’re hungry and in the mood for eggs.

On Performing (and Other Activities) in Front of Friends & Family

I may run around the house pointing at random objects then say, in perfectly clear English, exactly what they are; I may flip through my favourite picture book and page by page point at objects and say, in perfectly clear English, exactly what they are; I may call out you by name repeatedly until you acknowledge me whereupon I will drag you by the finger and have you watch me play a game of trucks or “Men”; I may drag you to the stereo and point at it repeatedly until you turn it on that and then I may proceed to dance until I can’t dance any more; I may initiate a game of hide and seek then, during said game, I may proceed to always hide in the same and giggle the entire time I’m hiding; I may do all of this anytime I want, for as long as I want, in any state of dress I want but, when you ask me to do it in front of anybody, I may stare at you blankly like you’re speaking a foreign language and do nothing at all or, I’ll show you my belly button.

On Getting Dressed

I may throw every piece of clothing from my dresser on the floor until I find something I feel like wearing; I may then place said item(s) of clothing in your hand so that you may dress me; I may, tear then it off my body while you are in the process of putting it on me; I may run around the house in my diaper laughing and screaming while you chase me holding the piece of clothing I just discarded; I may eventually let you catch me and, when I do, I may request new items of clothing that in no way match or even go together, then, I may finally let you dress me; I may walk into the kitchen as you make my breakfast and utter a very loud and somewhat ironic “uh-oh” while holding a bundle of all my clothes in my hands; I may do any and all of this each and every time you attempt to dress me.

On Going Potty

I may go potty whenever and wherever I damn well please, with or without the presence of a diaper.

I feel so good right now. Do you feel good? I hope you do, because I feel really good. Do you know what else feels good? The air. The way it… it touches you. It’s like… an… an invisible massage. Are you getting a massage right now? Too bad. I am.

Do you know what feels even better? My feet. I know we’re walking on cement. But I feel like I’m walking on… on a dream. And in my dream I’m wearing cashmere socks in cloud city. But not the Cloud City from Star Wars, a city that’s literally made of…

Oh my God, we should go roll down that hill. Wouldn’t that be so much fun? I bet it would feel so cool. I’m so excited to feel the grass on my skin. Are you coming? Oh. I never really thought about that. I guess we’ll just stick to walking on clouds then.

Here we are. I hope you like tapas. I loooove tapas. It’s such a fun word to say. Tapas. Tapas. Tapas. Tapas. What’s your favourite word to say? I like anything with the letter ‘O’. The way your lips get all buzzy and hummy and what not. It feels so good.

Anyway, you never told me how you feel. If you feel half as good as I do right now, that would make me feel even better. Which would be nuts because I feel really good. And kinda… squishy. Like Jell-O. No… a hard-boiled egg. Here, check it out, touch my knee. That’s cool. Can I touch yours? How about your elbow?

Guess what I did before I picked you up? No. But if I did, it would have felt totally awesome. I cut off the circulation in my hands. When they fell asleep I tried picking things up. It was like I was holding stuff but I wasn’t. But I was, just… just with someone else’s hand. So it didn’t feel like anything but if it did, I know it would have felt great. I did get pins and needles afterwards and that felt super cool.

How rude. I just realized I’ve been talking the entire time. Tell me something about yourself? Tell me about your elbows? They look so soft? But what makes them so soft? I mean, I wouldn’t know from experience, I’d like to, but, anyway, they look soft. Do you rub them a lot? I would. Can I? Still? Alright.

***

–In no way does my masculinity feel threatened when I say the guy who just ordered a Guinness is the manliest man I have ever seen.
–I can’t put my finger on what it is, but I agree: he’s a man’s man.
–Yeah. That Hemingwayesque beard is money.
–And his knuckle hair says, “I will totally take you down in an arm wrestling contest.”
–But now that I think about it, that crop of chest and back hair flowing out of his shirt is what really sets him apart from other men.
–True. Not everyone can grow hair like that. And even those who can rarely make it look so macho.
–If there were a pill that would help me grow hair there, I’d take it.
–Same here.
–You know, we could go sit with him; buy him a beer.
–You don’t just sit down with a man like that. You wait until you’re invited. Plus, I think he’d think we’re trying too hard.
–You’re right. Let’s just leave him alone with his beer and his thoughts.

***

–Hunk alert at 10 o’clock.
–I thought it was 7:30.
–I meant 10 o’clock like over there at the bar. Drinking the Corona.
–Spotted.
–I can practically smell his mojo.
–Even though I know he’s a ladies man, it doesn’t bother me.
–It makes me want him even more.
–Let’s flip our hair to get his attention.
–Now let’s giggle real loud.
–Oh my God, why isn’t he paying attention?
–I’ll tell you why: because he’s out of our league. Even though he’s a total ladies man who knows he could have us both in the bathroom right now if he wanted, he’s also a gentleman who knows it’s better to totally ignore us than to hurt our feelings and reject us.
–What if we send him a beer?
–That’s just desperate.
–You’re right. Let’s just leave him alone with his beer and his thoughts.

***

–I don’t know what it is, but there’s something special about the guy sitting alone at the bar drinking a Stella.
–The fact he’s drinking from a chalice tells me he’s sophisticated.
–It’s like he’s of royal linage or something like that.
–Maybe his ancestors were knights of the round table.
–That wouldn’t surprise me.
–It’s probably why he’s wearing sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt.
–He doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself.
–Exactly. He needs to blend in with the rest of us regular folks.
–We should join him, you know, to help him blend in.
–I’d like to, but that’s probably the last thing he wants. Being royalty, I’m sure the paparazzi chase him around all day. He probably just wants to be left alone for once in his life.
– You’re right. Let’s just leave him alone with his beer and his thoughts.

***

–I’m just going to come right out and say it: that guy sitting alone at the bar drinking a Heineken is the definition of cool.
–True.
–If you look up cool in the dictionary, you won’t find a picture of him but you could put a picture of him beside the definition.
–Too bad it won’t say anything about his barbwire tattoo
–I agree. To me, barbwire tattoos were not at all a lame fad.
–I feel no shame when I say I’m jealous of his tattoo.
–And I feel no shame when I say I lack the confidence to wear sweatpants in public like him.
–Few can really pull them off like he does.
–He’s such a trendsetter.
–I know. Too bad we’re not sitting with him. We’d seem a lot cooler if we were.
–What if we buy him a beer? That way, he’ll know we’re cool too.
–I don’t know. I think he’d think we’re trying too hard.
–You’re right. Let’s just leave him alone with his beer and his thoughts.

I hope you’re all excited – I know I am – because I’m going to show you some parts of the city that aren’t even on the map. Well, technically, they are on the map, but they’re up-and-comers so I guess you could say they’re not on the radar. Yet. Let’s just say they’re on a map of my heart. You know what I mean? Right? Anyways, like my therapists always says, “let’s get this show on the road.”

Okay! Here’s our first stop: the Coffee House. And here’s a juicy tidbit about it. The owner, Gustavo, will tell you he opened the place so out-of-work writers would have somewhere to hang and work on screenplays or manuscripts without being judged by the corporate lackey types who populate Starbucks. In reality, that’s a cover story. He’s actually a former drug runner who is hiding out from the cartel he embezzled money from. So if you’re in the market for some cocaine, he’s your man. Ha ha! I’m just messing with you. He’s totally legit now. And, according to my mother, he makes the best pain au chocolat in the city. But don’t take my word for it. Try one for yourself. Seriously. Go! Yes, I know it looks like a real hole-in-the-wall. But it’s a hole-in-the-wall with seedy charm. I promise you won’t regret it. And don’t forget about your hungry tour guide. Kidding! Sort of.

Judging by the crumbs on your shirts, I see you enjoyed Gustav’s pâtisseries. Quick question: Did you happen to notice a pretty redhead? She would have been hunkered down in the back corner twirling her hair around her finger while reading poetry. She has glacial blue eyes that stop you in your tracks like Medusa – but in a good way – and a mole on her left cheek that would make Cindy Crawford think about moving hers to the same place. No? Okay. No biggie. Let’s move on, shall we?

Next, we’re going to check out what my sister calls “the soon-to-be hippest clothing boutique in the city”: Preloved. She says they’re becoming somewhat cultish because they take vintage clothes, like my Mom used to wear – or still wears now, ha ha! but don’t tell her I said that – then chop them up and use the pieces to make new stuff. If that’s not avant-garde, I don’t know what is. Ladies, this is a one-of-a-kind opportunity to get something “hot” that you can tell your friends back home you picked up, “before the masses started biting my très chicness.” Guys, you can hang back with me and catch some rays, unless you want to go pay for all the clothes you’re ladies are going to get. Ha ha!

Alright, I see a few bags! Great success! You must have been helped out by my favourite fiery maned salesperson. It was a surly little blonde. Oh well. We might as well hit the road then.

Will you look at that? It appears we’re approaching the lunching hour, so what say ye we make a pit stop for some grub? I know the perfect place. It’s a bistro a friend of mine frequents called Café Le Gaffe. But on the way we’re going to take a quick detour so I can show you one of the cities most historic neighbourhoods: Cabbagetown.

According to Wikipedia, the neighbourhood was established in the 1840s and gets its name from all the poor people who originally lived there and survived on nothing but cabbage, or maybe they grew cabbage. Basically, cabbage was a big part of their lives. Today, Cabbagetown is known for its old, rustic style homes that are the last of a now forgotten style of architecture known as Cottagy. Here’s the house I one day hope to occupy. Hey, maybe the owner’s home and would be willing to give us a tour. Let’s go see.

Too bad. She’s not in. Looks like we’re back on the hunt for food. Let’s hit it double time, I’m famished. What do you mean? How do I know a woman lives there? How would I know that? It’s not like I walk by here on my way or go through her garbage. I said “she”? And “her”? Really? Huh. Freudian slip I guess. Anyhoo. Moving on, Le Gaffe isn’t far now and I promise you their truffle risotto is to die for.

As we make our way through the park, you’ll notice the beautiful Allen Gardens conservatory to your left. It’s been the horticultural… oh my God, there she is. Everyone hide. No. Wait. Act normal. Get your cameras out. Be tourists. Oh God, I think she’s coming this way. Is she coming this way? She is. Okay everyone, the tour’s over. Thanks for joining me today. Enjoy the rest of your stay in Toronto.

Becoming a part of the Empire is easy. A formal education is not required. You won’t have to pass any fitness or aptitude tests. And the Empire is an equal opportunity corporation so humans, aliens and all other life forms are encouraged to apply. As long as you demonstrate some capacity for anger and hatred and have the motor skills required to hold and fire a BlasTech E-11 blaster rifle, you’re in. Simply find a recruiting center on your planet and sign up. Then it’s off to the forest moon of Endor to begin your training.

Training

Upon arrival you will receive your Dark Side Handbook and Training Manual, get fitted for your Stormtrooper uniform and take part in a brief orientation on the Empire. Then it’s time to start training. During your two weeks of training, you will be schooled in the ways of the Dark Side through a program personally designed by the Emperor and overseen by Lord Vader himself where you will learn to:

• Use a BlasTech E-11 blaster rifle
• Pilot a TIE fighter and/or AT-AT (All Terrain Armored Transport)
• Hate Rebel scum
• Set up road blocks and check points; tell people to “move along”
• March in unison with your regiment
• Distrust anyone in a cape (black excluded) who sports a braided side ponytail
• Embrace and utilize the powers of the Dark Side by drawing strength from your emotions

Upon completion, you will be given the choice to join either the Imperial Army or Navy. Then it’s off to battle where you will apply your new skill set towards helping the Empire achieve its ultimate goal: To destroy the aforementioned Rebel Alliance scum and take control of the galaxy.

Career Advancement

Though both Sith Lord positions are currently filled (the “rule of two” dictates there is always one master and one apprentice) we’re always looking for the next in line. Special consideration for Sith Lord training will be given to those whom The Emperor and Lord Vader deem to be the most power hungry, exhibit extreme levels of anger and unmatched hatred and have “a connection” with the Dark Side of the force.

Special note: If you have children under the age of 5, or plan on having children, the Empire has recently established an Advanced Sith Lord Training Program to enable children to get a head start on strategies and techniques for developing hatred and embracing the Dark Side. If you would like to enroll your child in this program, please inform your recruitment officer as space is reserved on a first come first served basis.

Compensation

As a member of the Empire, you’ll get to travel the galaxy. You’ll get to instill fear in others. You’ll get to experience the unlimited power that comes with embracing the Dark Side. And you’ll get to do all of this while enjoying the richest pay structure in the Galaxy. One that provides full benefits and an aggressive bonus plan that includes:

• 500 Galactic Credit Standards for every Rebel Alliance member killed
• 2500 for every Starfighter destroyed
• 10000 for every lightsaber recovered

Plus, members of the Imperial Force are now permitted to keep any loot recovered from slain Rebels.

The galaxy as you know it is about to change and by joining the Empire, your life will too. So if you’re the type of life form that is looking to do something positive with your life; if want a job that offers power for power’s sake and will nurture your deeply seeded hatred, then don’t miss out on your chance to be a part of history–join the Empire today.

We’re rock stars. What more can I say? (Well, I could tell you that a groupie wrote this song as a joke after Chad couldn’t get it up, but he’ll totally deny it. I could also tell you that I scored with her afterwards.)

Burn It To the Ground

On the surface this song is all about getting wasted. But when you examine the subtext, though it may not be overt, it’s about how Chad got drunk one night before a show, left his flat iron on and almost burned down the Air Canada Centre. I always told him that haircut was going to result in more than ridicule.

Gotta Be Somebody

I wrote this song during the All The Right Reasons tour after watching Chad spend an hour looking in the mirror while flipping his hair.

I’d Come For You

This one is about Chad’s god awful haircut. Not the old curly, greasy permed mess; the new straight one that he spends hours each day flat ironing, spraying, combing and whatever else chicks do to get their hair ready. Now you know how he feels about it.

Next Go Round

I really have no idea what this song is about. But from the title I’d guess it’s probably an ode to Chad’s next embarrassingly feminine hairstyle. That, or it’s about groupies.

Just To Get High

You know what I get high on? Making fun of Chad’s hair. My favourite joke about his old hairstyle was, “The 80s called, they want their perm back.” Now I like to remind him how, if he had this floppy girlish do before we got famous, he would be what the boys back home refer to as a “friend of Dorothy”. He still doesn’t get it. But whenever I say it, he ends up talking to Mom for an hour or so. I think I saw him cry once.

Never Gonna Be Alone

Chad wrote this song while starring in the mirror and flipping his hair. Unless he goes bald, he’s never gonna be alone. Then again, he’ll always have his ego.

Shakin’ Hands

Did you know Chad hires prostitutes not to do the stuff he sings about in this song (he got all that info from Ryan) but to get beauty tips? That’s how he learned how to give those of his goldilocks that shiny gleam.

S.E.X.

This is about a young couple in love and the first time they get intimate with each other. NOT. What are we? Some sugary sweet Canadian Idol winner? It’s all about Chad’s ego and how he knows that, even though his hair is ridiculous, chicks will still totally do him.

If Today Was Your Last Day

Chad sings this to himself every night before he goes to bed because every night before he goes to bed I tell him I’m going to shave his stupid goddamn hair. After hearing this crap for four years, we finally decided to record it because Mr. Ego thought, “the world needed to hear something positive”. Well guess what? It’s not some positive, carpe diem message. It’s about his hair. I wonder if his hair will be able to play the bass after I quit?

This Afternoon

This was originally about a hair salon that Chad frequents. The label thought that was a bit too ‘faggy’ so we had to change it. To be honest, I’m not really sure what it’s about now. But I do know one thing: everything doesn’t revolve around you and your hair douche.

As the proud new owner of Michael McDonald my first act of business was to use his booming baritone to remind Packwood of his recent lose. Even though I’m aware that there was no lyrical relevance to the situation, hearing McDonald sing “What A Fool Believes” all up in his face was, in the words of Mastercard, priceless.

The joy of owning McDonald quickly faded when his “celebrity” couldn’t me out of a DUI charge. (What good is a celebrity who isn’t above the law?) As if that failure wasn’t enough, upon returning home I stepped out of the bathroom to find him watching TV, in the nude – though it should be noted at first sight, I thought he was wearing a sweater. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning while belting out “My Way” in the shower, all my concerns faded away when I heard him accompanying me from the toilet. That’s when I hatched my next plan. Wherever I went, he would follow while singing backup. He had been a backup singer before, so he was cool with it. Plus, he hadn’t performed in front of an audience for a while so it was a chance to get back in the limelight. If you consider the harsh fluorescent lights of my office and the dingy glow of my local watering hole to be limelight. Regardless, I could now get away with saying all kinds of random, senseless shit because ole McD was going to follow it up with those smooth chops of his. So when I called our receptionist a ‘MILF’, she blushed instead of scowling at me like all the other times I’ve called her that. When my boss asked what I thought of a presentation he was about to give and I told him it was, ‘a giant festering turd’, he promoted me. You see where this is going.

As good as life was at work, my personal life was even better. Those classic pickup lines that used to result in a drink being thrown in my face now ended up as a threesome. I was even getting freebies at Burger King. Plus, we had worked out a deal where M-Dog (his new nickname) would play “Piano Man” a few times a night at select bars in exchange for free drinks. All in all, he was turning out to be quite the wingman/bro.

Until the karaoke incident. This S.O.B., who will happily provide backing vocals during a bowel movement, flat out refused to perform “Afternoon Delight”. Said it was beneath him. When I reminded him he would be performing in front of an audience, he mumbled something about a sound check then stormed off.

I got a call from Packwood the next day saying he found McDonald passed out naked on his couch. When I got there, he was bucket of tears and totally apologetic. Apparently that song triggers acid flashbacks from his Doobie Brothers days. After that we quickly made up and before Packwood could hand him his pants, the M-Dog was all up in his face singing “What A Fool Believes”.