Ah, spring is in the air and once again people from all over the land are stumbling from their homes to stare wonderingly at the sun. Love, pollen and the smell of newly thawed dog doo fill the air while one last ski-dooer breaks through the ice, thrashing ineffectually in the chilly waters before finally yielding to its numbing embrace. Birds of all kinds return, performing strange and beautiful choreography above our heads while dropping load after load of excrement on our statues and vehicles. An elderly gentlemen stays inside and speaks to no one on this particular day: he has nothing to say for it is neither too cold, nor too hot. “Just right”, as Goldilocks might say, had she not been eaten by a bear in the little publicized sequel. Teenagers wander the streets in shorts, although the same temperature a month from now will send them packing to their sweater drawers just to keep warm. Stupid teenagers. Moose are driven out of the woods and onto the highways by wave after wave of insects: black flies, horseflies, bud worm and mosquitoes. Uncle Cedric will buy Moose and Deer repellent from a charlatan on the side of the road and sing its praises to anyone who will listen: “It’s already May, and I haven’t hit one deer yet!” Faulty logic, some will say, but who cares? Logic is highly overrated, especially in the spring. The blood thins from its molasses-like state and actually starts to run, bringing on a kind of spring fever that southern people only think they understand. Spring is a time to be unapologetically selfish: Easter is over and Remembrance Day is months away --you don’t have to feel guilty about people dying for you until then. So eat your steaks, drink your beer, have your one-night stands, and most of all, enjoy yourself. It’s going to be oppressively hot soon enough.
Paul Stanley To Star as Phantom
From our “Real News So Ridiculous We Don’t Even Have To Embellish” department we bring you the following bulletin: Paul Stanley, guitarist and part time demon with the rock group KISS, is going to star as the phantom in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera at some point over the next six months. Mr. Stanley admits that he is somewhat nervous about it, stating that he hopes he doesn’t “make a fool” of himself.
Hate to be the one to break it to you Paul, but it’s a little late to start worrying about that. Have you seen yourself in full KISS makeup? Not exactly the image of class and refinement.
In a related story, the real phantom has been spotted recently wandering the streets of Toronto. Rumour has it he plans on attending Mr. Stanley’s opening night at the Pantages Theater, murdering everyone present, and burning the place to the ground.
Wedding Announcement
Ron Savoy has fallen in love with a 22 year old student from Trent University and plans to marry her in the fall. Her name is Tricia Kaleho and she possesses all the qualities Mr. Savoy looks for in a woman, including an exotic turtle collection. Invitations will be mailed out in the late summer and RSVPs can be mailed to: April Fools Department, Upper Canada Chronicle.
Oscar the Grouch
Well I’m out five bucks.
With the regular combination of screaming and pomposity, a surprise filled Oscars aired on March 21. The first big surprise was when Roberto Benigni won for Best Actor, only the second time in history that an actor in a foreign film has taken this category. Mr. Benigni was suitably impressed, giving his impression of a Chihuahua on methamphetamines and stating for the record that he “would like to turn into Jupiter, take everyone into a field, and make love” to them. The stars seemed to think this was a good idea and cheered enthusiastically.
Gwyneth Paltrow won for Best Actress (which was not surprising) and gave free rein to her strange Oedipus/Electra complexes, crying and stammering about how much she loves her mother and father.
Despite the controversy, Elia Kazan received his lifetime achievement award with little to no negative backlash. In fact, many stars gave him a standing ovation while firin’ their guns into the air and screaming “Death to the Commie Pinkoes!”
One of the more entertaining moments came when Jim Carrey presented and gave a little performance bemoaning his bad luck for not being nominated. Later at the Governor’s Ball he was seen beating Roberto Benigni with a punch bowl while Benigni screamed out “I love you! I love you! La vita é bella!”
Steven Spielberg won Best Director for his work on Saving Private Ryan. Then Shakespeare in Love won for best picture, another surprise. I was rooting for Baseketball.
The highlight of the evening had to be the dance number set to the music of the nominated Dramatic Scores. It was god-awful and featured people tap-dancing to the music of Saving Private Ryan. Apparently the choreographer was retarded and should be lauded for her courage.
Basically, it was all so unpredictable that I didn’t win the Oscar pool, a sure sign, in my estimation, that the whole thing was rigged. Maybe next year we should bet on what kind of animal will appear on stage. “Whoopie Goldberg” would not be an acceptable choice.
New Feature
This is the first installment in a series of biographies of notable personalities. Each biography has been painstakingly researched by our crack team of investigative reporters, private investigators, and unemployed law students. While we have made every effort to ensure accuracy, there will undoubtedly be the occasional error. We apologize for this in advance.
This Month’s Biography: Jason Frezell, Laureate of the People
Jason Alexander Frezell was born to Russian immigrant parents on February 29th, 1975 in a small town in rural Saskatchewan. His parents, Valery and Anacha, were poor farmers who snuck into the country several years earlier by hiding inside fifty gallon oil drums. Unfortunately, they had neglected to empty the drums completely before using them and had been rendered deaf, dumb, and severely brain damaged by the lengthy exposure to the fumes.
Having disabled parents forced Jason to cope on his own at a very young age. Jason taught himself to speak English from listening to hockey games and watching pornographic movies (as a result, his speech is always energetic yet oddly arousing). Jason also needed to financially support his family quite early on: At age eight he took a job as the University of Saskatchewan’s mascot, Fuzzy. Fuzzy was supposed to be a groundhog but looked more like a tulip, a sad fact that resulted in many beatings for poor Jason, often by his own team’s players. Jason held this job all through his school years and eventually became known simply as “Fuzzy”. Unfortunately, being stuffed inside the child-sized costume for nine years severely stunted Jason’s growth, making it difficult in later years for him to make friends or reach the high shelf in his apartment.
Jason had little time for scholastics but managed to achieve respectable grades because of his high intelligence and cheating skills. After high school he put his parents in a home and went to university in New Brunswick where he hoped to put his mascot days behind him. During his residence initiation, however, he was given the nickname “Fuzzy”, an unfortunate coincidence which drove him to the brink of insanity.
For several years Jason tottered on that brink, using alcohol, cards, gambling, and fast women as temporary solutions to his lingering problems. His studies suffered and it took him many years to complete his degree.
The day after graduation, Jason won the Lotto 6/49 jackpot and retired to a mountaintop in Nepal where today he runs the country’s largest book-making operation. He is known by locals simply as “Fuzzy the Bookie Who Lives On the Mountain.”
Ask The Editor
Once again, a real letter from an actual reader.
Dear Editor,
I have become concerned with a friend of mine who for the time being I will call Beave. I think the Beave believes that he is Batman. I first noticed this a month or so back when one of his roommates (we'll call him Threeman) began to live with his girlfriend (let’s call her Darlene). A few days after this happened I heard the Beave muttering something like “the Catwoman moved in with the Joker.” At the time I didn't think too much of what he said as I felt it was his unique way of describing his roommate. However, my concern grew one night last week when I went to visit Beave. We were having a fine time until I asked where his other roommate (who we'll call Wayne Hogan) was. Beave told me that he was on the phone. Knowing Wayne I said to Beave "he must be calling his mom again." Beave then muttered what sounded to me like "He's the commissioner." I quickly turned to Beave and asked him to repeat what he had just said. Beave appeared to be caught off guard but managed to sputter "I said ‘It seems that he misses her.’" Again I let that incident pass but last night something happened that has kept me up all night wondering whether I should confront Beave about this problem: Beave and one of his closest friends (who we shall refer to as Bill) have been having problems maintaining their friendship. After I asked him what the problem was Beave replied "It's hard, not being able to reveal my true identity, to maintain long-lasting friendships."
Well Mr. Editor, I know that in past issues you have made predictions. I was wondering if you could once again look into the future to see if Beave will continue to believe that he is Batman. It would help to know if this is just a phase that I should ignore or whether I should confront him.
Appreciated greatly, Jerry McGuire
P.S. If you can see into the future can you answer my next letter in the next issue as well so that I don't have to e-mail it to you?
Dear Jerry,
You have come to the right place. I have first hand experience with this particular delusion, having believed myself to be Batman for many years.
First of all, why, in your opinion, does he believe he is Batman? From the research I have done, there are often parallels between people and events in the sufferer’s real life and those in the Batman mythology.
Is the Beave obsessed with fitness? Does he spend a lot of his time running, jumping, being agile? How about this friend Bill? If Bill is male, is he small and boyish? If, as I suspect, Bill is female, is she also preoccupied with fitness? Does she have red hair (the female Robin who makes occasional appearances in the Batman story is an athletic redhead)? Do Beave and Bill spend inordinate amounts of time whispering to each other? If so, The Beave fits the Batman profile quite well so far.
How about money? Does the Beave often make significant purchases (stereo equipment, computers, vehicles) while having no discernible source of income? Sounds like Batman to me.
Which brings me to my point: Maybe you have the problem. What makes you think Beave isn’t really Batman? I’m tired of all you people bothering crimefighters when you should just be thanking them and staying out of their way. We’ve got a job to do. Great Scott, let us do it!
And finally, I don’t think anyone who thinks he is Jerry McGuire should be throwing accusations of delusions at anyone. Crackpot...
As to the letter you will be sending next month: Finish your course of antibiotics and apply the cream four times daily. Everything should clear up nicely. Don’t worry, someday you will be able to have sex again.
Although the content has not been altered, letters have been edited for foolishness.
Why Men Will Soon Be Replaced
By Robots
A Scientific Tale of Horror
Homo sapiens have evolved over the last several hundred thousand years into the form we recognize today: Driving cars, selling stock, flying around in cool airplanes. But for the vast majority of our history as a species we were hunter gatherers hanging out in huts and such. And while the following premise can be disputed, there are many sociological anthropologists who support it: We are for the most part run by instincts formed over those centuries, and many of the differences between the sexes can be understood by knowing a bit about the lifestyle of our species during development.
Before we really got a grip on science and technology the survival of our species depended on a high birth rate. So the male developed a high sex drive which prompted him to seek out multiple partners in the hopes that at least some of them would become pregnant and perpetuate his genes. The female was not so concerned with quantity as with quality, since for her a single child was at least a nine month investment. She could afford to be more picky. Besides good genes, she looked for a male that would not leave her once she became pregnant: for several months she would need the male to provide food and shelter for her and her gestating baby. Between these two urges, the male sex drive and the female urge to procreate and nurture, the human species survived quite nicely.
Over the course of this lengthy evolution, the female learned to use the male’s heightened sexual drive to her advantage: by making a male’s commitment to her a prerequisite for sexual relations she could keep a given male devoted to her and ensure that he would be around to care for her during her vulnerable pregnancy and post-natal stages. And so things went for thousands of years.
Until now. During the last couple of centuries, Homo sapiens basic needs have changed drastically. Instead of changing to suit nature, we can now change nature to suit us. And as society changes, women are becoming less and less dependant on men for protection and support. The implications are obvious: if the previous sexual model was one of trading sex for protection and support, men are now holding Mexican pesos and women are holding US dollars. Sure, women as a whole still like sex, but their sex drive isn’t hard wired into them from thousands of years of evolution like men’s. And men have virtually nothing to offer successful women except the ability to open jars and reach that shelf above the fridge. So as soon as invitro fertilization is perfected, women will likely forego the whole messy sex thing and just make a date with Mr. Turkey Baster at the clinic. And men will be left holding their own. So to speak.