Tag: Regina

Day 995: Little Rivalry On The Prairie


Newcomers to the city of Edmonton inevitably have questions regarding our perpetual rivals to the south, or what has come to be known as the Battle of Alberta. They don’t ask me – I purposely sport a fanny-pack and 20 pounds of camera gear when I wander about the city so that tourists don’t talk to me – but they’ll ask somebody. The answer they’ll probably get is “hockey”, which is blatantly misleading and 100% wrong.

Edmonton and Calgary have held a semi-snarly relationship for much longer than the history of professional hockey in either city. Far from a rivalry of mere convenience (we are the only two major cities in the province), the Battle of Alberta extends to fundamental belief systems, to political preferential treatment, to bigotry, inclusion, and of course… money.

Which is truly the greater city? As a lifelong resident of Edmonton, my honest answer is that I don’t care. Both cities are gorgeous: they have the Stampede, we have the continent’s most impressive Fringe Theatre Festival. They have proximity to the magnificent mountains, we have an exquisite river valley. They are the economic home-base of the province, we have a gigantic mall.

But enough of the niceness. Let’s see how this got ugly.


The Battle of Alberta extends for centuries before there was even an Alberta over which to battle. The Blackfoot Confederacy was the political union among the Blackfoot tribes who moseyed about southern Alberta and Montana, killing buffalo and living a northern version of the indigenous lifestyle of the American Indian. Up in the boreal forest that covered the northern half of the as-yet-undesignated province, the Cree and their allies (known as the Iron Confederacy, making the history of this region sound like a bad-ass Native version of Game of Thrones) lived a subarctic lifestyle, which involved trapping and fur-trading. Read more…

Day 816: Gettin’ High Off Last Week’s Munchies


If there is one constant in human nature – and I hope there’s more than one, or I’ll never again be able to employ this opening – it’s that people love to get high. Some get their highs from adrenaline, others from religious fulfillment, and still others simply from exhuming the joyous moments from the depths of every waking moment. For the rest of us, we have other options.

I’m not one to judge another person’s form of escapism, unless that escapism somehow infringes upon my life. If your intake of bath salts instills a desire to consume my flesh as though it were made from Doritos, we have a problem. If your eleventh Jaeger-bomb has convinced you that you’re just fine to drive home despite the fact that your keys feel “fuzzy” in your fingertips, that ain’t right. But if you can get high while posing a danger only to yourself, simply because you feel the need for a swizzled splash of tweaked consciousness, I say go for it.

Even if that splash comes from a polyethylene bag of human poop.

Hey, we’ve all been there. Well, maybe not there, but we’ve all… actually no, most of us have never been anywhere near there. I might have to rethink my lack of judginess on this one. If jenkem is your thing, you really might need to re-evaluate your life.


I’m just going to lay this out there. Jenkem is an inhalant drug, created solely from the stench of fermented human waste. I don’t know the backstory of the first person to have discovered this – though I would certainly tune in for the TV movie based on his or her journey – but for a period in the mid 1990’s, jenkem was all the rage among street children in Zambia. You see, parents? Take away your kids’ Playstations and they’ll have nothing to do but run around in the street and huff doody.

The human waste is scraped from pipes or scooped up from the fringes of the sewer ponds into old cans or containers. The mere fact that these pipes and sewer ponds are so easily accessible to passers-by already bumps Zambia way down near the bottom of my travel bucket-list, alongside North Korea, any place currently at war, and Regina, Saskatchewan. Read more…

Day 137: Bill Whatcott – Spreader Of Hate, Possibly Has A Small Penis

You see this guy? I would never advocate violence toward another human being, but more than anyone else in Canada, this guy deserves to eat crap. I’m not using that as an expression either – I won’t encourage violence, but I will encourage any waiter / busboy / cook that sees this guy in their restaurant to find a way to sprinkle some fecal matter into his club sandwich.

I hesitate to call him a man… he is so, but only by its most vile, dishonorable definition. A better appellation might simply be a flabby cracker. A flacker.

So why does this flacker have me in such a flap? Well, Bill Whatcott is one of those free-speech advocates who demonstrates his advocacy by telling everybody else that how they live their lives is wrong. He’s one of those devout “Christians” who skim past the ‘God is the only judge’ stuff so that he can judge everyone else. Bill is the pustule on democracy and western freedom that reminds us that even liberty has its baggage.

Rather than intersperse today’s article with photos pertaining to my subject (I’d rather not look at any more flacker pics today), I’m just going to scatter in some pictures of things that make me smile. Think of them as meditative escapes to keep my disdain in check.


If you are gay, you are a personal affront to Bill Whatcott. You are invading his existence by breathing, and by being who you are. Bill wants to turn the public against you. He wants everyone to see you as diseased, sinful, and destructive to society. He has distributed leaflets door to door, depicting images of diseases that he believes exist because of gay sex. Pardon my bluntness, but someone needs to stick a dick in this guy’s mouth and shut him up.

Bill is a strict pro-life flacker. He has also plunked into mailboxes a variety of leaflets that depict dismembered fetuses in an attempt to sway people to his side. I’d bet if I handed him a leaflet featuring a photo of a topless woman as a part of my “Hooray Boobies” campaign, he’d call it filthy pornography. But this is about how Bill gets Bill’s message out.

Read more…