How we roll

The premise is simple: Life is a game. Maybe the rules are missing. Maybe they’re still wrapped in clear plastic and sitting in the cardboard box and we never bothered to open them. Maybe we just don’t give a fuck. Maybe — like Calvin playing Monopoly — the game’s just more fun without them.

Either way, if life is a game, then there are games within games within games. We don’t have the rules for those either. And many people in relationships right now are nodding their heads.

But some games are dirtier than others; and some of them are just plain ugly. Three of them in particular are chock full of lying, cheating, idiocy, ignorance and some of the worst (and occasionally best) that humanity has to offer:

Media. Politics. And sports.

On this blog, I’ll deconstruct the ugly entrails of the three dirtiest games around. All vitriolic, sarcastic and as caustic as you on a freezing morning before the coffee kicks in. We’ll hold candles to the toes of the most flagrant, recidivist offenders and try to give a little scratch behind the ears to the particpants who follow a set of rules that seem to make sense, even if no one but them seems to abide by them.

In short, ass-kickings for some, mini Canadian flags for others.

As a professional journalist I take lots of drugs to cope am all-too-familiar with the blackest of hearts and the ugliest of human nature. But I also have access to all the heartwarming examples of honesty and goodness which never make it above the fold on A27. It’s easy — and fun! — to be full of bile, and to spray said bile impotently across cyberspace in an angry attempt to vent my frustration at these repellent examples of the most lunatic attempts to play these games.

On this page, all kinds of idiocy abound. What we’re trying to do is let the air out of God’s tires, put some sand (or maybe ethanol) in George W. Bush’s gas tank, glance furtively at Dwayne Wade without being whistled for a flagrant foul, opine on the plight of the unfortunate without sounding like Rosie DiManno, lash out like the bullwhip of doom at the most deserving and applaud those rare few who actually make it a game worth playing. And I’ll do all that too. Ruthlessly. When I have the time to post.

Basically, we’ll be all-rant, all the time. Except for those rare occasions when I meet a little calico kitten on my way home and she curls her tail around my ankle, mewling in that you-have-to-love-me-now manner and I look up and west into the gently setting sun behind the Triumph of Man that is the skyline and wonder why I ever started a blog about idiocy and dirty games and hopeless losses mixed with very few memorable triumphs. I should have just written about kittens, dammit! They’re so fucking cute.

But that only happens about once a week. The rest of the time … well, you see the results on the main page. Still … it never hurt anyone to pet a cute little kitten once in a while.