What's With Florida?

No, I mean, like, seriously. Why do the weird small-print news that used to be a thing in remote locations and cabin-in-the-woods places now happen in Florida more than any other places combined?

Is it the water? The sharks? The failing sports teams? The douchebag sex clubs in Miami? The drugs?

Well, drugs might be an issue, yeah. For couples who lock themselves in a closet for days at a time with crack pipes and end up shitting in metal pans. For men who look like rockers from the 1970s wanting to smoke crack in a hospital. For those who merely smoke pot in the maternity ward. For men impersonating cops at the International House Of Pancakes who end up flashing/mooning employees when they don't get free food. For people who bite their neighbours' ears off for not giving them a cigarette.

For those who run for mayor while their court case for beating a drag queen with a tiki torch while wearing a KKK outfit is still pending resolution. For those who try to avoid their time in court by claiming they have ebola. For those who butt-dial 911 while cooking meth with their mom and have the nerve to think the cops are watching them. For those who get stuck inside vending machines.

For men who claim holograms kidnapped their wives (when she's actually just off drunk at a relative's). For men who try to rob a delivery man not just for his cash but also pizza and chicken wings. For men who attack family members over undercooked noodles. For men who think calling 911 will get them answers regarding their tax returns. For those who commit murder over a card collection. For those who confuse hot dogs with real dogs. For those who, when the ice cream man refuses to take their fake $20 bill, pull a gun on him.

For those who pee on rugs then make a big stink when they're kicked out of the house (especially if it really tied the room together). For those who get caught stealing 36,000 pounds of Crisco. For those who mistake a convenience store rooftop they're trying to steal from with where their family lives. For those who punch 80-year-old men at restaurants. Or the corrections officers who never noticed a convict escaping to buy beer - then his own trying to smuggle it back in prison.

For sex-related thieving such as stealing a Jenna Jameson sex doll, or stealing 850 pairs of underwear from Victoria's Secret, or insisting on showing their sex tape to a jury in court, or masturbating in a McDonald's parking lot, or soliciting an undercover police officer for sex in exchange for $3 and a chicken meal, or busting down a wall to steal $300 worth of sex toys from an adult store, or just the general naked sword-wielders.

For those who call 911 to complain that the cop who is writing them a ticket is too slow (then getting jailed for misusing 911). For those who throw chairs at the mailman when they don't get any mail. For the elderly (yet funny) racists. For those who decide to build their paramilitary neo-nazi war compound right next to Disney World. For people who throw dead bodies in the trash. For people who propose to their girlfriends using baby alligators (and the girlfriend being happier about the gator than the ring). For those who think a welding grinder is the right tool to scrape a tattoo off their face. For the delusional ones who not only think they're blood relatives of former Presidents, but that it means they own land and/or the country and gives them special privileges.

For elected officials who think state education tests make kids gay and/or LGBT-friendly.

I mean, I get those related to crack and meth. But the rest of them, the ignorant and profoundly stupid - there is no excuse for that shit in 2015. I understand that having no state tax means the public education system is pretty much zero/dead/non-existent. But still, this is taking it (way) too far.

Still, it's probably a better place than Canada if Stephen Harper gets re-elected later this year.

Rob Ford: The Sequel

Yes, I know, I too was under the impression that his 15 minutes were up, that not only had we had a sequel (if the crack smoking was Episode 1: The Phantom Menace, then the odd behaviour and ''plenty of pussy to eat at home'' was surely Episode 3: Revenge Of The Filth), but that we were probably at the Police Academy 5 stage of his tenure by now...

Except we had all forgotten the essential rules of sequels: they not only introduce new characters to the cannon, but oftentimes also take place in new surroundings (Hangover Part II, Vegas Vacation).

And so, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Rob Ford in Vancouver. Not only did he get a ticket for jaywalking, he also tried to get out of it by contacting the chief of police. That's right: he bothered the boss of the police force for a $100 ticket, because he's an entitled fucking asshole. And he did so at this classy establishment: a Shell gas station, situated across the street from the bar where he'd been drinking all night (though he was to have stopped drinking last Fall):

Video is available on Twitter and YouTube.

Which begs the question: is he ever not in a drunken stupor?

Rob Ford Re-Enacted

Crackhead Mayor

I've been relatively quiet here for the past week, which means I've also missed out on writing about Toronto mayor Rob Ford, the ultra-conservative genius who once said that people who use bikes and bike baths instead of cars and buses were ''two steps left of Joseph Stalin'', and his alleged crack cocaine usage.

Now that Gawker can't seem to find the guys who were selling the evidence, Ford has come out of hiding and officially denied the claim, but it looks more like ''now that's it's safe and those guys are afraid of getting caught, I think I can get away with it''.

Taking a week off from the controversy - some say he went into a quick rehab, came out for the press conference then back into rehab - only fueled the fire, as it gave the Globe And Mail time to research what became an 8-page story on the Ford siblings' history with drug trafficking.

The heat is on. Soon, the pig will be cooked.

Crackheads And Coke Dick

There are so many junkies smoking crack in the emergency exit at my workplace that the second-hand smoke emanates from the stairs; it's like the day after a Great White concert.

Every time I use those stairs and walk through it, I have Coke Dick when I get home.

I guess I'll start to blame my work for my decrease in libido.