K-Dough On the Road

Sup, all you sexy Mofos, Brofos, Homos and Faux-mos?:

Just a note to say that I will be on the road for the next week, doing something great for myself and others less fortunate. Miss me. Cherish my memory. Long for my return and we will hook up in unholy bliss once again before you know it.

Oh, and cock punch someone on my behalf next week won't you?

I'll leave you with an American folk hymn:
Where oh where, is Leatherhands?
Why did he leave me here all alone?
I've searched the world over and thought I'd found true gloves.
He built a business and (fart sound)
he was gone...

Cock Punching of the Week

Welcome to another Cock Punching of the Week- where a loser is selected from a long list of deserving targets and is swiftly and firmly Cock Punched via the electronic K-fist.

This week's recipient is none other than repeat child rapist, pedophile, innocent life destroyer and all-round sick human, Peter Whitmore. While an electronic genital assault is far from the just desserts for this fuck monkey (except maybe the cattle prod type), it is really all I have the power to offer.

So ladies and gentleman, put your legs together for the very evil...

Stock, Crock and Fish-in-a-Barrel

Stockwell Day is a brillant man. Yup- ahhhh said it!!! Hes so smert that I say he quits politicks and runs fer presedent of the SMERT Club. Not only is he not banning hand gunz, becuz its freakin oblious that guns arn't the reazen that some 11 year old kid died last weekend, but he duzent beleive all that bullshitt abowt glow-ball warming. WTF is a glow-ball anywayz? I loves that guy!!!!!!!!

Jesiz, they grow some great brains - not just grains- out there in the west. huh? Yesir lawedy dawg. Yeehawwwww! (Bang bang!!!)

Cock Punching of the Week

Hey kids- welcome to a fresh new joint on K-Dough. I'm rolling out the latest in thrilling much required improvements to Blogolia.

It's K-Dough's official Cock Punching of the Week- where a loser is selected from a long list of deserving targets and is swiftly and firmly Cock Punched via the electronic K-fist.

So without further delay, I give you the first in the line-up for humiliating genital pummelling...his Dark Lordness, Conrad "Poohs" Black!

Political Stereotypes

This morning, as we discussed our experiences in drinking with politicos of differing stripes, a friend passed along an anecdote from the Hill in Ottawa. He mentioned that his friend, who worked as an EA to a Canadian Senator, espoused a typology that said: Tories get drunk, Liberals get laid and Dippers get stoned.

Priding myself on my ongoing earnest attempts at non-partisan (omni-partisan?) analysis of public policy and issues, dude's rubric puzzled me a bit. I asked "So, if these things are true, what does that make me?". He replied "It makes you an opened-minded guy who transcends party lines." "Thanks for the flattery", I said, "but, by extension, doesn't that just make me a drunken Philanderer who likes to get high once in a while?".

Hat tip to Otto V.

Stop The Big Media Takeover

Increasingly, with the concentration of power in the hands of a few, our Canadian media is losing its diversity, regional/local relevance and editorial freedom. Recently, CTV had only just announced it was taking over City TV and the next day they had torn down any reference to CITY on the outside of its flagship, landmark Toronto building. Geezus.

The Canadian Media Guild is currently participating in a campaign to get Canadians to tell the CRTC to "Stop the Big Media Takeover." The CRTC will be holding a hearing in September to look at measures to ensure a "diversity of voices" in the country's media. It's important that the regulator hear from more than just industry lawyers. You can submit comments RIGHT HERE.

All comments must be sent to the CRTC by tomorrow, July 18. So, stop drooling on your keyboard, exercise your democratic right and click the freakin' link you sexy, socially-aware thangs, you.

Get in Line Ladies

The latest StatsCan census data indicates that the odds of Canadian women finding a man are decreasing. The data says that women out-number men in Canada by a ratio of 100:96.

My thoughts: Finally, a wonky, demographic paid for by taxpayers that actually means something to me! Be patient in the queue though ladies: There is enough hot blooded K-nadian coiled and waiting right here for all of you!!!

Unlikely Words of Wisdom

Today, I'm going to let Smenita- bless her squid-eating, extra-chromosomal soul - speak for me. Reading her post this morning, I realized the stars have aligned, for the first and probably last time in history, at a point where she is probably the only one who can succinctly, and in very plain language, express my sentiment on this F Day.

This one goes out to some very fucked up, ex-people that I thought I knew at some point in this absurd film-noir we drunkenly stumble through called life.
SMENITA ON RELATIONSHIPS

Some Girls Are Born Lucky

This morning, I was forced to take the TTC to work, as my sweet hybrid street bike is currently in the shop being tuned up. So, I took the scenic route from St. George station, along the outskirts of Yorkville and down through the eye-candy filled, bountiful U of T campus.

During the Yorkville leg of the fabulous summer walk, as I tapped my faggy urban man purse to the beat of Dashboard Confessional's "Easy As Lovers Go" I had one of those prophetic city moments I've written about in the past. But contrary to the ultra-serious, James Burke-style Connections insight I usually experience, this one was pure fucking hilarity.

A very full-figured, super buxomy, tourist kind of chick, waddled toward me from a hotel exit. She was a vision of Lynch-esque beauty: Jammed into a way-too-small pair of kakhi safari shorts, waist pack awkwardly stretched sideways, with way too much sunscreen on her nose, a crumpled up map clutched in one hand and a donut in the other. I know what you are thinking: Hmm, seen that before K-Dough. Ok, here comes the kicker: To complete the cinematic wardrobe, Ms. Denny's 1992 wore a hot pink, stretched to the max t-shirt with the words "Some Girls Are Born Lucky" emblazoned in silvery lettering across the front of her ginormous (now a real word) boobs.

Those words were instantly captured by my brain, and within a millisecond had effortlessly completed about 4 billion synaptic laps. "Some Girls Are Born Lucky". I deconstructed the phrase, then reconstructed it in zillions of possible combinations. "Some Girls Are Born Lucky".

And then it hit me. In a moment of cynical brilliance, inspired by a heart tainted by years of miserable commuter angst, I murmured to myself, with a petulant grimace: "Sure "Some Girls Are Born Lucky...still, too bad for that unlucky model you had to eat to get the T-shirt".

Ahhhhhh. I slay me.

Black and White Stripes for Conrad

A K-Dough Exclusive
Dateline: CHICAGO, July 11 (with files from BS)

A verdict in the fraud trial of former evil media dark lord Conrad Black is expected to be delivered today. An insider close to the defence team for Black has told K-Dough that, should Black be found guilty, the team will ask for leniency due to the emergence of an until recently unknown health condition, sudden onset claustrophobia. The defence is referring to the tactic as "the Hilton card". While prosecutors say they will push for the maximum sentence of 5,000 years to be spent in an operating deficit, the defence is confident that its Hilton loophole will work.

Paris Hilton, the infamous socialite, amateur porn princess and small dog enthusiast, could not be reached for comment, but a spokesperson said "Black? That is soooo not a colour Paris would ever wear to a sentencing. What? Who? Conrad Black? Oh. Well, I know she loves to blast that screamy song Back in Black when she is naked, driving her golf cart around the pool area and snorting blow off her midget's ass cheeks". It is rumoured that Barbara Amiel has already contacted Martha Stewart inquiring about her "fabulous" iron-file-in-the-cake recipe.

Pope Called It First

Today, the Pope, in a brilliant display of pomposity and ignorance -- virtues held sacrosanct by the Vatican-- proclaimed the Catholic church the only true church, or as the Toronto Star put it "reasserted the universal primacy of the Roman Catholic Church".

On the heels of the news, several other groups around the world scrambled to proclaim themselves leaders of their domain: The Falun Gong have claimed the title "Slowest Moving Human Targets"; the Hare Krishnas are now recognized as the Smoothest, Orangest Mental Patients in the Great Milky Way; the Jehovah's Witnesses have snagged the "Most Depressed, Flattest-Nosed Cult" mantle; and the U.S. Republican Party has become "the Only True Purveyors of the Wisdom and Teachings of Adam Smith, Jesus Falwell and Jed Clampett".

In yet another related story, K-Dough of K-Dough's Canada has proclaimed himself the Sexiest, Most Excellent Omnipotent Ruler of Blogolia and All Outlying New Mediums and Vaginas.

Eat that, Pope Whatevvvvver.

Up In Smoke

A supreme court appeal (which recently upheld tobacco advertising restrictions) had stopped cigarette companies from advertising in the few places they actually were allowed to while the appeal was being heard. But now big tobacco is free to advertise once again in adult establishments, publications and of course, on the Internet. Predictably, anti-smoking advocates are freaking the fuck out, saying that recent declines in teen smoking will be erased by a huge spike in hot teen ciggie mania, inspired by an impending tidal wave of e-advertising.

What a joke. Like the Internet has any power over youth. Next they'll be saying more beautiful Czech girls will be smoking dope and participating in facial, squirting and golden shower parties with ugly, beer-bellied eastern block mafia on video; or crazy teen-geeks will be dressing up like characters out of the Matrix and massacring innocent kids at school.

Give me a break you bleeding hearts and lungs. Cigarettes are good for you. Especially when you are young and beautiful. It's just another myth perpetrated by the man to rain on our smokey loogie-hocking parade. You know, like global warming, stupid.

Pot-belly Persecuting Pot-heads

If you haven't heard, there is news today (HERE) that pot busts are up since Chretien's stoner bill died on the order paper a few years back. Yes, the men in blue are once again tickling the ideological prostates of the blue meanies on the hill in Ottawa.

It is ironic, though, that Harper doesn't support pot smokers, because he seems to have at least a few things in common with them. Both tend to spend inordinate amounts of time navel-gazing, eating junk food and eventually become emotionally disconnected with those closest to them.

What is this society coming to? All I know is next time you choose to blast a cap in the ass of some dude that dissed you in the parking lot at Burger King on Friday night, make sure you are not hauling off a big fattie while pulling the trigger -- you might actually have to spend some time in jail!

Peace out, yo.

I Want to Be Your Boyfriend

So, you've probably heard that some loser, 70s never-been band from California is suing Avril Lavigne because they say she ripped off the chorus to her smash shit-hit Girlfriend from a tune they wrote in 1979. I guess you can't blame the geriatic bastards for trying to crack open Avril's treasure chest to pay for some long overdue PSA tests. Mmmmm, did I just say Avril's treasure chest? Delightful.

Annnnnnnnnyway, the kicker is that notorious song bitchtress Chantal Kreviazuk- who sold her integrity to the devil (and married him for that matter) - is now bad mouthing Avril to the music press and "suggesting" she ripped her off too.

I, for one, find it rich that Chantal and her money-grubbing sick chicken-voiced Prima Donna husband would use up that poor young girl and throw her away like she was some drunken bi-curious teen who had answered a Lavalife ad posted under "Adventurous Couples".

Poor Avril. I sense she may need comforting in the way only K can provide. Dump that little elf Wibbly sweetie and drop by this weekend with a gallon of lube, that little skirt thang and a note from your mother: K-Dough wants to be your boyfriend. Err, Daddy?

Happy F Day mofos, brofos, faux-mos and homos!!!

Life's a bitch - and then you marry...

Ha ha ha ha ha ha (inward gasp)... but seriously folks. For quite some time now, I have wrestled with the question of returning to Blogolia: I put it in a half-nelson, and then it illegally elbowed me in the teeth - fucking so-called "mixed martial arts" has ruined all sense of decorum in hand-to-hand grappling with philosophical questions.

During my absence, I have been monitoring the output of political bloggers. Same old wonky kife. No sense of humour. No sense of context. No sense.

Thus, I have decided to return for the sole reason that Blogolia needs the K-Dough like a massive, puss-filled boil needs a hot needle; or a cat on a hot tin roof needs a bucket of cold jello; or a Republican needs his whiskey, shot gun, faux-teen porn site and Jesus alibi.

So, stay tuned for ensuing iconoclasm, bombasm and multiple laffgasm you insipid sonsabitches.

I'm back baby! Yeow. Rrrrawwrr.