The Nipple On Our Souls

If North American society is sexually schizoid, the US is a whiskey-throated blonde cheerleader dolled up in slutty make-up, who faints at the slighest prospect of intimacy. Witness the current debacle facebook has created by banning pix that breastfeeding advocates have posted on their pages. Facebook recently deleted the account of a Canadian woman who posted pix that apparently violated their standards. Feministas and boob supporters alike are understandably pissed. Although, groups like La Leche League are still up and have pix on their pages showing acceptable depictions of breastfeeding. Of course, "acceptable" in this case means NO NIPPLE.

What the hell is wrong with this society, when barely pubescent girls can writhe in fucking g-strings and oil while firing submachine guns on TV, yet the sudden flash of a single goddamn nipple at a violent sports match can summon on the four horses of the apocalypse? Moreover, what is wrong when natural women feed their children naturally with the natural NIPPLES that they were naturally born with and repressed nutbars can punish and chastise them for being inappropriate and dirty? That is the true sexual perversion in our society and tears us even further away from our HUMAN roots.

Now don't get me wrong. I know that when you open a facebook account, you sign on to certain terms, including not posting pix containing nudity. There is a very good reason for this, as anyone who knows anything about the naivete of children and the slyness of pedophiles will understand. But holy fucking jesus christ North America: Get over your insane NIPPLE fear!!!

If you don't the terrorists will have won.

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!

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.

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.

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!!!

Top 10 Social Revolutionary Terrorist Threats

If they really wanted to hurt us and change the fabric of North America for the good of the world, don't you think they'd pay more attention to these iconic targets? Stupid terrorists.

1. Large-scale Playstation Two sabotage.
   
2. Hijacking Donald Trump's hair and flying it into the Hollywood sign.
   
3. Assasinating food empire overlords Ronald McDonald and the Burger King.
   
4. Oprah book list burnings.
5. Preventing Krispy Kreme from releasing its planned whole wheat donut.
6. Army of classically-trained Eastern bloc musicians armed takeover of American Idol set.
7. Lobotomize Britney, Lindsey, Paris and Olsen twins and program them to control teen girls everywhere with messages of their own worthlessness while draining their parents' bank accounts. Oops, wait. Task accomplished.
8. Abducting and brainwashing Barney the Dinosaur and Donny Osmond to become hateful, bloodthirsty beasts and harnessing their new evil purple powers for the cause.
   
9. Instil proper moral ideals by ousting Ellen DeGeneris in a Coup DeTit and installing a bearded, fatigued Castro lookalike lesbian in her place. No more cheezy fucking dancing for anyone!
10. Mass credit card theft, with the proceeds used to purchase SUVs, which are then packed full of designer clothes and overpriced running shoes and driven into bank machines in the middle of the night.
    

The Trees Must Die!

Happy Shit Day #1, my special friends. Some of you may find this to be just another boring post on an unsexy local waste management issue. Those people may want to visit this happy LINK instead of reading on. Go forth and stupify my lovely goggled and helmeted drool-dispensers!

For those of you who actually think garbage is riveting reading, finger-push your glasses closer to your faces, scrunch your noses up, adjust your breast pocket pen packs and turn down that soft rock Manilow Marathon, because here it comes.

The Issue: There has been talk lately of taxing Toronto grocery stores for using plastic bags or finding otherwise inventive ways to decrease the bazillions of non-biodegradable bags we put into landfills every year.

The Corporate Bullshit: Cathy Cirko, vice-president of the Canadian Plastics Industry Association, says it's unfair to pick on plastic bags because they don't make up a large fraction (I'm assuming she is referring to tonnage) of Toronto's trash. (Source: Toronto Star, Jan 15.)
I mean, who, with a working brain, celebrates this kind of dark news?: Plastics packaging growth expected to outpace paper at least until 2010.

The Sensible Response: Uh, Cathy, do you think we are all as stupid as the happy link clicking mouthbreathers above? Plastic is not an organic compound. Plastic bags, despite the fact that they weigh less than other non-recycled garbage, do not degrade. Plastic is a solid substance that bloats what little landfill space we have left.

Look, I'm no tree hugger, although I may be guilty of a little tender sapling fondling once in awhile. The point is, I'm willing to sacrifice the lives of a few trees if I can put my groceries in a paper bag and have them recycled into new bags while more renewable resource trees grow to replace the ones we cut down in the first place. Forestry - an ecologically sustainable industry- is suffering right now; wouldn't it make a lot of sense to buy more forestry product if it helps absolutely everyone involved?

Or is it just that our world is now completely dominated by happy link-clicking zombie idiot people?

A Very Tory Christmas Warning

Notice to all Employees:

Non-sectarian holiday time is once again upon us. In the past, we have lost workers to festive accidents, diseases, viruses, acts of God and job fairs. In order to maximize work output in the New Year and minimize collateral losses, we have prepared the following list to guide you through any time your manager may have APPROVED for you to be absent during this holiday season. Please print and distribute copies to your colleagues, family members and friends and post them around your house.

1. Every part of your workstation that has a lock should have a key that you can lock it up with at the end of the day. If you are missing any keys to your workstation please advise management immediately.

2. Do not put your mouth, dry OR salivating, directly upon any type of Christmas tree bulb or electrically-powered decorative device or insert any such implement into your rectal cavity. This could lead to debilitating lesions and/or electrical shock and death.

3. Please retrieve your dishes from the staff kitchen area by 5 p.m. today or they will be discarded.

4. Never put a live electric eel or holly bough in your pants. This could lead to debilitating lesions and/or electrical shock and death.

5. Do not leave your house at any time during the holidays, for any reason whatsoever. Leave your lights off 24 hours a day and make sure all windows are covered. Make sure your basement bunker is stocked with at least 3 months supply of powdered milk, dried protein powder and water. Also, keep at least 4 flares and a shotgun on hand. Old bed sheets make good bandages, and a hairdryer hooked up to a gas generator can heat a family of four for at least 12 hours during a power outage. Do not open the door for strangers, neighbours or relatives. Although they may come bearing gifts or sweets, they can not be trusted. If your children try to leave the bunker, beat them with your shot gun, and bandage their heads with the bed sheets.

**Should you die during your holiday, please be sure to leave detailed instructions for your next of kin, including changing your voice mail and Out Of Office e-mail message to reflect the fact that you have died.

Have a safe and productive holiday!

The Management

Merry Consumerist Orgy!

Let me preface this inevitable searching for the higher meaning of Christmas post by saying that I am not a Christian. At best, my faith system is based on a hypocritical melange of Buddhism, asceticism, hedonism, bushido and the balanced employ of controlled, and sometimes illicit, substances. But recently, the realization that my daughter is old enough to get the Santa thing has cross-checked me from behind into a bloody uncomfortable philosophical corner.

I probably grew up like most of you: Each December, I would spend hours feverishly scanning the Consumers Distributing catalogue for what I wanted for Christmas. I'd carefully circle the things I yearned for, along with the things I thought I had a reasonable shot at actually receiving. On Christmas morning though, I would be absolutely thrilled with whatever I got, because, even though I came from a struggling one-parent family, my Mother would always sacrifice enough to make sure we had something we loved.

Over the past 10 years though, I have become overcome by cynicism about the disgusting consumerist orgy that occurs from September onward. In fact, I despise it. It violates serious intellectual and spiritual principles that I hold sacrosanct in my head and heart. Not to mention the trifling fact that there is absolutely no religious reason for me to celebrate the holiday. Of course, we still put up a tree and decorations, which makes absolutely no logical sense, except that I guess it fills some traditional gap that would be empty if we didn't. I mean, I love the pretty glittery things, but Jesus ain't exactly my homeboy. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Enter Li'l Miss Kay-Dough. I don't know what to do with her. She had already been exposed to images of Santa through our broader culture before I even had a chance to formulate some plan of dealing with my own confusing X-Mas hypocrisy. Santa is already a cultural legend to her. I'm not stupid. I know she will grow up expecting luxuries to be bestowed upon her like every other kid. And I really don't want to deny her that childish wonderment because of my own heady, abstract beliefs. Thus, my brain is becoming cobwebbed with heart strings.

I look around me and wonder "when did conspicuous, unsustainable consumption become a suitable substitute for compassion and love?" What the fuck is wrong with us? Why do people contract out caregiving for their kids, just to work all year to buy them Playstations as proof of love? Not to mention the fact that people stress themselves out to a ridiculous point at Christmas. People dread driving all over the place; they dread placating demands for their time put on them by increasingly complex and divided families- thanks to the miracle of divorce; they dread shopping before and the drowning tide of bills after Christmas. I just don't get it. Hey- it just occurred to me: Maybe it's the people I don't like, not Christmas.

Anyway, back to Li'l Miss Kay-Dough. As she grows up, she will be distracted by superficial shiny things too. She will be fallible, greedy, self-centred and fuck people around like we all do. I guess all I can do in the mean time is resolve to make sure that I teach her right and wrong and instil a sense of the true meaning of family, friends and love. In the end, if all we have is breaking bread, drinking, laughing and caring we have all we need. Actually, that is what I teach her every day. Why should Christmas be any different?

Playstation Chaos Confirms Idiot Adult-Children Theory

Well, Western society has reaffirmed the meaning of its existence today. All over the continent idiots are clamouring to purchase new Playstations. Some idiot even shot someone at a Wal-Mart for one- no doubt with bullets purchased at said Wal-Mart

You know, you'd think God, being all powerful and smart and shit would capitalize on this opportunity to skim the crud of the top of the soup of humanity. I mean all those drooling idiots congregated in specific locations to me says: Easy target for revelations-scale retribution against man for his sins.

I dunno. Maybe it's just me...

K-Dough Accepting Submissions

Yes, it's true. I am taking submisssions for book pitches in the style of O.J.'s new psycho-thetical admitting-murder-in-hindsight masterpiece called If I Did It.

While I wait for your creative ideas to pour in, here are a few options I'm looking at for ghost writing gigs at this point:

Bill Clinton, If I Put It In All the Way

Ollie North, If Reagan Knew Everything

Alfonso Gagliano, If I Hung Out With Murderers

Donald Rumsfeld, If I Knew the WMD Excuse Was Absolute Bullshit

George W. Bush, If I Couldn't Read

Wayne Gretzky, If My Wife Had A Gambling Problem

Peter Mackay, If I Still Obviously Loved An Evil Demoness

Jean Chretien, If I Didn't Axe The GST, Where Would We Be Now?

Condoleeza Rice, If I Had Known In Advance They Were Going To Fly Planes Into Buildings

Richard Nixon, If I was A Crook

Happy F-Day, you seksy phuckers!
K

Get Your Business Black Belt!

Yesterday, media across North America carried a story about a new report that claims "Graduate business students in the United States and Canada are more likely to cheat on their work than their counterparts in other academic fields". What the story didn't say, however, was that students found cheating are likely given preferential treatment by teachers precisely because they cheated. These polyester-skinned little Trump-omatons are probably the first ones trotted out at corporate job fairs as the schools' best prospects. Cheating is an art especially useful in business, and requires deft ability - whereas bullshiting is more of a liberal arts virtue.

One can just imagine the so-called business professors locked up in Zen-like retreats, planning how they will circuitously instil profound lessons about their trade in the minds of the their empty-vessel, grasshopper-like protegees. They probably devise ridiculous rules like "Don't Cheat!" and post them, written on wooden planks above the chalkboards in the classrooms, just to weed out the weak from the crafty, or as they like to call the cheaters: Innovators.

Whether or not this study has any methodological merit, it makes one ponder how many of these paper-peeping plagiarist pupils end up plopped into political office positions though, don't it?

Hyper-Caffeinated Gentrification

On a lighter note kids, today's lesson is about the corporate insanity currently occurring in my neighbourhood. While we have long suspected that our little corner of mid-town Toronto would eventually become gentrified, because our property values have skyrocketed in the past 5 years, we never imagined that the opening of a Starbucks last year would cause the landslide of coffee inSIPidness that we are now experiencing.

Starbucks opened it's little opiate den of fat-laden liquid shit just a while ago, across the street from an existing privately-owned coffee/bakery, called World Class Bakers (click HERE for a review). Within a year or so, Second Cup opened an outlet two doors down from World Class (see map above). At this point things were getting weird. While we have longed for better looking and managed businesses in the area since we moved there 8 years ago, this wasn't exactly what we had imagined. Our amenity list included such convenient walking distance attractions as great restaurants, dry cleaning, medical offices and liquor stores. Now, in addition to Pain Perdu- an awesome upscale French patisserie with cheap, great espresso - we had our choice of 3 java junkie dealers within a 3 second jaunt of each other. Crazy right? Wait- it gets crazier.

The other night, a restaurateur insider in the local BIA told me that a new Tim Horton's is moving in on the opposite corner from Second Cup. WTF? Now, that intersection is poised to become a toxic black tar mess of drooling hyper-caffeinated, 40 year old yoga mat toting hipster fucks. What is Tim's thinking? Seriously?

A few years ago, our neighbourhood gained continental notoriety for being the first urban hood to successfully win court challenges against the McDonald's empire, stopping them from putting in a drive-thru. For a while, McDonald's became the hated target for the venom of 30-something anti-corporate protesters, who ostensibly wanted to maintain the hood's integrity. But, now it seems, when it comes to overpriced caffeine products, and lard-laden ass-bloating treats posing as food, my increasingly shi shi neighbours are heaving their arms in the air and tearfully welcoming the advent of the coffee kings like the French being liberated by the Allies in '45. I mean c'mon people, these coffee cons are really just McDonald's for adults- aren't they?

My weekend message: Support your local, privately-owned businesses. Ma 'n Pa rules! Take the boots to the corporate coffee thieves that are stealing your souls - before it's too late!

Tie Your Brother Down

Recently, Ontario Premier Dalton McGuinty quipped to reporters that he was encouraging staff in his office to shun the neck tie in times of extreme heat, as a means of conserving energy (i.e. no tie = higher air con temps). I wholeheartedly applauded that sentiment. In fact, I have not worn a tie in years and will never again do so. Why, you ask? Well, let me tell you.

Neck ties are the mark of a subservient, beaten down man. If you wear one, you might as well etch "bitch" across your forehead with a letter opener. They are the albatross of the common man, meant to restrict movement and blood flow. The constant tugging and threat of asphyxiation are there to remind you that you are an owned commodity. In short, the tie holds a brother down.

That brings me to another point. Without the fashion restrictions of being forced to wear collared shirts that are appropriate for tie-bondage a man is free to experiment. For instance, why tuck ever again? There is no tuck needed without a tie. You can carelessly flaunt your great looking, chest enhancing clubby short-sleeved shirt and sleek-lined casual dress pants without the humiliation of the ridiculously egregious clown-like look that comes with a short-sleeved dress shirt/neck tie ensemble. Hey, you might want to even let a scrap of tattoo peek out from under your new found, travel-light office gear.

When I first started my employ in the ivory corridors of power, a stiff, man-like cave-woman of a manager with the apparent fashion sense of a lesbian mechanic once told me "You don't have to wear a suit and tie everday here. But if you don't, it will affect your career". Well, in a way, she was correct. Once I shed the dummy suit, I instantly was catapulted into more successful jobs. I spent more time at work counting my money and fending off the endless stream of horny secretaries than actually working. I was even granted unlimited use of the company jet.

For me at least, the key was to be more like myself and less like everyone else. I think powerful people recognize and respect that ability. To those who don't: I say suck my ass.

Message for the week: Rock hard and ride free, my sexy little chipotles!