I Love Stephen Harper?

Prime Minister for Canada

Last week I met Stephen Harper in what I think was a café, chatted with him over a drink and discovered that, despite my negative preconceptions about him and his government’s hateful and reactionary policies, he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. In fact, he was a lovely man I’d be proud to call “friend.”

And then I woke up.

I woke up in a panic, feeling guilty and violated, as if Stephen Harper himself had taken a gigantic messy shit in my brain while I’d been sleeping. What does this mean? I asked myself. Why did I have a pro-Harper dream? Was I dying? Was this the first stage of dementia, or God’s way of nudging me toward suicide? There was no way to be sure. I even looked up “Stephen Harper” in my dreamer’s dictionary but the entry contained nothing but that funny picture of him holding a cat and looking like a serial killer. It didn't bode well.

I spent the week considering what the dream meant, all the while noting that my opinion of Harper in waking life remained unchanged. Still, the question lingered: why did I have a sympathetic dream about a man I despise? After careful consideration, I believe that my dream can be explained in one of three ways:

1) I am the victim of a top secret, insidious “dream-hacking” plot by which a tiny Dream Harper was implanted into my slumbering brain by the Conservative Party of Canada to get votes. As I lay there utterly defenseless, Dream Harper got to work sabotaging my subconscious mind, rewiring my synapses and tricking me into thinking I admired the Prime Minister and his magnificent collection of sweaters. The only way to prevent getting a Dream Harper is to plug all your orifices with ammonia-soaked rags.

2) I secretly want to have sex with Stephen Harper. It sounds crazy—but is it? Freud said that dreams are manifestations of our deepest desires and anxieties, often relating to repressed childhood memories or obsessions. Hmmm. I don’t think I was obsessed with screwing Stephen Harper when I was a boy, but that was a long time ago… and I did wake up with a boner. Yikes!

3) My subconscious mind is a fuckface. Perhaps my brain is rebelling against me and I’ve begun the slow, painful process of turning into an extreme right-wing hothead. Before you know it I’ll be forcing children to sing the national anthem at gunpoint and using tar sands oil as lubrication for when I masturbate to portraits of the Queen.

I may never know the exact reason why Stephen Harper used my brain as a nocturnal toilet, but it’d better not happen again. And if it does, I’ll stab myself in the brain with the knife I keep under my pillow and Stephen Harper will go to jail for attempted murder. Right?

It’s your move, Stephen. 

Jesus or Me: Who is More Amazing?

Big Shot?

Much to my surprise, I turned 33 this week. If you're a religious extremist, you'll know that this is the same age Jesus was when he bowed out in a blaze of glory. And as my birthday approached, I felt ashamed about reaching this famous biblical age without having made my mark. I just couldn't compete with Jesus; it was like trying to outrun a coyote.

Then it struck me: sure, Jesus may have founded a big-deal religion and inspired love and devotion in millions of guys around the world, but when you crunch the numbers, I’m actually doing quite a lot better than Jesus was when he was my age, thank you very much. I’ve done tons of things that would make the Son of Man’s jaw drop—like fly in a plane and cook a risotto. Can you imagine Jesus trying to do either of those things? You'd have an air rage incident and a messy kitchen on your hands!

Compared to Him, I’ve got my shit together. And I can pretty much guarantee that I won’t be arrested by high priests, whipped by Roman soldiers or forced to parade through the streets on a fly-covered donkey in the coming twelve months. But don’t take my word for it. Let’s compare my accomplishments to Jesus’ and see who comes out on top. May the best man win!

Me at 33	Christ at 33
apartment in downtown Toronto	lived with parents
have a girlfriend	nope
spotless criminal record	ne'er do well
have been to New York City	wouldn't know where 5th Avenue was if it jumped up and bit him
can play guitar and harmonica	no musical talent
able to laugh at myself	big old sourpuss
not magical	magical
expect to be alive for a while	winding down

As you can see, the only area in which Jesus beats me is “magic.” I accept this with good sportsmanship. I've never been magical in the slightest. The important thing we've learned is that I have nothing to fear about turning 33. (In fact, after reading all my qualifications, I admit to being a little jealous of myself. If anything, Jesus should be worshiping me!) There’s only one person in this study who should feel bad about turning 33, and we both know his name.

His name is Jesus.

Toronto Sun

Hello men and women,

Last week, the Toronto Sun contacted me and asked me to take down this blog because, in their view, I had been illegally posting copywritten images (Sun covers). I spread the word around and a lot of people who know things told me that the law is definitely on my side. I'd also like to point out that it took the Toronto Sun more than two years to contact me about this. Quick on the draw!

Anyway, Torontoist's Steve Fisher has written an article about my heartbreaking plight. Please give it a read!

Stay tuned and keep reaching for the stars,

Michael A. Balazo

Healthful Halloween Treat Ideas

Booooo! Halloween is here again, and that means one thing: it's time to feed strange children candy in a socially acceptable way. If you're like me, Halloween is an ethical minefield. How do you make it fun for the neighborhood kids without contributing to childhood obesity, diabetes, zits and murder?

Fear not! The following is a list of harrowingly healthful Halloween treat ideas that you can make at home. By being a little bit creative you can minimize your junk food footprint and maximize your fun one. And the best part? The neighborhood kids won't even notice the difference!

HARROWINGLY HEALTHFUL HALLOWEEN TREATS

Dracula Pills (extra-strength Tylenol)

Vampire Soda (bottled water mixed with red food coloring and fake cobwebs)

Wolfman’s Fudge (salad served in a chocolate bar wrapper)

Zombie Pie (tomatoes in a dark bowl)

Mummy’s Fudge (salad served in fresh toilet paper)

Psycho Suckers (twigs dipped in skim milk)

Hitler Gum (dehydrated cranberries mushed into cubes)

Ghost Licorice (uncooked spaghetti eaten under a red lightbulb)

Weird Chips (rice cakes with fake bugs on them)

Blob Pellets (raisins floating in mayonnaise)

Happy snacking, everyone!

Movie Quote Challenge!

Attention: film buffs and cineastes of all shapes and creeds! Your task (should you choose to accept it) is to read the following movie quotes and identify whether they come from either Woody Allen's 1977 Academy Award-winning romantic comedy Annie Hall or Michael Bay's 2011 robot film Transformers: Dark of the Moon. Good luck—and happy film-going!

1. “Love is too weak a word for what I feel—I luuurve you.”

2. “I know who stole the Energon cubes—it was those evil Decepticons!”

3. “La-di-da, Megatron. La-di-da.”

4. “Surprise, surprise, Optimus Prime! In thirty seconds I will destroy the quirky actress Diane Keaton, then take the New York subway to a jazz.”

5. “Oh, jeez! I had no idea that Diane Keaton could transform herself into a car and outgrow me. I feel like the character in that Chekhov story.”

Bonus Question

6. “Is this a fact, Jackie? A winner in the village?”

ANSWERS:

1. Annie Hall 2. Transformers: Dark of the Moon 3. Annie Hall 4. Transformers: Dark of the Moon 5. Annie Hall 6. Waking Ned Devine

Urban Tip: How to Deal With A Glory Hole

One downside to living in a major metropolis is that sometimes, without any warning, you find a glory hole in your apartment. Glory holes can be triggered by any number of events: poor maintenance, climate change or playing jazz records a bit too loud. (In my case, poor maintenance was the culprit.) The day I found a glory hole in my apartment, I nearly had a large spazz. But, instead of jumping off the roof or burning down my home to start afresh, I found a way to deal with the situation like an adult. It is my dream that this blog post will help other urbanites deal with unwanted glory holes and go on to lead rich, exciting lives in America and Spain.

THE PROBLEM: This is me discovering the notorious hole. I was not very happy to see it!

WORST-CASE SCENARIO: What if? No one should have to deal with something like this while trying to eat breakfast or relax with a couple of jazz records. (In the interest of decency, I substituted a banana for the traditional wang.)

THE SOLUTION: Using my quick wits and a little muscle power, I plugged the Godless hole with an old plastic bag I'd been keeping under my sink. Problem solved, my friends!

These days, I can relax at home without having to worry about dozens of wangs poking out the hole of my kitchen's closet door. And that is what life in the city is all about, cool cats and kitties!


Urban Tip is a new Hogwash! feature that will appear when you least expect it, like a ghost or an old friend you'd like to avoid.

Professional photos by Alex Hughes.

Planet Guy: How to "Seal the Deal" After a Date

This guy has achieved the nasty with over 33,000 women.

So, you’ve taken her out to dinner and had some drinks; you’ve casually invited her back to your boarding house and, wonder of wonders, she said yes! Now, what do you do to seal the deal (i.e. take a leisurely stroll down Intercourse Avenue)? You don’t want to mess it up, right? Well, according to a survey of some Canadian women, the worst thing you can do at this stage is take her straight to the bedroom and throw your trousers out the window like some sort of impatient, horny garbage man. The best thing you can do is slowly create a romantic atmosphere that will make it impossible for her to resist you, and that means one thing: an impromptu ragtime piano concert.

No woman can resist a fellow who has mastered the ragtime canon: it's in their DNA. But, whoa!, let’s back up a second, shall we? Before you can even think about asking a woman on a date, you’re going need to do a bit of work. First of all, you’re going to have to buy a baby grand piano for your room (if your landlady objects, buy her some stockings and Chinese oranges to smooth things over).

Now that you own a piano, you're going to have to learn to play the damn thing! Give yourself five to eight years to get comfortable on the keys (we recommend starting off at the Royal Conservatory of Music, then finding yourself a good jazz teacher across the river). Once you’ve tamed the eighty-eight-fingered monster and passed all your exams, it’s time to tame the ten-fingered monster—your sweetheart!

You’ll be amazed by the intense visceral reaction you provoke in your monster when she sees you sit down at the piano bench, straighten your bow tie and launch into the opening trills of Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag,” followed by James Scott’s scintillating “Frog Legs Rag,” and, as you whip her into the final stages of erotic euphoria, Joseph Lamb‘s “Excelsior Rag.” Before you can say “cakewalk,” you’ll be making full love to your woman’s body or face. Oh, and one more thing: in the words of Scott Joplin, “be sure to use protection!”


Planet Guy is a new men's column that will appear maybe once a year on Hogwash!