One of the things that has been on my mind leading up to this Memorial Day has been the prevalence of PTSD - post Traumatic Stress Disorder. So many of our men coming home from the wars are leaving their minds behind - nightmares, flashbacks, depression and more. This is something I’ve had the misfortune to see firsthand, though on a minor level. Despite what the TV shows tell you, PTSD doesn’t generally manifest in shooting sprees… it’s more insidious than that. It’s a personality shift in your husband or son, a withdrawing from loved ones, a cry in the night.

I’ve never been to war. I’ve only ever seen the after effects. However, there are many civilians who have been struck with PTSD from the events of September 11, 2001. Nightmares, phobias, paranoia, uncontrolled anger issues. Check, check, check, check.

We are fighting a Global War on Terror on two official fronts because of the events that took place that day, and the men (and women) who serve are out there risking their lives and their minds to help alleviate the nightmares we at home have endured since that day.

I myself will never forget the events of that day, and I include them here for you. But I must say, since the death of bin Laden - even though he was merely a bogeyman - I sleep a little easier at night. So thank you to all those who serve now, and who have served before, for taking away my bad dreams and making them your own. Your sacrifice is not unappreciated.

It was still summer. My future husband was still shacked up with me in my trendy east end apartment in Montreal. He had the summer off to be a tourist, and I had quit my job a month earlier with the Montreal satellite office of Manhattan-based Everlast Apparel. My plan was to chill out in my city before moving across an ocean to be with the aforementioned character, Andy.

Through the haze of sleep, Andy was able to hear the ringing phone which was too low to penetrate my day-glo orange earplugs. He staggered out of the bed and followed the phone cord out of the bedroom, down the hall and through the kitchen to the sun room, where the phone rested on the couch. The call had gone to voicemail. It was early - too early for any of our friends. Andy checked the message, figuring it might be his parents calling from overseas.

The call changed everything.

“I hope when you were in New York two weeks ago you saw the World Trade Center, cause it just fucking blew up!” shrieked my best friend Heather into my answering service.

Andy was confused, and called her back.

He came into the bedroom after hanging up the call. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he touched my shoulder and said, “Heather called. America is at war, but they don’t know who with. The Twin Towers are gone. We have to go to Heather’s.”

I opened one eye, reached up and pulled out one ear plug. “Wwhhat?”

“Just get dressed. We’re going to Heather’s.”

I pulled my hair back in a ponytail, put on my black sun dress - no panties, slid on my sandals, and we walked through eerily quiet streets to Heather’s apartment three blocks away. The sky was this shade of blue that I’ll never forget - September 11th Blue. To this day, whenever I see it, I have to turn away from the brilliance of it.

Heather opened her apartment door like an undertaker ushering us in to send off our dearly departed. She took my hand and led me to the living room, where the glowing TV gave off an image I could NOT comprehend. The planes flew, and the towers fell, over and over again. It was 10:30am. I began to laugh. A high pitched, semi-hysterical, is-the-joke-on-me? kind of laugh.

“Tea.” she said.

She and I went into the kitchen to boil water, leaving Andy to stare wordlessly at the screen.

We boiled the water. We steeped the tea. I picked up two cups - one each for me and Andy - and splashed hot water on my hand. I screamed. The tiny splash didn’t warrant the scream that came from my mouth. I just screamed and screamed, unable to stop. No one moved to comfort me. We were all broken.

“Shawn has all the US cable channels. We’ll grab a cab to his place.” Shawn was Heather’s finace, an out of work CBC reporter on the busiest news day of our lifetimes.

“No,” I said, “we’ll wait till noon. That’s four planes already. We don’t know what will happen when Los Angeles opens.”

We waited. I can’t remember if we said much, or what we would have said.

At 12:30, with all flights around North America locked down, we hailed a taxi to go over the Mont Royal to Shawn’s.

There we were met by two more out-of-work reporters. Shawn’s friends. I went into the kitchen to rustle up some nourishment, and found only tomato juice and vodka. It was a Bloody Mary day.

Over and over we watched the towers fall. We watched Peter Jennings go from unshaven with no makeup to put-together to tired over the course of the day. We flipped channels, until we came to the colored test pattern of a NYC station whose antenna was atop one of the towers. Suddenly it was real.

That night, taking the Metro home from Shawn’s, I grabbed a discarded Gazette. The front page showed the devastation, and for the first time I saw the shorthand: 9/11. It took me a moment to place the confusion: Never in my lifetime had the Montreal Gazette printed an afternoon edition.

This was serious.

The next day, the four of us - me, Heather, Andy and Shawn - all stood outside the collection office of Hema Quebec, the blood agency. For five hours we stood in line with other good samaritans, not knowing yet - we wouldn’t know for several days - that there were no survivors who would need the blood we were offering up.

Ontario Liberals and their operatives are howling after the news that Progressive Conservative (fuck I hate that moniker) leader Tim Hudak wants to institute chain gangs in Ontario.

Their “concern” (these fuckers are never really concerned about anybody but themselves) is that kids and families would be endangered by having hardened psychopaths on the loose in our parks and schoolyards.

The Liberals condemned Hudak’s “reckless” plan, warning it would put thousands of dangerous criminals — including drug dealers and sexual predators — in parks and neighbourhoods with children and families.

Criminals need to be behind “high walls and steel bars” to keep the public safe, said Community Safety and Correctional Services Minister Jim Bradley.

“They cannot be in out in our neighbourhoods with our kids,” he said.

I call bullshit.

Chain gangs tend not to be comprised of the Hannibal Lecters of society. These are minimum and medium security offenders, drug dealers and thieves. They are not serial killers and pedophiles.

Let’s be honest here: The real reason the Liberals are crying fowl is because the Ontario unions would lose work on highways and in provincial parks. The Libs figure if they make the right noises to the unions, they can sway some of the NDP voters intot heir corner. Which is also wrong.

The best way to govern yourself is to see what Ontario Liberal Party paid operatives (who get a stipend of $10,000 per month and still make their estranged wives “Sophie’s Choice” which kid should get the good education) want you to do, and then do the opposite.

CAVEAT: I have no recollection of recording this podcast. I was exhausted and (only) on my second martini. Here’s a tip, kids: Don’t make your martinis in a juice tumbler. HUGE!

Wendy performs the classic “rope a dope” at border security and sneaks into the U.S. to visit the entire “E” Ring at the Pentagon. Obama snubs Israel and then gets “snubbed” back and a Michigan millionaire who can’t give up his food stamps.

Brass Balls Radio - Show 87

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Not even MMA champ Brock Lesnar.

Former UFC heavyweight champion Brock Lesnar says putting his faith in doctors at a Manitoba hospital almost killed him.

In his autobiography Death Clutch, scheduled for release on May 28, the mixed martial arts star describes his painful stay at a Brandon hospital in late 2009 after falling ill on a wilderness holiday in western Manitoba.

The six-foot-three, 265-pound fighter was so sick, he had to be carried to the car by his brother.

Lesnar says he suffered because the hospital’s lone CT machine was broken, meaning doctors were unable to find out what was causing his stomach pain.

“I had no clue what was wrong, since they couldn’t get a picture of my stomach,” Lesnar writes. “The doctor didn’t know either. He was waiting on the part for the machine. Time was slipping away, and I was wondering if I would ever make it out of that hospital alive.

“I put my faith in the doctors at that hospital. I shouldn’t have. It almost cost me my career. It almost cost me my life.”

Remember kiddies: Socialism kills.

Remember kiddies - the only good Muslim is a dead Muslim. After all, that’s how they feel about the rest of us.

A sickly four-month-old Mohammed Abu Mustafa had arrived at the emergency room from Gaza. “It was very easy to diagnose him as having a severe type of immunodeficiency,” Dr. Somech said in an interview. The same genetic condition had already claimed the lives of two of Mohammed’s sisters, and without a costly bone marrow transplant, it was unlikely he would survive beyond his first birthday.

But as the story unfolds, it becomes one not just of generosity and medical marvel but of the value placed on life. The stark difference in living conditions in Gaza and Israel means an operation considered automatic for an Israeli child would be beyond the reach of a Palestinian family without the urgent intervention of an anonymous benefactor (a man whose own son had recently died during his Israeli military service.) And even after the funding has been secured and the transplant performed, Mohammed’s mother, Raida, makes a statement that calls into question all the efforts to save his life.

As she and the filmmaker, Israeli TV reporter Shlomi Eldar, discuss the status of Jerusalem, Raida says she would be proud to see her son grow up to be a suicide bomber. “Even the smallest infant, younger than Mohammed, to the oldest person, we’ll all sacrifice ourselves for Jerusalem,” she says. Asked by a dumbfounded Mr. Eldar whether she would let Mohammed become a shahid, or martyr, if he recovers, she replies, “Absolutely. If it’s for the sake of Jerusalem, I would.” Life, she says, is not precious.

These are NOT human beings. These are parasites, or better yet, serpents. You may nurse the serpent to your breast, but in the end, he will still bite you and destroy you with his venom.

The new show is up!


This week Wendy shuts up just long enough for a magnificent rant from Craig and yet another show slogan. We’re not common but we’re not uncommon.

Brass Balls Radio - Show 86

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So that do we like better?

1. We’re nothing if not topical.

or

2. We’re not common, but we’re not uncommon.

Not terribly often I’m allowed to publish the emails I receive from my friends in uniform, but this one I can. He’s as in love with the ellipses as I am, so bear with us.

Subject: A cool run

Morning to all. Yesterday afternoon following the frustration of
several meetings, I went for 4 mile run across Memorial Bridge….by the
Lincoln Memorial…….and down to the World War II Memorial and back.
On my way out, I noticed two buses with many gentlemen in wheel chairs
next to them. They were loading up to continue a tour of DC I can only
assume. I noticed the hats, they were Vets of WWII and Korea…….and
I thought to myself what an honor to follow such great men. As I
continued out, and made the turn to come back……..I ran up the steps
of the Lincoln Memorial……thinking what a great country this is
despite all of our challenges today………..and I continued
on……..and the buses were just about finished loading. Instead of
continuing on to cross the bridge and return to the Pentagon…..I
stopped in front of one of the buses and asked to speak to the
collective group of Veterans. I stepped on the bus a sweaty mess from
running and still breathing hard…one man joked “are you going to make
it!?”…………I smiled and accepted the microphone from the driver.
I asked for their attention and introduced myself………..then spoke
of the brotherhood of arms and of my service over the past 22 years and
how they laid the foundation for our modern combat forces………and
most importantly stated that on behalf of those who are serving now I
expressed grateful appreciation for their service………for without
them…….the Greatest Generation…………everything around us would
not be possible……..they are all truly Great Americans. Take the
time to thank those who serve, especially those from the Greatest
Generation……….fewer and fewer of them remain….

There’s a reason this is my best friend in the world.

This week, Wendy and Craig celebrate the Tequila! The cast and crew of the Take That! Radio network is also proud to report that Osama Bin Laden is still dead. I’m sorry. Did somebody say Tequila?

Brass Balls Radio - Show 85

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The Consumerist links to a story of a California military family who have been given their marching orders to move to Virginia Beach. Upon canceling their gym membership, the twats at Gold’s Gym tried to make them pay the early cancellation fee:

On Tuesday, Angie Calhoun went to the gym’s corporate offices to cancel her family’s memberships. She said she brought with her the government orders to transfer her husband, Petty Officer 2nd Class Zahir Calhoun, to Virginia.

A woman in the gym’s office said she would handle the cancellation, but later called to say her supervisor said the family would have to pay $200 in cancellation fees.

“I told her we’re not paying it,” said Calhoun, who is leaving with her family Monday. “This is ridiculous. We have orders. We’re moving all the way to Virginia Beach.”

Uh, no. Military personnel who are under orders to relocate or deploy are exempt from many - most - civil contracts. Leases, membership, etc can all be broken without penalty. Not to mention, does any one business want to go out of its way to alienate military personnel during war time? Americans remember that kind of thing, and they don’t much care to patronize such establishments.

The Osama sleeps with the fishes edition as Wendy Sullivan, Andrew Lawton, Kimberly Haney, and Craig Ignatowitz do a bit of a dance. Waterboarding and Canadian Politics round out the hour. Don’t miss it!

Right This Way - Show 38

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Fuck the rain. I’m heading down to the US Consulate on University Street, hoping for a party.

Waiting for the White House presser. He was in Pakistan, as expected.

I am so excited. I have never been this happy in my LIFE.

Congratulations and thank you to the United States military.

More to follow after the presser.

11.33pm - Presser is starting. I said years ago we should have nuked Pakistan, but no one ever listens to me.

I have posted my happy naked dance to Twitter.

11.39pm No Americans were harmed in the killing of Bin Laden. Obama is pleading with Muslims, as usual. Barf.

I didn’t edit this tweet in any way, shape or form, but it sums my thoughts up nicely.

This week religious freedom with Captain Redneck and the Mustache of Doom, Lara Logan and why she shouldn’t have been standing there, and the bloody royal wedding.

Brass Balls Radio - Show 84

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