Oh. My. Godless. Where do I begin? I won’t tell you too much about the Bolton interview - you can watch the ignorance on the part of Snuffy. Foreign policy is a little above his leather bar pay grade. He would attack Bolton with some snide remark, but when Bolton came out with a clear, coherent and totally logical response, Snuffy would say “I totally agree with you, but…” Anyway, watch it on Thursday if you can stomach the CBC. Bolton was very collected and knew his shtick.

Now, let’s talk about that bastion of liberal white guilt, the CBC. You walk in to the main atrium, and it’s all security. Everywhere. Ok, I’ll buy that for a multi-media studio. Fine. I stand and wait for Kathy beneath a poster for Little mosque on the Prairie, which has the tagline: The World’s Most Famous Muslims. Really? I can name 19 who were a helluva lot more famous than those people.

Our friends arrive, including Winston. It appears that our Iranian pal is the only visible minority to be found at the multi-culti CBC. Hmmm. Surely I must be mistaken.

I lean over to another pal and say, “Where is the diversity they’re always talking about around here?” Everyone was white. Seriously. We had to import our own brown guy - I’m surprised the staff didn’t make him go fetch them coffee. Camera men (men - all men), grips, assorted lackeys - all white males. There were two chicks with clipboards - they were both white.

When I made this remark to my friend, some woman who sounded like Marge Simpson’s sisters took offense and told us in no uncertain terms that there were lots of women working there, and the disabled, especially in radio. To which my friend replied “But nobody sees them if they’re in radio. It doesn’t mean anything.” The old feminist (who may have once been a guy) was not a happy camper at that.

We went upstairs to the studio where we were perhaps the best dressed people there. It seems to work in television on my dime, you don’t even have to wash your hair before coming to work. And no, I don’t mean just Snuffy - I mean all of them. A crustier bunch of pot heads I haven’t seen since high school. I wandered over to where the vending machines were to toss out my empty water bottle. Given the dogma coming out of the place, I expected to be faced with a veritable buffet of recycling options. Nada. Zip. Zilch. My fully recyclable plastic bottle went into the trash under the milk bar of the coffee counter. An hour later when Snuffy asked us if we were doing our bit for the Million Acts of Green, I told him about the lack of recycling. He stammered. Told us that the offices have recycling. Didn’t have an answer as to why my water bottle will kill a dolphin or whatever it will eventually be accused (by the CBC) of doing.

So people of Canada, I have seen inside the Mothercorp, and I am not pleased. I expected some hypocrisy, but not the level I witnessed. Bottom line talking points for your local MPs: No diversity in the workplace, and no recycling. The CBC needs to practice its own pravda.

Go forth and get one for the infidel in your life.

And if you live in Toronto, I’ll waive the shipping in exchange for Starbucks and hand deliver it to you!

Yeah.

So, have you bought it yet?

Muslims from the Middle East to Britain and Austria condemned Sunday the Mumbai shooting rampage by suspected Islamic militants as senseless terrorism, but also found themselves on the defensive once again about bloodshed linked to their religion.

Intellectuals and community leaders called for greater efforts to combat religious fanaticism.

Here’s a thought: Why not worry more about the people your co-religionists are killing, and less time worrying about how much we hate you. I promise the rest will fall right into place.

Evil, selfish and stupid to boot.

In other feline news, I send hugs to my dear friend Kris, who lost Precious today, too. Precious passed suddenly, in Kris’s arms on the way to the vet.

Perhaps the two furry ladies will meet in another place and befriend each other.

So yeah, I’m back in Toronto.

And I want sushi. Like, NOW. Any takers? I’m free for dinner.

Amazon - the old standby that says “I hate crowds!” I did all of my Christmas shopping on Amazon when I lived in Glasgow, Scotland, because those people are really scary when it comes to shopping. I’m sure it kept me from losing a limb or something! You can get everything from books to cameras at Amazon, and if you shop via these links, you take care of my Christmas too. So thanks in advance. And hey, cameras are on Black Friday Special!

I bought this, and you may want to buy it for yourself or someone else. Carbonite is great if you work on a non-networked computer, like I do, or if you take lots of pics that it would be unbearable to lose. It backs everything up and it’s even cheaper than most external hard drives. More reliable, too.

Larry, Curly & Mo’ shirts, for the funny infidel in any family. Laugh and the world laughs with you. Whine and cry about it, and you might be a Muslim.

In paying it forward these days, I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time giving blogging advice. Hey, I had the same kindness done to me! So in looking for additional advice to give newer bloggers, I found this. The product “Become a Blogger” isn’t released until December 1, but there are 10 free videos that are really informative to the blogging newcomer, as well as the old hack.

Linens ‘n’ Things is going under. Much has already been picked over in the going out of business sale, but you can bet that they’ll pull out a few fresh goodies for tomorrow. Go forth and buy Mom a nice set of towels or something.

That said, prepare for tomorrow. Go early, wear comfortable shoes (especially if you plan on buying uncomfortable ones - you don’t want to try on Jimmy Choo with swollen feet and cankles), take a bottle of water with you and stay hydrated. Resist the urge to hit anyone, either with your fist or your car. Maybe nosh some of that nice, soothing leftover turkey before you leave the house tomorrow. It will keep you docile. Of course, carry pepper spray in case some cow tries to get the last Betsey Johnson off the Saks sales rack. You can get the pepper spray stain out with a little vinegar.

You’re welcome!

I am very bitter this year, and having a really hard time giving thanks for much. Leap Years have a way of kicking the shit out of me, and this one has been a humdinger. But just because I can’t yet see past the clouds yet doesn’t mean I won’t at some point soon, and I want to record the things that are important to me for when that moment comes.

My readers. You have pulled me out of many sticky spots this year. You are amazing, and I wouldn’t have made it halfway through this Leap Year without you.

Beth, John, Stacy & Family. Poster people for Christian charity - you will always have a place in my heart. I never had to see the inside of a real homeless shelter because of you. You gave me a place to hide and a place to heal. Thank you.

The assorted Toronto crew, readers and writers alike. Meredith, Kathy, K, etc. Meredith for taking care of me after this happened. It was one of the toughest moments I’ve lived through, and for anyone who knows me at all, you know what that means.

Nina Simone and Blue Rodeo for the soundtrack that brought me through to the other side of it.

God, for giving me these shoulders. Enough already, though, ok pal?

THP, from long ago, for staying in my mind and heart every day since 1996, making sure I keep going. No matter what.

The girl from Oregon. Thanks for your help.

The blog and media world for listening to what I have to say, enjoying it and sticking around. Micheal Coren for having me on the show and giving me exposure, and Mike Williams for giving me Brass Balls Radio (currently nominated for best Canadian podcast - have you voted yet?). Guys named Mike in general, ok?

For my new clients - they’re all new - for taking a chance on this ahem “unknown” freelancer. That includes all the great bloggers I work with over on LadyBlog.

I am especially thankful that this year is nearly over, and that Leap Years only come every four years. That’s more than enough.

The issue of child brides for religious men in the mainly Muslim country has became a subject of national debate since little-known cleric Pujianto Cahyo Widiyanto, 43, married junior high school student Lutfiana Ulfa in August.

If you want to fuck children, do what Michael Jackson did and convert to Islam. It’s your one-stop get out of jail free excuse for everything.

Oh wait, maybe not.

In fact it’s the white guys they hate, but they set a very dangerous precedent. Anyone can now challenge this precedent to say that fundraising for anything - from tsunamis to sikle-cell - is too divisive and should be scrapped. Disgusting.

Mohammed El-Dirtbag has finally cottoned onto that idea. Too little too late. But a nice gesture just the same.

Download MP3

Tune in to hear our very informative interview with the risk management specialist who writes for Maxed Out Mama.

Yup, it’s time for the Canadian Blog Awards again. First round voting is open now.

And now over the past few days I’ve come to realize that it’s my turn to be the giver. It’s kinda surreal. I’m getting emails asking for advice, phone calls from readers and listeners wanting to hear my suggestions, and plenty of new opportunities.

So for those just starting out, I wrote a post for you last night, here. I’ve been “used and abused” on these cyber streets in the past, and I want to make sure you don’t get exploited, too.

There will be other bloggy-goodness there from time to time, so I’ll keep you posted. And yes, I’ll keep answering your emails - no worries there!

I have stood in rooms with the loved and the loathed of Canada, gone for drinks with everyone from lowly lawyers (sorry, Ez) to diplomats and congressman. Went through the security required to sit five feet away from Ayaan Hirsi Ali, 15 feet away from Dick Cheney, and 20 feet away from George Bush. I’ve walked the hallowed (though not halal) halls of the Ike Building in Washington DC.

But if I wanted to see the Wizards of the Canadian Human Rights Commission, I would be shit-outta-luck.

Fire. Them. All.

No more words tonight, no more words
I don’t ever want to hear you say you love me one more time
No more words tonight, no more words
I’ll forever keep the silence, you can keep your lies

Does anyone other than me even remember this wonderful tune?

If it looks like an honour killing, walks like an honour killing and talks like an honour killing, it is an honour killing. Honour in Islam depends upon the dishonouring of women and to claim otherwise is a lie.

14. Hajjyoudoin’?

13. I’m new in town, can you give me directions to your cave?

12. Girl, you fine. I see praying five times a day has paid off.

11. That’s a nice burka, can I talk you out of it?

10.I know Halal meat does a body good, but day-um, how much you been eatin’?

Go. Read. Laugh.

We recorded an excellent Brass Balls radio yesterday with Maxed Out Mama, a pseudonymous risk management specialist with an unidentified chain of community banks in America.

She touches on the housing crises as we talk about how we got into this mess, opines on this week’s hot topic of the corporate welfare requested by the Detroit car companies, and tells us a bit about how we can hang on to ride this through. Yes, the news is bad. But like everything else, we’ll come through it hopefully a little wiser.

Tune in Monday to hear our interview with Maxed Out Mama.