Kitty Eater Update from Bill the German Shepherd

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Toronto

by Bill the German Shepherd


In a surprise development, Ontario Premier Ernie Eves
has rescinded his bizarre resignation only 24 hours
after submitting it.

Eves, who resigned last afternoon after admitting he
was a "coward" and a "yellow belly," issued a press
release today saying the whole thing was a mistake.

"I didn't mean to say 'I resign,' " explained Eves in
his press release. "I meant to say 'I am a great
politician and will lead Ontario to economic renewal
in the years to come.' It was just a slip of the
tongue. And I'm not a 'coward,' as I mistakenly
implied yesterday. I'm a 'cowboy!'"

Some observers were as puzzled by Eve's dramatic
rescinding of his resignation as they were by the
resignation in the first place.

"I'm a bit worried, frankly," said one of Eve's
backroom handlers, who spoke on condition of
anonymity. "I think this whole thing has gone beyond
the usual stress of election time and entered an area
where we should be looking at institutionalization as
a possible solution."

The source cited Eves' unscripted attack on Liberal
leader Dalton MdGuinty as a "repitilian kitty-eater"
as further proof Eves has been "getting hopped up on
Isabelle's HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) menopause
pills again".

"You can always tell when he's on them. He gets this
really bright look in his eyes and starts humming the
theme song to Evita really quickly under his breath,"
said the source. "30 hits of estrogen a day will do
funny things to a guy."

Earlier reports that Eves' strange behaviour is linked
to the consumption of tainted meat are simply false,
said Les Grierson, the official spokesperson for the
Eves campaign.

"I've seen that guy eat rotten stuff lots of times,
and it's never affected him before," said Grierson.
"He's always scooping up cigarette butts and bits of
garbage and half-finished  hot dogs along Bloor Street
and wolfing it all down. Says hygiene is for sissies.
So, no,  I don't think you can pin his latest descent
into madness on bad food."

Eves, who sources say was institutionalized briefly in
 the late 1970s in a privately-run mental health
facility, denies having any emotional problems.

"That's what the kitty-eating crocodiles want you to
believe. It's not true," he stated in his press
release.

Ontario Liberal Leader Dalton McGuinty told reporters
today, "I am not  a kitty-eater. I am a regular guy. I
like the Maple Leafs. Vote Liberal."
---------

continued

September 13

by Bill the German Shepherd

Toronto

"Repitilian kitty-eater" was not an off-the-cuff slur,
documents obtained by Bill the German Shepherd show.

The unusual insult was hurled at Ontario Liberal
Leader Dalton McGuinty yesterday by Ontario Premier
Ernie Eves, who some have accused of stooping to
"mud-slinging tactics" in the current Ontario
election.

Documents obtained under the Freedom of Information
act reveal the the Ontario Tories in fact spent
several months, and $3.7 million dollars, conducting
focus groups and polls to determine the most effective
mud-slinging tactic to bring the Ontario Liberal
Leader into disrepute.

Early telephone polling in March and April tested out
the impact of such insults as "reptilian
reptile-eater," "stinky, foul smelling guy,"
"heel," "cad,"  and "cry baby."

Focus groups, held in Toronto in May and June, further
refined the search for the most powerful insult.

Innovate slurs like "somebody who would drink gasoline
with a spoon," "somebody who smells like sulfur," and
"elephant head" were rejected on the grounds that they
were difficult to understand.

Other slurs, like "jerk," "scumbag", "commie,"
"weasel," "loser" and "psycho" were deemed shopworn
and ineffective by the focus group participants, who
also rejected such entries  as "pig," "dog," and "flim
flam man."

The winning insult, "reptilian kitty-eater", was
chosen by a panel of experts in late August and
field-tested in several sports bars in the 905 area.
It narrowly edged the runner ups, "repitilain bozo"
and "crodocile guy" by just a few votes on August 26.

Eves then spent several days in seculsion practising
the insult and the contemptuous hand gesture (a
downward slash with the left hand) which was to
accompany it.

Ontario NDP leader Howard Hampton said the exercise
shows the Tories can't even recognize a good insult,
let alone run a province.

" 'Loser', for example, is not a 'shopworn' insult
like they say. It's a classic. It'll always be around.
Same goes for 'flim flam man.' Who among us likes to
be hoodwinked by one of those crafy fellows?"

Ontario Liberal Leader Dalton McGuinty said, "I am not
a reptile. I like kitties. Not too much, like to the
point where I would eat them. But just the right
amount, where you feel comfortable petting them and
giving them nicknames. That's because I'm a regular
guy. Vote Liberal."

---------

Nunziata defends his seven-step final solution plan for the homeless problem

from Bill Dogg <germanshep666@yahoo.com>

Toronto mayoralty candidate John Nunziata says his
plan to use police officers to sweep homeless people
off the streets is not merely "cosmetic" or "hastily
thought up", as some critics have charged.

"This is just the first part of a seven-step  final
solution plan to the homeless problem," Nunziata told
enthusiastic listeners at a packed, standing-room only
meeting last night at the North York SPCA.

"My solution will not only get to the root of the
problem, it will sever that root once and for all."

Brandishing a copy of his parliamentary memoir, "My
Struggles," Nunziata told the crowd that his ideas
were well thought-out, and had in fact been formed at
a very early age.

"As a naive young man, I too thought the homeless just
needed a place to live. So I dropped a dime or a shiny
quarter in their greasy outstretched palms whenever I
passed by," he recalled.

"But after a week or two, I noticed they were still on
the streets. They hadn't used my money to rent a nice
apartment, and clean themselves up. No, they were
still sleeping on the sidewalks and urinating in the
alleyways. I realized then that no matter how many
shiny quarters I gave them, they would never buy a
pleasant bungalow. The reason for their refusal struck
me all too clearly. It was because they were sick in
the head. Sick, sick, sick in the head! And as the
years went by, and more of them appeared, I realized
we had an epidemic of sick-in-the-headness on our
hands. Thousands and thousand of people who refuse to
live in nice ranch style houses or attractive
split-levels because they're sick, sick, sick in the
head!", he said.

"And so I stand before you today and say: Too long, my
friends. Too long have the poor been polluting the
city with their foul stench and their slovenly
appearance! Too long have these pestlilent maggots
burrowed into the rotting carcass of our once-proud
city!! Too long have these greasy rodents infected the
very air we breathe,  the very thoughts we think, with
their whoring syphilitic moral corruption!!!" Nunziata
screamed at the wildly cheering crowd.

"My 'seven-step final solution plan' to the homeless
problem will transform Toronto into a glorious happy
paradise where we the Master Class shall crush the
poor like miserable insects beneath our strong, firm
boots! The time to act is now! The time to kill is
now! ", screamed the bald politician, whirling a mike
stand around his head while a polka band launched into
a feverish version of "The No No Song."

The overflowing crowd, most of whom were smartly
attired in brown shirts and black jackboots, with
natty red-and-black arm-bands, cheered Nunziata's
remarks wildly.

"Kill the Homeless! Kill the Homeless!" was one
popular chant among the brown-shirted listeners, many
of whom extended their arms in stiff, chest-level
salutes as Nunziata "goose-stepped" back and forth
across the stage to a frenzied version of "The Beer
Barrel Polka."

"TEAR THEIR GREASY HEADS OFF AND FEED THEM TO THE
DOGS!!!" was another popular refrain among the crowd
whose  emotional temperature reached the boiling point
when a slide-show was screened of homeless people
eating free hot dogs at the taxpayers' expense.

After the crowd quietened down, Nunziata explained his
"seven-step final solution plan" in more detail.

"First, we lock up all the poor and homeless people.
Second, we set fire to City Hall. Third, we have some
kind of referendum thingie which makes me dictator for
life. Fourth, we attack Mississauga, Hamilton, and
blitzkrieg our way all the way down the 401, maybe as
far as London. Fifth, we make some foolish mistake
like attacking British Columbia and Nova Scotia at
once, dragging them into the war and creating an
massive allied force we have no chance whatsoever of
beating. Sixth, we march on Yellowknife in January
dressed in inadequate clothing. Most of you will die
along this trek, so don't forget to settle old scores
with your neighbors and co-workers before climbing
into the cattle cars for the Northern Front. It'll
probably be your last chance to get even. Seventh, the
Allies will pound Toronto with daily bombings, and
many of you will betray me and call me a madman and
try to assassinate me while I'm not looking. I'll
start drafting senior citizens to fight and die for
their city, then I'll shoot myself in the head in my
private bunker. People will wonder for years whether I
really died. Many people will spread false rumours
that I slipped away to Brazil to lead a sinful life of
decadent luxury. Don't believe the rumours. I'm going
to die like a man, just like we're all going to die
like men. Everyone last of you. Heil John! Heil John!
Heil John! "

Most of the crowd fell silent and began leaving the
meeting room when they heard the bit about having to
die for their city. The polka band also packed up
their  gear and left the hall quickly, without waiting
to be paid.

But at least one old lady stayed behind, smiling up
warmly at the deserted and forlorn bald man on the
speaker's platform.

"You can't say he just came up with this stuff without
thinking it through first," Mrs. Geraldine Paige, 73,
told reporters. "And, I mean, he's trying. You've got
to give him that. I like him."

============================

McGuinty's Campaign Diary Leaked to the Press

September 17

by Bill the German Shepherd

Toronto

The personal campaign diary of Dalton McGuinty, the
leader of the Ontario Liberal Party, was leaked to the
press yesterday by a campaign worker who asked to
remain anonymous.

"I want to set the record straight about what's really
been going on," said the worker, who explained that
she was upset by the insults, taunts and ridicule
McGuinty had been subjected to during the campaign.

Excerpts from the journal appear below.


September 5,

Dear Diary,

A man with tattoos butted in front of me in the
checkout line at the supermarket today. I was going to
say something, but I wasn't sure why he had done it.
The check-out lady was embarrassed and looked down at
the groceries she was bagging as if she felt ashamed
for me. Then the man  bumped me on his way out and I
dropped my briefcase and my papers went all over the
floor, and two teenaged girls in the lineup behind me
started giggling. I was going to just leave, but I had
to stay there and pay for all the pop and chips and
stuff that the campaign workers and reporters had
asked for. When I got back to the bus, they forgot to
pay me again. But that's OK.

Yours truly, Dalton.


Sept 6,

Dear Diary,

The fat TV reporter took my seat on the bus again
today and laughed at me when I asked for it back. So I
had to sit up front next to the old lady reporter for
the Yonge Street Review. She's really very nice, but
she talks constantly and I didn't get a chance to go
over my speech before we got to the next stop. So when
I was giving my speech I got some of the words mixed
up, and instead of saying "we need a strong Ontario,"
I said   "we need astronomy Ohio yodelayio" and some
of the teenagers in the crowd started snickering at
me. I'm going to speak to my campaign manager again.
He just has to put his foot down about that TV
reporter. It's really not fair.

Yours truly, Dalton.


September 7,

Dear Diary,

The bus driver was rude to me again today. I was
standing outside the front door, giving an interview
to a reporter, and the bus driver yelled out
"c'mon chickenshit. We ain't got all day." I looked at
my campaign manager to see if he was going to say
something. But him and the  TV reporter were standing
in the aisleway of the bus laughing at something. So I
apologized to the reporter who was interviewing me and
got back on the bus. The old lady reporter from the
Yonge Street Review said she needed my seat for her
knitting bags. So I sat on the floor beside the
driver. But he said "get the fuck away from me
dipshit", so I had to go sit on the floor at the back
of the bus beside the TV guy who sprayed a can of Coke
all over my shirt. I laughed to show I was an OK guy,
and then he sprayed the rest of the can all over my
head. I wouldn't have minded, but I looked kind of
sticky and gooey when I was giving my speech in
Cornwall that afternoon.  Oh well.

Yours sincerely, Dalton

 
September 8,

Dear Diary,

Got  into a bit of a tussle with the local boys in
North Bay today. I was trying to do my speech and they
kept flipping peanut shells and paper cups at me and
calling me names which I don't think I'll repeat here.
 I just ignored them and finished my speech. But when
I got off the stage, they were blocking my way at the
bottom of steps. I had to give them each a loonie and
an apology before they would let me pass. Then one of
them tripped me as I was walking by. Then they spilled
a whole bottle of 7-Up all over me. A whole crowd of
people was watching, and they all started laughing at
me. The boys said "it was an accident, NOT!" and
everybody started laughing even louder. But then the
old lady reporter came over and started scolding
them.

I felt bad for the boys.  They reminded me of when
myself I was in highschool. I was a pretty wild guy
too. Always goofing around and getting my ruler and
protractor stolen in math class and getting chased
around the parking lot by the big boys and getting
french fries and gravy  dunked over my head in the
cafeteria and getting called "gimp" all the time. Even
my home room teacher called me "gimp" every morning at
attendance for three years, because she thought it
must be my real name. But that's OK.

Yours truly, Dalton.



September  9,

Dear Diary,

The bus driver said everyone had voted me off the bus.
So I had to take a taxi to Timmins. I wouldn't have
minded, but I had lent my credit cards to the  TV
reporter, because he said I wasn't quick enough on the
beer and pizza runs, so he was going to do it himself.
So when the taxi driver turned around and said
"that'll be $764 dollars,"  I reached for my wallet
but I remembered my credit cards were gone. The police
were really nice about it, though. They let me out of
jail as soon as  my campaign manager showed up and
paid the taxi bill. (They made me and this other
protective custody prisoner play one more round of
"Who's the Rat?" first, which is a pretty fun game
except for the part where they stick your head in the
toilet and give you "forty whacks".) The TV guy still
wouldn't give me the credit cards back when I finally
got back to the bus. He's a nice guy, but sometimes I
thinks he carries on his jokes for too long. I think I
might have to have a talk with him myself, if the
campaign manager won't do it. Anyway, good night, dear
diary.  I've got a big day ahead of me tomorrow.

Yours truly, Dalton


September 10,

Dear Diary,

Someone on the bus scrawled "Psycho" in black magic
marker on the back of my shirt today, and when I
turned around to leave after giving my speech the
whole crowd broke into hysterics. I like a good prank
as much as the next fellow, but jeez! That one's four
years old!

Yours truly,
Dalton


September 11,

Dear Diary,

My campaign manager stopped me this afternoon on my
way to the supermarket. He said I didn't have to keep
buying pop and chips for everyone if I didn't want to.
He said some of the guys have been feeling pretty bad
about picking on me. I said "it's OK. Nobody's picking
on me. I like buying pop and snackfood for everybody."
He looked at me for a moment, and didn't say anything,
and then he walked away swearing under his breath
about "fuckhead" or "fuck it" or something. He's a
pretty odd fellow, sometimes, that guy.

Yours truly,
Dalton


Sept. 12 

Dear Diary,

Ernie called me a "reptile" or a "cat-eater" or
something today. I didn't mind. That's just the way
Ernie is. He's always cracking jokes and giving you
wedgies  and tripping you and making you drop all your
books when you try to walk past him in the legislature
hallways. That's Ernie. But my campaign manager said
I'd have to wear a yellow T-shirt with those words on
it for the rest of the campaign to get "mileage" out
of the incident, which I didn't think was very nice.
Ernie was just trying to have fun. Oh well.

Yours truly, Dalton


September 13,

Dear Diary,

Somebody has been  leaving hate messages on our
campaign answering machine. Saying they're going to
"get me" for eating all those cats. My campaign
manager is pretty worried. He keeps talking about
"fucking nutcases out there" and keeps staring out the
windows of the bus to see if anyone's lurking in the
shadows. He told me to keep wearing the cat-eater T
shirts because people will think it's funny. But I
noticed he had stopped wearing his as soon as the
hate-messages started, so  I tried to take mine off
too. But he started calling me a "wuss" and a "little
cry baby"  and said I had to start "acting like a
man." So I said, "that's OK. I can keep wearing it."

Yours truly, Dalton


September 14, 

Dear Diary,

Somebody firebombed our bus last night. The police
think it's about the cats again. They can't find the
campaign manager or the TV reporter anywhere, so they
might have got burnt up or something. The police asked
me a lot of questions, so I told them about all the
hate messages on the answering machine and they were
really interested in them and said they were going to
start tracing calls and DNA-profiling everyone in the
neighborhood. They didn't think to ask if I had bombed
the bus myself to get rid of some rather annoying
fellows. But that's OK.

Yours truly, Dalton