“Yo, Bitchez!”

Yeah, I’m talking to you, Torontonians.

I’ve been haphazardly following the news from Toronto (I was surprised after I moved to Ottawa by how soon I stopped caring about Toronto, and the rest of Ontario – I already didn’t care about the rest of the country) but this morning I got up-to-date on the Rob Ford show, and although I was going to blog about being unemployed in Ottawa (my first time ever being unemployed – not by choice – but a change is a good as a rest) I need to off load first about Rob Ford.

I got mad reading about Rob’s Kids being chauffeured home on public transit, the brain valve popping kind of mad, because I can imagine being one of the middle-aged or older lady taxpayers told to get off the bus that was commandeered by the bunch of men whose salaries we pay (a lot) to do it.

I mean, seriously, at this point, how is Rob Ford even getting away with the claim that he’s helping underprivileged youth, when he’s booting their moms and/or dads off buses so that they won’t get wet? They’re teenaged boys, ferchrissakes, they’re supposed to get wet. And cold. And be made to walk long distances. It’s why their moms and dads buy them only the best galoshes and only the best overcoats we can afford. Sometimes, we can only afford to do that because we don’t own cars, and instead rely on public transit to get to and from work. That is to say, when we have work and aren’t at home considering our various options, even though we live in Ottawa where the only option is the public service, from whence we were just laid off, but which appears to be hiring again – so hurray for the circle of public service life.

I can almost guarantee you, dear Sooey Says reader(s), that every single one of the underprivileged teenaged boys on that bus was wearing more money on his person than this middle-aged suddenly unemployed (thanks to Stephen Harper’s jobs and growth strategy of moving all the employment to the one province now owned by China, and I mean that sincerely, thanks, because I was really just spinning my wheels and spending money here in my local economy working anyway) mother of three has EVER worn on hers.

By the way, I’m a real team player, seriously, I don’t give a rat’s ass who gets the credit for whatever stupid partisan crap finally gets signed off on by whichever asshat of whatever party wants it done. Just direct deposit my pay cheque and keep track of whatever vacation I have coming to me, H.R.

And just a head’s up, everybody – keep track yourself, too, because chances are H.R. has long since left the building, not that I’m speaking from personal experience (I am, and I had really good H.R. where I was working, too).

I know this about teenaged boys because I have one, although he played several thousands of dollars worth of hockey, not football, and last year his dad and I paid more for a leather coat that identifies him as belonging to a certain team (or, faculty, if you will) than either of us have paid for an article of clothing for ourselves – ever.

It’s how parents roll these days and it doesn’t matter our level of income. We cannot bear for our kids to suffer through anything, least of all something so easily remedied, like making sure they have the proper clothing to survive the outdoors – in style – just in case they find themselves outdoors and weather happens.

They’re prepared.

So enough about teenaged boys, who admittedly are kind of like fish out of water these days, especially outdoors, and especially juxtaposed to teenaged girls, who are over-achieving like, well, their moms, who, not content to be either homemakers or professionals, have to be both now or we feel like we’re failures at living, and back to Coach Ford, from whom we could all use a lesson in work/life balance, now that I’m unemployed and have the time to stop and think about it.

I have to say, though, the whole “oh no! rain!” scenario brought to mind the wicked witch of the west and how Dorothy melts all her wickedness by throwing a bucket of water on her, “liquidating” her, as the wizard of oz puts it, and then Jed Clampett does the “all hail” to Dorothy for finally freeing everybody from the tyranny of the wicked witch and Dorothy heads back to Kansas, where life is black and white, and not oz, which is like a bad acid trip.

Full disclosure: I have never done acid, although maybe I should try it so I’ll understand better Rob Ford’s vision for Toronto. Although, not living in Toronto, why should I have to do acid to understand Rob Ford’s vision for Toronto. Toronto taxpayers should have to do acid.

And yes, I’m suggesting Coach Ford is trippin’. Whether it’s ego or drugs is anybody’s guess, but Torontonians should probably hope it’s drugs because at least he can get off drugs.

So maybe Toronto police should answer the next phone call from Rob Ford by showing up with a bucket of water. Because, seriously, Toronto police look like Rob Ford’s bitches, if you ask me. I mean, emasculated much, boys? (And I’d like to know why the lady police are just standing by while their sisters get turfed off public transit so that a bunch of spoiled brats can use it as their own personal limo service, too. How have we come a long way if we’re just playing back up to a front string of bitchez, ladies? Dorothy was just a “little girl” and she put an end to the wicked witch, ferchrissakes. You’re working mothers. Shame on you. Who do you think got hauled off that bus? That’s right – YOUR working mothers!)

Meanwhile, maybe the men of Toronto could, oh, I dunno, step up? I”m not saying head down to City Hall and pull this asshole out of office by his ears – I’m saying head over to the football field and do it.

I mean, seriously, Toronto is oz, Rob Ford is the wicked witch of the west and everybody else on the public payroll is at this point just the co-dependent enablers of oz.

Where is a water girl when you need her?