The next day I still had worries about fat Dougie, but I was pretty confident that the taxpayer would never support him. I got dressed, ate two plates of pancakes with a litre of syrup, six sausages, a bakers dozen of muffins, some chocolate croissants and a tub of ice cream. Man, this diet is killing me!!!
Then I went to the football field for training. The thing about Rehab, and what most people don’t know, is that there are a lot of famous people who go to Rehab. When I arrived I was sworn to secrecy about who was staying here. I couldn’t even tell my good buddy, Joey W, at the world-class newspaper where he writes a column about how fantastic I am! “Sorry, Joe, Scouts honor!”
Anyway, like I was saying to Joey W. “The Argonauts quarterback is staying here as is the captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs, as well as that guy who anchors the City News at Six. There’s also some sweet honeys, like this one chick from E-Talk. She’s the host, I think, and the actress who starred in Anne of Green Gables, you’ll have to look her up on the Internets. But I’ll never give up their names, so dont’ even go there, Joey.”
So they’re all playing football and I walk onto the field and say, “Hey guys, can I join?” but they ignore me. Which makes me feel mad and pissed off and I feel like a drink.
Then I see Dr. Fonz and I tell him that the other patients won’t let me play with them and I’m losing patience and he’s all like Rob maybe you got to be nicer to them. I sit on the bench and watch them play. They’re sweating and laughing and then I start laughing even though they’re probably laughing at me.
Then I think about calling my bud Sandro and getting these assholes whacked and so I walk over to reception and pick up the phone.
“Yo, Sandro,” I said.
“Tuba, is that you?” It felt good to hear my bud’s voice.
“Sure is, bro.”
He got all quiet like the way he did when we went on one of those coke binges in his mom’s basement and 36 hours later I’m in a bikini and he’s all sweaty in his underwear and we’re watching a Three Stooges marathon on TBS.
“You freebasing?”
“Not over the phone, Tuba.”
“Shit. I know. Man, so sorry.”
The phone tap had been six months by then and Sandro was getting ready for a stint in the big house. I knew he was ready to do anything for me before he went to jail.
“Look, man, I need you to do a hit for me. I need these famous fuckers whacked!”
“Who?”
“Guys at rehab.” I whispered so Dr. Fonz, who was standing beside me, wouldn’t hear a thing. Dr. was none the wiser but he was doing one of those faceplam meme things. Not sure why.
“Sorry, man, no can do. I got business today.”
“What business.” I screamed and my face got all red. Then I kicked the desk and I saw Dr. Fonz call for security.
“I’m helping Doug," he blurted out.
“Helping fat Doug with what?" I demanded.
Dr. Fonz came over and grabbed my shoulder. Then I saw the celeb jocks, who I was ready to put a hit on, stop and stare at me. Fucking celebrity peer pressure. Then the security guards came over and restrained me. Man I hate Mondays!
As I was pulled away from the phone I heard Sandro hang up. I imagined him putting on his high school football jacket and fat Dougie and him cruising East Etobicoke, nailing signs to lawns, holding babies. Then I pictured Mom and how proud she was of me when I won the election and how she made me that banana chocolate cake on election night and I ate the whole thing and then I pictured her making fat Dougie his favourite cake and her saying, “Rob who?” I screamed like crazy. Kicked the desk where the phone was and attacked a nurse. I bit her arm and it reminded me of Swiss Chalet quarter chicken dinner.
Security dragged me into a padded room and installed a thing on my head. Dr. Fonz came into the room and told me this was for the best. Five seconds later I felt a shock and then another and one more after that. It felt good. I popped a big one in my pants. Boner city!
In a daze I looked out the tiny window on the door. Through it Dr. Fonz looked like a space alien. He was angelic - like an angel with wings. I lay there and collected my thoughts. Then I fell asleep and dreamt I was transported on a big ass rocket ship to a better rehab, a rehab close to the moon! But still warm and not made of cheese. And there was a dome there - like the Rogers Centre where I was captain of the rehab football team. I had made it. I was in space rehab!
In the words of Toronto Mayor Rob Ford, the decision to seek help for his addiction problems at a Canadian rehab facility might end up costing him $100,000
Sometimes when I’m driving home all wasted and the cops are following me, I imagine that I run straight into a school bus full of kids, but they’re not kids instead they’re city councillors and driving the school bus is that flip-flopping prick Dennis Wong esq. Anyway, they all die and I’m the only survivor and then I feel all alone, but then I realize that my brother Doug wasn’t on the bus and neither was my other brother Randy and then I’m all like PHEW!
The crazy thing about being sober for a few days is that your mind plays tricks on you. Sometimes when I need a drink I’ll tell myself anything to avoid getting wasted and ending up on YouTube. The other night when I was with Guido I wanted a drink so bad, I would have done anything for a sip of Jack (and I mean anything), but then I started thinking about Dougie and Randy and Dad and then everything went calm. Then out of nowhere I started thinking that Dougie was stealing my identity. Crazy, I know, I mean I made my brother. Paid for his campaign. I rigged the ballots. We’re in it together, running Lazy Town.
Suddenly the phone rang in my room, I answered it.
Rob Ford’s retreat to an undisclosed rehab facility temporarily turned him into the Bigfoot of Canadian politics, as people began to report sketchy "sighti
Are You There, Dougie? It’s me, Fat Rob - Chapter 5
I had that dream again. The one where my brother Dougie and I are at Dad’s grave and Dougie cast a spell and Dad sorta rises from the dead. I’m like, “Dad I made you proud, right?” And dad looks at me and says, “You bet you did.” Then we all high-five and have a cold beer. I know it’s a dream cause my bro Dougie doesn’t drink and you can’t really bring people back from the dead (unless if you’re a saint like Jesus or something).
Excerpt from my upcoming auto-biography either titled The Auto Ford Biography or Lazy Town: The Toronto Media Story
Chapter 15
The strong and mannishly handsome mayor and part-time football star gently stroked the councilwoman’s short blonde hair with his powerful hands. She smiled, eyeing the mayors impressive package tucked under his $75 mustard-stained suit.
“If you don’t get a shot in two seconds, I’m going to knock your f—–g teeth out,” he growled from deep within his gyrating sweaty belly. Then with all the enthusiasm of a Tory at the trough, he greedily jammed her mouth full of his gravy soaked sausage. Like a voting pro from North Etobicoke she swallowed his pole fully. Pulling his now deflated member out of her chamber he smiled and whispered in her right ear, “Let’s get the F— out of here. Maybe California. I think Hudak and the gays are gonna try and pound me.”
- Now available fro pre-order on Amazon.com (fuck dot ca)
WOMEN ARE FROM VENUS, FORDS ARE FROM URANUS - Chapter 4
SPACE JAIL LOG ENTRY 12: I’m twelve days into my ‘behavioural detox program’ that the ruling ‘Elites’ have imposed on me here at The Mars ‘Rehab’ Centre. Although I’ve done nothing wrong but work for my people, ‘The Norms,’ flying around on their space LRTs and sipping their 12 credit-space lattes. The Elites just don’t get it. But here I am being ‘re-educated in the middle of nowhere.’
My days here are filled with mindless repetition of the Intergalactic ‘rules.’ I play along because that’s what everyone wants - but in my heart I know that there is nothing wrong with me that a few weeks at Extreme Space Fitness wouldn't fix.
But it wasn’t all bad - I had fallen in with the underground space jail gang. A bunch of lovable free spirited alien minorities called the Greys. They had trouble getting jobs and often ended up on the Galactic Governments handout list. But I still cared about them - often exchanging space credits for their traditional medicines and attending their rockus tribal ceremonies. They had large eyes, featureless grey faces and cornrows in their hair. They were a fun bunch that knew the meaning of brotherhood and how to have a laugh. They spoke a peculiar dialect that fortunately from my years serving the Norms I knew.
“Wasa yo dosaing hea big boy?,” they first asked me when I was brought in on the space cruiser.
“Mea been framed bysa da man, bumbaclot!” I laughed. They knowingly nodded and slipped me a space dubbie. We were now known associates for life.
Then one day, as I was preparing for a meeting where there could be anywhere from 4 to 8 people, there was a knock on my space door. I couldn’t imagine who it could be and believe me when I say that when I opened the space door I was amazed to find Olivia on the other side.
“Hiro Mister Fard”
“Holy crack pipes, Dougie,” I exclaimed. “Space rehab is amazing!”
“May I come in?” she devilishly smiled.
“Yeah baby, you can come all you like,” I nervously laughed.
Olivia was the kind gal any guy in my position wouldn’t mind taking for a quickie out behind the old Washington Redskins football stadium back on Olde Earth. She was newly space widowed. Her ex --- a smooth talkin’ space bike riding tax saving baldy asshole --- use to like to get handjobs at the Intergalactic Easter Rub and Tug where my space driver pal Sandrino use to change the bedding.
“You look tired,” Olivia said. She presented me with a Marsian tuna sandwich from her practical space handbag that I chowed down on immediately. She wore a pink business casual suit all the rage back on Olde Earth that barely hid her milfy modesty. Her dark hair pulled behind her ears she was like a space angel come to grant me all my immodest desires.
“You got to break me outta this joint. I been here too long.” I finished my Marsian sandwich and then bent down to eat hers.
“It’s only been a week,” she smiled.
“Football camp was only a week too,” I told her not really understanding what the heck I was talking about. Olivia removed her business suit and then pulled off my space track pants.
“It’s been a space decade,” she moaned. I told her it had been awhile for me too, not mentioning the two buxom Spanish Space Cadets I bedded in Chapter 2. I rolled her onto the space rehab bed, the sheets were soft. Space soft. That’s when I saw it. Tattooed on the small of Olivia’s back was a picture of a bald man. I recognized him immediately from those union meetings when my big brother Dougie and I used to sneak in and piss in the water fountain. Underneath in some comic sans font, (which I thought might look good on my campaign poster by the way) were the words: Me Love You Long Time, Jack.
Disgusted, I sat up and told her to take her mayoral desires elsewhere. Outside the space football game had started in the space rehab field bio-dome. I felt limp. She wasn’t the one. I reached for the space phone the Greys had smuggled into the Space Jail for me and called Joey W at the Sun (not the Star).
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