Word of the Day: doxy
noun
archaic
1. a lover or mistress
2. a prostitute
“He was pretty surprised when he thought her stage name was Doxy, but once he found out that that was her birth name, he knew her tornado-bait parents had doomed her to this life: she never had a chance.”
N.P.: “Holy Touch” – Foxy Shazam
Hot diggity damn, dear reader…tonight is Burns Night! Since you are not already drinking whisky and jumping off the furniture, I can only assume you are unfamiliar with Burns Night. Fair enough…it is my depressing belief that very few Americans read much anymore. I’m not confident that many of them can read. But that’s another topic for another day. Today is Burns Night, dammit.
Today we celebrate the birthday of the OG wordsmith of Scotland, Robert Burns! Born January 25, 1759, this literary legend penned verses that Rolling Stone said, “flowed as smoothly as a fine Scotch whisky and as sharply as the Highland wind.” Fact check: true. This founding member of the D.P.S. was not only a rebel with a quill…he was the man who made haggis a legitimate subject of lyrical devotion.
Speaking of haggis, have you read his “Address to a Haggis?” Only Burns could turn a sheep’s stomach stuffed with oats into an ode of unparalleled grandeur. Any Burns Night celebration worth its salt (certainly any I’ve ever attended) features a massive haggis, held aloft by a group of dudes in kilts, making a lap around the entire room so all in attendance can get a close-up look at what they’re about to eat. There are whoops and cheers (especially by those of us who’ve been drinking Snakebites for the previous few hours). When the haggis has finished its tour around the room, it is eventually placed on a table in the center of the room, and someone then reads the “Address to a Haggis,” as significant amounts of whisky is poured over the haggis, and then it is cut with a sword and plates of the rotten stuff is passed around to whomever is daring enough to eat it. At least that’s what how I remember it going down…I was always completely shit-housed by the time the haggis showed up. As it should be. As it must be. Haggis is food for drunk people who are hungry, freezing, and out of options. Sober people cannot eat haggis. I mean it’s physically impossible. The sober mind will not let its physical self willingly consume something so fetid and foul. I have personally verified this theory many times: cold nights in San Francisco when the fridge was a little barren at home, a warm, whisky covered haggis is goddamn delicious. Sober with a full stomach, and that same haggis is repugnant.
And let’s not forget Burns’ saucier side. He also gifted us with “The Fornicator,” a tribute to all of us unapologetic fornicators, including himself.
And fornicate he did! Burns fathered 12 children, nine of them out of wedlock. He was prolific in many ways. He worked as a farmer, a customs officer, and was allegedly the smoothest talker north of the border. Burns was into the Enlightenment philosophers and could talk about Rousseau and Voltaire while slamming shots.
Like so many greats, Burns’ spark was snuffed out too soon. He died on July 21, 1796, at the age of 37, likely due to rheumatic fever exacerbated by his hard-living ways. Remarkably, the day he was laid to rest, his son Maxwell was born.
Today I recommend you crack your Burns anthology and check out “Tam o’ Shanter” or “A Red, Red Rose.” Or, better yet, you could gut a pig, make some haggis, and recite the “Address” as you wash it down with whisky.
Slàinte, Robby!
N.P.: “Model Society” – Deaf Radio
Si tu sais, tu sais. ️
N.P.: “Monster” – Reckless Love
Sorry, dear reader…we’re still celebrating over here. Tried to stop, but then started reading some of the Executive Orders and Actions and had to start all over again. Our long and stupid national nightmare is finally over.
N.P.: “Daddy’s Home” – Tom MacDonald, Roseanne Barr
Today was the end of the age of cowardice, weakness, and incompetence.
America is back.
N.P.: “We The People” – Kid Rock
Just a quick check-in, dear reader. I can’t really tell you what I’ve been up to, but suffice it to say (as a great man once said): We live in fast, strange times and we work in fast, strange ways. Things should settle down very soon…or maybe not: things are still moving pretty quickly. The fact that it hasn’t rained in weeks and there’s not a drop in the forecast isn’t helping anything. Anyway, we’ll talk soon.
N.P.: “Totentanz” – Oberer Totpunkt
The only thing more humiliating than having to preside over the certification of your own complete electoral shittiness is having to stand in front of a failed nation and deliver a “you can’t fire me because I quit” speech. The only thing more humiliating than that would be to deliver that speech in French. The global socio-political schadenfreude that has been occurring lately is almost guilt-inducing. But not quite, so keep it coming.
N.P.: “Wouldst Thou Like to Live Deliciously?” – Mickey 9s, POPO COPS
January 3 marks the birthday of an absolute legend, a storyteller so iconic that he essentially built the blueprint for modern fantasy, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien.
Tolkien was truly on another level from most “ordinary” writers: he conjured entire universes, which included designing detailed languages, cultures, and histories…enough to rival the mythologies of ancient civilizations.
His masterpieces, The Hobbit (1937) and The Lord of the Rings trilogy (published between 1954 and 1955 – because yes, genius takes time), set the standard for epic fantasy. The Hobbit was the first work of Tolkien’s that I read. It was certainly the longest book I had read at that point, which made it the first book I ever “got lost in.”
Happy birthday, Professor!
I spent a bit of time driving in the rain at speed. Music blaring at unholy levels, of course. And it was great…simultaneously clearing the mind of nightmare sewage and focusing very sharply on the next big turn and that “here we go” feeling when you feel the tires start to slip on the wet pavement and you start wishing you’d entered the turn going maybe 5mph slower….
I was reminded of how long it had been since I had done this…just gone for a drive. I used to do it all the time…70mph through Golden Gate Park in the middle of the night. I think I should reinstate the practice: unscheduled, random tearings-of-ass through the rain-soaked city streets.
N.P.: “Machine!” – Frigid, Plastic Bertrand
Happy New Year, dear reader! You’ll forgive me for not meeting you here last night for some kind of year-end wrap-up. I spent a lot of time writing yesterday, and a couple of times I thought that I should take a few minutes to write an end-of-the-year thing, but ultimately, I was disinterested. I just didn’t feel like going back and re-examining 2024. For what reason? It was a fine year. Plenty of challenges, plenty of rewards. But there’s no need to revisit any of it. I’m increasingly disinterested in the past, finding the present and future much more worthwhile subjects of concentration. There are audacious plans for 2025 that will require many late nights, tireless dedication, and a great deal of both cunning and ruthlessness. But what doesn’t, these days?
Buckle up, dear reader…I’ve seen such things before, and 2025 has all the earmarks of wild ride. #LFG
N.P.: “Mony Mony – Idol/Stevens Remix” – Billy Idol, Steve Stevens
The last time I set foot in Canadia, I was immediately pulled aside at customs and told they were going to swab me for gunpowder residue. “Are these people with you?” they asked me, referencing the 7-8 people I was traveling with. When I indicated that they were, they were all swabbed for gunpowder too. I asked the Canadian authorities for a reason for the search, but they were either unwilling or unable to provide any justification for this. Of course, everyone in my party, indignant over this rather rude welcome to Canadia, turned to me for an explanation. When I just shrugged stupidly, they just shrugged and wrote the whole thing off as “one of those crazy things that happens when traveling with Jayson.”
Of course, this same group had been with me the day before at SFO when we were all boarding a flight to Seattle when everything almost went to shit before this weird trip even started. I had arrived in San Francisco late the night before, then overslept before heading to the airport. The rest of the party was trickling through the TSA checkpoint when I happened to reach into my pants pocket to discover I had inadvertently brought my favorite switchblade to the airport. As I fondled the weapon, I felt my lips purse as I decided not to panic and tried to figure out what to do. I looked around quickly for a trashcan or some kind of receptacle I could slyly dump this thing in, but as my well-traveled reader may already know: TSA checkpoints are absolutely bereft of any places to stash stuff. And there are agents watching the people in line exhibiting suspicious behaviors, like hurriedly trying to stash a razor-sharp knife before boarding a commercial airliner. And there was no time anyway: I was up next, and the agent was gesturing me forward. I was fucked. My only option was a Jedi Mind Trick (which I will happily explain to the dear reader at a later date…I seem to have veered off the subject, which was…Canadia! That’s right. Okay. What I was trying to say was that I love the Canadian people, their culture, and their actual country. But their government under Justin “Blackface” Trudeau has been shameful and disgusting. Repugnant. Crying out to be overthrown. And the Canadian people were absolutely ready to do it, but they’d been so abused during the pandemic that they’d been completely cowed. Beaten into submission. Financially destroyed when Justin froze their personal bank accounts if the protested any of Canadia’s absurd and draconian lockdown laws.
The Trump Tariff Threat
Then, suddenly, a couple of weeks back, the political landscape in Canadia was dramatically when Big Don, The Breaker of Narratives, Hero of the Republic…The Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla….U.S. President-elect Donald Trump announced his intention to impose a staggering 25% tariff on Canadian imports. This wasn’t just a shot across the bow – it was a calculated power move. For decades, Canada has benefited from bilateral trade with the U.S., often leveraging its proximity to the world’s most powerful economy. Trump’s move aimed to even the playing field, calling out what he labeled as unfair trade advantages.
“Why should hardworking Americans subsidize Canadian industries that don’t play fair?” Trump asked reasonably during a rally. “We’re a country of strength, and we expect fair partnerships. If Canada wants in, they can step up – or step back.”
Damn right. Harsh? Maybe. But effective? Absolutely. Trump’s tariff’s aren’t about punishment – they’re about resetting the economic balance for the long-term benefit of American workers and businesses. By placing strategic pressure on Canada, Trump is forcing a reevaluation of trade practices to ensure they serve both nations equally. And let’s be honest – he wasn’t wrong to address how intertwined the economies have become.
While Trump was making power plays, Trudeau was left reeling. Accustomed to photo ops and ass-kissy platitudes, Trudeau visibly struggled to handle Trump’s boldness. His attempts to reassure Canadians fell flat, and his characteristic optimism began to resemble naivety under the weight of real-world challenges.
This prompted JT to jump on Socialist One (or whatever the hell the Canuck’s equivalent of Air Force One is) and tear ass down to Mar-a-Lago that same day to try to whine his way out of Trump’s crosshairs. It didn’t work. Rumor has it that Trump was calling Justin “bitch” and “petting Trudeau like a lapdog” as Big Don suggested to the Canadian Prime Sinister that if his country couldn’t handle the economic pressure, Canadia should become the 51st U.S. state, with Trudeau becoming governor of the state until a more suitable candidate, such as Wayne Gretzky, cane along. This was not merely an economic threat; it was a brilliant political maneuver that sent shockwaves through Ottawa, stirring up a storm within the Canadian government and beyond.
A Government in Disarray
The immediate reaction was one of chaos within the Trudeau’s administration. His finance minister, Chrystia Freeland, resigned abruptly, citing significant disagreements with Trudeau on how to navigate the impending tariff crisis. This discord exposed the internal strife within the Liberal Party, already grappling with completely diminished public support and a looming election. The resignation was far more than personal conflict; it symbolized the broader instability and the government’s apparent inability to present a united front against external pressures.
Public and Political Backlash
The public sentiment in Canada was a mix of panic, anger, and humiliation. Trudeau’s portrayal as the “governor” of the “Great State of Canada” by Trump was met with derision and criticism, amplifying the perception of Trudeau as weak and womanly, and not a leader at all. This was further exacerbated by posts on X, where commentators noted the dire political crisis unfolding in Canada, suggesting that Trudeaus “leadership” was on its last legs. Trudeau’s government, already facing extreme criticism for its completely abhorrent handling of various domestic issue, now seemed to be woefully out of its depth on the international stage. The Liberal Party, once viewed as a beacon of progressive policy, was now seen as dangerously vulnerable, with polls showing an alarming drop in support.
Enter Pierre Poilievre, the sharp-tongued, no-nonsense Conservative Party leader who is already reshaping Canada’s political landscape. Where Trudeau floundered, Poilievre excelled, stepping into the chaos with the poise and conviction of an actual leader ready to take the reins. “Canada needs less virtue signaling and more substance,” Poilievre declared in response to the crisis. “Justin Trudeau has sold Canadians short for far too long. It’s time we had leadership that protects Canadian jobs, strengthens our economy, and stands firm with results.”
Poilievre’s vision resonates with a growing majority of Canadians fed up with rising inflation, stagnant wages, and housing affordability reaching crisis levels. Unlike Trudeau, who often speaks in abstract ideals, Poilievre has positioned himself as the voice of everyday Canadians, someone who isn’t afraid to tackle tough economic realities head-on.
The Economic Implications of Tariffs
Economists warned of the potential devastation these tariffs could bring to Canada’s economy, which heavily relies on trade with the United States. Trudeau’s response was to commit over a billion dollars to enhance border security, a move seen by most as capitulation to Trump’s demands rather than strategic diplomacy. This decision was met with mixed reactions, with some seeing it as a necessary evil, while others criticized it as an unnecessary expenditure that played directly into Trump’s hands.
The Political Endgame
The political fallout was swift. Oppositions, both within and outside the Liberal Party, began calling for Trudeau’s resignation. The situation was worsened by the loss of key allies like Freeland, painting a picture of a government in shambles. The pressure for Trudeau to step down intensified, with political analysts speculating on whether he would be forced to call an early election or if he would be ousted through a confidence vote in parliament. The last two weeks have been filled with videos of Trudeau being chased through the streets of Ottawa by angry Canadian mobs shouting “Fuck you, fascist,” and the like.
Post-Script: An informal survey taken in Canada shows a stunning 60% Canadians supporting the idea of becoming the 51st state. Entrepreneur and Canadian national treasure Kevin O’Leary has expressed personal enthusiasm for this idea, and is scheduled to discuss the “joining of the two economies.” I suspect he is angling for the position of Governor of the State of Canadia. And I, dear reader, am here for all of it.
N.P.: “Stay On The Outside” – Whitey