Grillless

Man, sometimes governments can really cheese you off; and this one is no exception. I am the grandson of two WW2 vets, and though I have never served myself, I feel honoured for what our soldiers have done and continue to do for us. It is with great disappointment, I learn today that the people in charge up on Parliament Hill want to reduce the honorary half mast ceremonies even further than they already have.

Sure, they can blame “that committee” all they want, but I call and raise the smoke that’s coming out of their ass. What do I care what some old fart with medals says about the specialness of a half mast ceremony. Dude, we get it. What we don’t get is your obstinance not to honour the dead. What, to save some bucks? To save face about body count? What a bunch of tactless paper pushers.

Vimy Ridge doesn’t count as a “special day” at the Peace Tower? You politicos aren’t willing to shut your traps for a few minutes in parliament? To honour the fallen? To honour the families of our strongest women and men who give the ultimate sacrifice?

You see, it’s not about you penny-pinching-office-on-Parliament-Hill types, nor is it about the medaled, but jaded old men.

It’s about the nation and the families of our sons and daughters who risk it all.

If you’re not man or woman enough to respect that, then you are not deserving of the freedoms that our soldiers fought so valliantly for all that we cherish today.

Vimy Ridge Deserves half Mast Protocol, Morons.

The very least you can do is to cough up the coffers to give us our remembrance.

My memory is good for more than one day a year.

So, the other day I was at the local corner store. I forget what I was there for now. Water? Throat candies? Something like that. I was in a very curious mood and I let my eyes scan the candy bar racks below the counter top. I scanned the usual suspects until my eyes stopped suddenly; I couldn’t believe what my eyes were relating to my brain, as my mind raced back fifteen or so years. Right there, about three rows down and far to the left of me I saw them. A box of Mackenzie Toffee, only the package only says Mack now, or did it always?

 Fifteen or so years ago seems like a lifetime away now. It was summertime, and I was spending it at my grandparents and working for my next door neighbour doing odd jobs. That summer away from home, the only rap music I could get was “Push It” and I was craving something else besides “Push It”, but the only other thing was the likes of ”Stairway To Heaven”. In other words, I wasn’t exactly in a place to hear some hip hop.

Nonetheless, that was the summer of alcohol in plastic and toffee candy, and the great feeling you got from wacking the cardboard toffee box as hard as you could to break it into little tiny pieces. These days, they now give directions on the box, which I don’t remember from my youthful days.

The directions are on the sides, and due to laws that govern our society up here in the great big Northern area of your map, there are two languages on the box, English and French. So, “Mack A Smack”, and “Mack On Craque” are the messages that this box delivers.

Is our society so crack and heroin obsessed that they have to use it to sell this message to our children? is this “Scottish” and what the kids are into these days? I have no idea but it got a great laugh at the office.

One thing is for sure, it’s still the same toffee on the inside.