Chazd's (Charles Dowdell's) News Burps

Between the ice caps of the north pole and the States United

There lies a land in which we’re invited

Where symbols of hockey are part of the style

And we remember there are 1.6 kilos per mile

It is Canada. Oh Canada.

The cities down south, cosmo for sure

The worlds growth living lifestyles ensured

The vast wilderness panoramic and great

It opens the heart we know the son create

It is Canada. Oh Canada.

Between the provinces Bilingual is norm

Constant, goverment the state is reform

Here we know Otego, Otisco, Oswego, Owasco... and Owego.

both we have winters, snow, although

It is Canada. Oh Canada.

From Moose Jaw to Dawson City... St Johns.

It is here... there are elements of bronze.

To the far north where the days are shorten

Where the donuts come from a Mr. Tim Horton

It is Canada. Oh Canada.

To the mines to the logs to the manufacturing skills we weigh

Everyone, Everyone, toast to Canada, Eh. EH!

O Wondrous Llama

Much is made of the llama, that frisky little critter who is frequently glimpsed chewing on large distended sacks of filth over by the side of the highways and byways of this great land. But how much do we really know about this rakish knave, this whimsical creeper in the twilight world of the underbrush? What are his habits, his dreams, his preoccupations, his intimate hygienic problems, his credit card numbers?

At home, the llama is a savage brute, fond of rubbing ferns on his bottom and playing the kazoo. He beats his children daily with hardened balls of inexplicably furry mucus. And yet, there is a softer side. He is an accomplished cinematographer, and occasionally poses for modelling shots that would make any upstanding citizen cringe in fear. On weekends, and during periods of heavy downpours, he will go from door to door collecting newspapers, which he then laboriously molds into tiny blowfish.

We are left, after examining the evidence, feeling that we have never really gotten to the soul of this dashing charlatan of the woods. He remains, as ever, an enigma, aloof, forbidding, and perpetually infected. Perhaps man was never meant to know the dark secrets of this peripatetic "Mime of the Deep". We can only peek at his towering form behind the safety of our custom blast shielding and wait for him to get out of the driveway, all the while silently marveling at the crimes of Mother Nature.