by Sean Orr | I don’t think I’ll be attending: Have a laugh at English Bay. “The free public event will include Mayor Gregor Robertson officially proclaiming the Day of Laughter and a laughing yoga class…”

Why does this make me so mad?

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Donald Trump is president and he pulled out of the Paris Agreement, which was terrible anyway, while we are trapped in collective denial (vis a vis scientific reticence) as Gregor sits there in his fucking penthouse with a wood burning stove while literally thousands are dying in the streets and nobody can afford to live here.

We’d rather talk about his stupid breakup…

I mean, I totally get it. Who wouldn’t rather cover their ears and laugh? Actually thinking about when humans will literally start boiling alive is hard. I’m not expecting Hamburg-like proportions of direct of creative resistance here, but come on, BC is on fire, folks. That’s not funny.

We’d rather talk about how Trudeau was cheered on the eve of the “tense G20 meeting” for his feminism while Canada has a workplace gender gap worth $150bn. He looks like a fucking Much Music VJ from the 90s.

“The earth teems with problems, and every evil must have its own sock, because Justin Trudeau cares…”: Justin Trudeau and his Socks.

Justin Trudeau’s socks grew more elaborate, more real, straining to match themselves to the world. There was a fatal explosion at a tar sands refinery in Alberta, and Justin Trudeau went to speak to the victims, and to be alone with the dead. That night, he appeared at a press conference in his most magnificent socks yet. Drenched in crude oil, dribbling black sludge over his brogues and his legs and the floor. Patches of craquelure where blood had dried. Deep seams of sand and gravel stuffed between sock and foot, squelching and stinking. And hooked on to each cuff by a twisted scrap of broken metal, pierced through their greying tatters, two hunks of flesh, each of which had recognisably once been a thumb.

Meanwhile, No one is paying attention to the worst humanitarian crisis since World War II. Nope, instead our corporate overlords are buying fidget spinners.

Trump evokes chauvinistic blood-and-sand nationalism and white grievance, wants to put troops into the galaxy, had Ivanka sit in on G20 meetings, all while the NRA Issues Call for White Supremacy and Armed Insurrection. But yeah, let’s have a Day of Laughter!

The CBC platforms the racism of the Proud Boys while Blatchford says they were just goofing around. The indigenous woman who was hit by a car jack from a moving window has died but rah rah let’s all paint our faces red and watch some fireworks. It’s what John A MacDonald would have wanted.

Are we headed for an even more massive housing bubble burst than the US? I don’t know. All I know is I can’t wait to get down to English Bay and do some laugh yoga. Because this is a Banana Smoothie Republic.

Meanwhile, B.C. care card issued without gender; parent fighting for same on birth certificate and the fucking troglodytes are out in force confusing sex with gender and calling it child abuse. Nope, still not laughing.

Vancouver cop lectures mom over kids left in hot car in viral video. If our efforts to teach people not to almost kill their children is met with this level of indignation, then what of our efforts to teach them of gender, of the gap between the rich and the poor, of the corporate war machine, of our colonial history?

Ok. I think I’m done. I might be ready to laugh now: WTF Is Going On with the ‘Baby Butthole’ Drama at This Vegan Cafe?. Actually no, that still made me angry…

Here, this will help: Grocery Store Action Movie. Lol.

I’ll end this especially not funny edition of Tea & Two Slices with the most bizarre, most inventive piece of sports writing since Hunter S. Thompson covered the Superbowl: What football will look like in the future. Stick with it. I’m on chapter 14.