Poor Omar

It's hard for me to feel sorry for this guy. Canada has spent way, way too much on him and his whole family. I'm sure 8 years in Gitmo hasn’t turned him around.    

These are NOT very pleasant pictures, but…

Notice the pair of hands he is carrying that have been chopped off a living person.

Poor Omar Khadr?

Omar smiling 

The next time you watch the news and are treated to how poor Omar Khadr was just a child in Afghanistan, held against his will, forced to do the terrorists bidding then "tortured" at Guantanamo…


Remember the pictures the bleeding hearts in the media won’t show you…

Young omar 

Notice the AK47 behind him.

Omar making bomb 

Young Omar happily and intently arming land mines.

Remember this — those who want him saved and brought back to Canada !!!!








Omar with hands 

Our poor Omar taking trophies home.

And remember the victim and reason why there is a trial.

Sgt Christopher James Speer.


A medic who was helping care for the injured on the battlefield.


Very little is ever said about him. Pray for his wife, Tabitha, who will be attending Khadr’s trial.


My Grandfather

By the Menzoid

I have two theories when it comes to Heather Mallick’s bizarre, poison-penned attack on the male gender. One is that Heather Mallick is simply being sensational for the sake of sensationalism. If so, this is truly the cheapest form of journalism. It’s just way too easy. Any hack can pull that off. Pick a subject, any subject. How about, say, intergenerational marriage? Ergo, if a nine-year-old and a mature adult love one and other, who are we to get in the way of their consensual relationship?

See? Writing preposterous copy and passing it off as serious commentary just to generate “buzz” is strictly amateur hour.

I won’t bother dwelling on the odious double-standard inherent to Mallick’s rant. After all, replace the word “men” in her column with any other identifiable group – say, “blacks” or “Muslims” – and there’d be hell to pay. Exhibit A: Juan Williams.

Actually, what am I suggesting? A Heather Mallick temper tantrum painting any other identifiable group with the same brush due to the actions of a single person would never see the light of day in a bastion of contrived political correctness such as the Toronto Star

So, I defer to Theory #2: Maybe – just maybe – Heather Mallick honestly believes she’s writing the truth. And maybe, like all good authors, Mallick is drawing upon personal experience. 

If this is indeed the case, oh, how my heart goes out to Heather. Was her father truly that horrid during her formative years? Did she suffer from the unwanted advances of a creepy uncle? Was every male teacher a pompous chauvinist? Was every eligible bachelor a two-timing weasel? Is her current husband that detestable?

If so, what rotten, lousy luck. To continually meet one horrid, misogynistic man after another… it simply defies the odds. I mean, to constantly hook up with that tiny percentile of men who really do despise women is nothing short of awe-inducing bad karma.

As most rational people know full well, women tend to have fathers and brothers and uncles and husbands and teachers and mentors and sons and friends and colleagues who are, pardon the phrase, “nice guys.” They are not misogynists. They do not harbour rape fantasies. They don’t despise females.

On the contrary. They love women. They admire the nurturing, kind spirit that is inherent to motherhood. If such weren’t the case, I fear our species would be on the brink of extinction.

I never had a father in my life. But I did have a grandfather, at least until I was 13. My grandfather had immigrated to Canada from Scotland in 1946. Prior to that, he was on an extended five-year excursion, otherwise known as fighting the Nazis. It took a toll: I was told that when he left Glasgow at the start of World War Two, he had a full head of red hair. And when he returned, every single follicle on his scalp was whiter than ivory.

Although a qualified engineer, he was on the short end of the stick in terms of finding a job in Canada when he emigrated here thanks to his age and the influx of men returning home from overseas. The best he could manage was a foreman’s position at a garbage dump in Toronto’s west end. Ever the optimist, his continual refrain was, “The work’s dirty, but the money’s clean.”

Thanks to my grandfather, I remain burdened with a debt that can never be repaid. He instilled in me values ranging from loyalty and devotion to honour and civility. And he did so by example.

Indeed, one day, he gave me a life lesson that will forever remain etched in my cranium. I can’t remember the exact details, but as a know-nothing nine-year-old, I made a disparaging remark about a janitor.

My grandfather’s face went redder than tomatoes at harvest time. His eyes narrowed as he gently pulled me aside and told me in no uncertain terms that I was to never – as in NEVER – mock anyone for the job they were doing. Any legitimate job amounts to honest work, he stressed. And if anyone deserves to be mocked, it is the criminals and cheats who simply can’t be bothered working for a living.

There were many other lessons that he gave me in my 13 formative years. And, when necessary, there was discipline, too. He was a hybrid friend and benevolent dictator. And he was precisely what I needed at that time.

I think of other male role models I have encountered in my life – teachers, coaches, Boy Scout leaders. Like my grandfather, they, too, were guiding lights who inspired and motivated and taught me right from wrong. I guess I must be the luckiest guy on earth that I wasn’t continually coming into contact all those male monsters Heather Mallick says are lurking everywhere.

In Mallick’s world, I suppose my grandfather’s death at the age of 65 – barely four months into his retirement – is something to celebrate. One less male in the world, after all; one less “potential rapist” or “serial killer” for Mallick and her ilk to worry about.

But I can assure you that everyone who knew my grandfather mourned his passing, male and female alike. In this respect, he was no different from millions of men around the world: he was a hard-working breadwinner who, despite being dealt a lousy hand in the game of life, nevertheless “manned up” (pardon the language.) He didn’t complain; he didn’t whine; and he certainly didn’t harbour urges of violent rage toward women or anyone else.

* * * * * *

The other day, I was having dinner with my two young sons. We talked about what time period we’d visit if there really was such a thing as a time machine. Sean said he’d want to go back several centuries to the days of knights in shining armour, basically to see if there really were dragons on the planet.

My other son, Adam, said he’d set the coordinates for 120 million years ago, so that he could explore the Jurassic Era and witness firsthand the enormous dinosaurs that exist today only as fossils in museums.

I’m afraid my choice of time period was far less flamboyant. You see, I told my sons that if I could alter the time/space continuum, I’d want to go back to June, 1975, just days before my grandfather died of a massive heart attack. And I’d want to go back to this point in time in order to carry out one simple task: to tell my grandfather how much I loved him.

My Name is Not Colonel Williams

Calgary elects Canada’s first Muslim mayor – This is not an April Fool's joke. This is reality in a country that is far more tolerant, far more decent, far more grounded in common sense than some at CBC head office would have you think…Far more tolerant than the Ontario Appeals Court would have you think. The appeals court that feels they need to teach Canadians tolerance by jamming Shariah Law down our throats. And in case you think I am just barking at the Crescent Moon, I am not.

Shariah law, the kind practiced in Iran received more than just lip service in a Canadian courtroom in recent days. It got room service from a unanimous decision by the Ontario Appeals Court that said a Muslim woman in the witness box has a right to wear a veil over her head. They – in a unanimous decision – overruled a lower court judge to insist that she abide by Canadian custom and remove her veil so that she could look the accused sexual abusers in the eye and look Canadian justice in the eye. The Ontario Appeals Court and that's sky high up in the Canadian Judicial food chain – these are the men and women who get a serious shot at Supreme Court Status – the Appeals Bench was unanimous in giving the lower court judge the back of the hand for making a Canadian decision, one that wasn't driven by the diversity agenda, the tolerance agenda, the agenda that says every tradition in the world is more worthy of more respect than our own tradition. The appeals court told the judge that not enough sensitivity was being shown to the woman's religious belief and that a compromise should have been sought, a compromise like perhaps agreeing if she takes her veil off to clear the courtroom of all men even if the judge is a man? Even if the prosecutor is a man?

I am a man. I am not a blind dog in a butcher shop sniffing for and pounding on anything that smells like meat. My name is Not Colonel Williams. I am not prepared to accept the idea of a Canadian court telling me that anybody for some called religious reasons has the right to boot me from a court because as a male I am a threat to her because as a male I have such little control over my impulses that I am a threat to her. This is bogus. From my own perspective as a free man this is a perversion of truth and to pay fealty to it, to honour it in any way, in our own country, in Canada, is an assault on Canada.

Father Daughter Economics Class

A young woman was about to finish her first year of college. Like so many others her age, she considered herself to be very liberal, and among other liberal ideals, was very much in favor of higher taxes to support more government programs, in other words redistribution of wealth.*

She was deeply ashamed that her father was a rather staunch conservative, a feeling she openly expressed.  Based on the lectures that she had participated in, and the occasional chat with a professor, she felt that her father had for years harbored an evil, selfish desire to keep what he thought should be his.

One day she was challenging her father on his opposition to higher taxes on the rich and the need for more government programs.

The self-professed objectivity proclaimed by her professors had to be the truth and she indicated so to her father.  He responded by asking how she was doing in school.

Taken aback, she answered rather haughtily that she had a 4.0 GPA, and let him know that it was tough to maintain, insisting that she was taking a very difficult course load and was constantly studying, which left her no time to go out and party like other people she knew.  She didn't even have time for a boyfriend, and didn't really have many college friends because she spent all her time studying.

Her father listened and then asked, "How is your friend Audrey doing?"*

She replied, "Audrey is barely getting by.  All she takes are easy classes, she never studies and she barely has a 2.0 GPA.  She is so popular on campus; college for her is a blast.  She's always invited to all the parties and lots of times she doesn't even show up for classes because she's too hung over."

Her wise father asked his daughter, "Why don't you go to the Dean's office and ask him to deduct 1.0 off your GPA and give it to your friend who only has a 2.0.  That way you will both have a 3.0 GPA and certainly that would be a fair and equal distribution of GPA." *

The daughter, visibly shocked by her father's suggestion, angrily fired back, "That's a crazy idea, how would that be fair!  I've worked really hard for my grades!  I've invested a lot of time, and a lot of hard work!  Audrey has done next to nothing toward her degree.  She played while I worked my tail off!"

The father slowly smiled, winked and said gently, "Welcome to the conservative side of the fence."

If anyone has a better explanation of the difference between conservative and liberal or progressive or neocon I'm all ears.