This morning my mother alerted me to the fact that a dead body was found outside Steam Whistle Brewery.
Then told my brother and I we had to move home because Toronto was too crazy.
This from a woman who lives in a town were "a few good Catholics" got together and murdered the Donnelly family in the middle of the night.
I would have preferred the sentence "The body of a dead man was found late last night. . ." read, and be repeated by newscasters as:
(from the Toronto Star) ". . . in the shadow of the Rogers Centre";
(the Armchair Garbageman diplomatically suggested) ". . . at the base of the CN Tower".
I fielded endless enquiries from troubled, or nosey, customers calling to ask, "Hi Brad. . . hey, what's going on?"
I started saying:
"Molson-Coors Bohemian's shittiness killed him; Molson-Coors dumped him on our lawn to throw cops off their trail";
"Bavarian Purity Act requires the sacrifice of a 45 year old virgin";
and my favorite,
"He's just sleeping, sweetie!"
Folks didn't really cotton to my brand of current affairs-based humour. I bet if they saw the same light-headed kidding about a wayward corpse on "Air Farce" or "Train 48" they'd be repeating this gold at their water cooler!
The funniest part of this whole affair, if there is one, is that the brewery played host to a party last night where all the caterers were dressed up as RCMP officers. Red surge and all! To a casual observer, it would have been the most well-protected place around, save being locked up in the hoosegow.
Perhaps it isn't that funny after all.