Hot Carl and the Burping Scales

Greg and I went to the D.P. (not Dirty Pillows or Dank Panties) I'm talking about Dana Porter, the library to end all libraries (at least in the KW area). In the basement there is a rare book room and a giant space housing microfilm. Everyone there is slient, always. At times I wondered if the smattering of students spread about sitting in chairs and at tables were breathing.

I spent far too many hours staring at copies of the Northern Advance (now The Barrie Examiner) from 1867. I learned that once upon a time the stores on Dunlop street sold rum and fine wine for medical purposes only . RIGHT. Conveniently they delivered, in the middle of the night if necessary. I know that now MY medical emergencies are certainly not attended to with such efficiency. Oh the good ol' days.

Also, I learned that people in London were stupid. Some 200 of them fell through the ice on a warm day and between 40 and 50 drowned. Too bad evolution has ceased its tragic, yet often humourous process of removing those a little slower than the rest from the gene pool.

Maybe then there would be a few less pamphlets, t-shirts, and spray paint to deal with on election day. I can think of a few campaign teams I'd like to see subjected to a Hot Carl, or a cold Darwinian fate. But that's my fantasy... not yours.