Showing posts with label Bridle Path. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bridle Path. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 7, 2024
Drake-Kendrick Lamar feud takes deadly turn
When the news came out that uber-famous rapper Drake was building a home base in Canada's most exclusive postal code, the neighbors whispered amongst one another, "there's gonna be trouble."
They were right! Check it out from the CBC; Security guard shot outside Drake's mega-mansion.
Bridle Path, Drake’s ‘hood, is the toniest, most posh neighborhood in all Toronto, where the median price of a crib, as the rapper’s like to call their place, runs about 8 millions.
While I don’t follow matters in the world of rap music much, the CBC itself has informed me Drake has been in an on-going feud with Kendrick Lamar, another big name rapper, but in this case, straight outta Compton.
My hunch is that “straight outta Compton” beats “straight outta Jewish day school” in the world of rap cred.
Yo Drake, if I was you I’d be watching my back!
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Falling Downs think tank takes field trip to Toronto
And if you thought that the Falling Downs think tank was a one-man operation you'd be sadly mistaken...
The shores of Georgian Bay are just brimming with former Poly-Sci, Sociology and History professors put out to pasture. These people are my veteran sources when I distribute my opinions here on the Falling Downs site.
Unfortunately, almost all of them are more or less beholden to the Alzheimer grasp.
So I hired a bus and sent it round the Penninsula to pick up all the Professors and Professors Emeritus.
It was a short bus, and you know what that means.
Retards.
And here I've got a bus load of the brightest minds of the twentieth century, at least until they lost their marbles.
No matter.
We stopped at the Licks at Spadina and Bloor. Just off the U of T campus where many of my bus cohorts had taught. We enjoyed the best burgers you could possibly imagine.
The gal running the place, Hanna, happens to be the daughter of the Farm Manager.
But don't let that fool you. That particular Licks is the number one burger joint in Toronto. Here's a tip; you don't need that slab of back-bacon on top of your burger. You probably don't need the fistfull of cheese either. It's Toronto's best burger without that shit.
Anyway, I got the folks away from Licks and we're done our trip to the Royal Ontario Museum (cut that back to a half hour in and out - but you gotta promise it to get them to go) and here we are heading out of town.
I tell the bus driver, head up the Bayview, and make a turn onto the Bridle Path. That's where the rich folks live.
So we did. Me and a dozen former Professors with Alzheimers disease. The short bus is negotiating the Bridle Path.
It wasn't at all like I remembered it, thirty years ago when I was scouting out a building site there. Other folks besides me have carved all the four-acre lots into half acre lots, and each half acre lot has a faux 19th century French manse sitting on it. It's absurd!
Even a few of my bus guys, hampered as they are with the curse of Alzheimers, knew that we were not looking at the real deal of the who's who anymore.
So I feel a bit cheated. If the who's who of the Canadian Establishment have vacated the Bridle Path and left it for a bunch of nouveu riche wannabees, where are they now?
Peter C. Newman, where are you when I need you?
The shores of Georgian Bay are just brimming with former Poly-Sci, Sociology and History professors put out to pasture. These people are my veteran sources when I distribute my opinions here on the Falling Downs site.
Unfortunately, almost all of them are more or less beholden to the Alzheimer grasp.
So I hired a bus and sent it round the Penninsula to pick up all the Professors and Professors Emeritus.
It was a short bus, and you know what that means.
Retards.
And here I've got a bus load of the brightest minds of the twentieth century, at least until they lost their marbles.
No matter.
We stopped at the Licks at Spadina and Bloor. Just off the U of T campus where many of my bus cohorts had taught. We enjoyed the best burgers you could possibly imagine.
The gal running the place, Hanna, happens to be the daughter of the Farm Manager.
But don't let that fool you. That particular Licks is the number one burger joint in Toronto. Here's a tip; you don't need that slab of back-bacon on top of your burger. You probably don't need the fistfull of cheese either. It's Toronto's best burger without that shit.
Anyway, I got the folks away from Licks and we're done our trip to the Royal Ontario Museum (cut that back to a half hour in and out - but you gotta promise it to get them to go) and here we are heading out of town.
I tell the bus driver, head up the Bayview, and make a turn onto the Bridle Path. That's where the rich folks live.
So we did. Me and a dozen former Professors with Alzheimers disease. The short bus is negotiating the Bridle Path.
It wasn't at all like I remembered it, thirty years ago when I was scouting out a building site there. Other folks besides me have carved all the four-acre lots into half acre lots, and each half acre lot has a faux 19th century French manse sitting on it. It's absurd!
Even a few of my bus guys, hampered as they are with the curse of Alzheimers, knew that we were not looking at the real deal of the who's who anymore.
So I feel a bit cheated. If the who's who of the Canadian Establishment have vacated the Bridle Path and left it for a bunch of nouveu riche wannabees, where are they now?
Peter C. Newman, where are you when I need you?
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