4/20 Rally Edmonton, Alberta: No Music, No Food, More Control

Video uploaded by "Civil Information Activist", Doug Brinkman.

"There's definitely a change in attitude, for the first time at any pot rally that I can think of in the past 5 years they've actually been taking bongs and confiscating marijuana." - 420 activist, Ryjin Vander Hoek



We Shared a Thrift, and it was like Snorting PCP

It was a snow-slushy, sunny day in oil town Alberta when I found myself on a prison break with one of my sister wives, Tinkerbell.

sister wife [sis-ter wahyf]


1. In a polygamous marriage, a woman who is simultaneously the sister and co-wife of another. [Wiktionary]
2. A Mormon co-wife, originating from the Mormon concept of 'sisterhood'.
3. A female employee working for 'the man' within a team of female co-workers; involuntarily co-existing among a smoldering cauldron of estrogen and diverse personalities while striving towards a common goal of gettin' er dun; sometimes experiencing syncing menstrual cycles and pre-menstrual melt downs.

I rode shotgun as Tinker drove aimlessly, just two girls with no direction (except temporarily away from work). Her voice was casual when she asked, "do you like thrift stores?"

Adrenalin pumped through my arteries like the bass drop of a dub-step song, the same rush I experience when watching youtube videos of Persian kittens being bathed, surfing through feminist ryan gosling dot com, or hearing the intro to Return of the Mack and knowing that the next 3 minutes and 43 seconds of my auditory experience will be fucking bliss.

"I have a raging boner for thrift stores, Tinker."

It was then that the interior of Tinker's jeep exploded with hyper-feminine "oh my gods" and the birth of a new comradery based on mutual, thrift-inspired lady-boners. As the decibel of our chipmunk squeals hit brain bleed, we lost traction on a patch of ice and slid towards the intersection ahead. While the slide wasn't dramatic enough to require the holy-shit handle, it was worrying enough for me to chant in my native tongue of Fucklish.

This is it, I thought. Whether we make the stop, or rear end the Honda in front of us, this moment-- right here, right now-- will be the climax to my excitement for the day.

We made the stop.

As we exhaled in sync, like the fate of our menstrual cycles, Tinker turned to me with a smile and said, "you lost your stiffy, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I'm a little flacid right now."

We continued on our way to a neighborhood thrift store, a thrift store I had once entered and immediately exited due to their merchandising style which, sans piles of used adult diapers, was inspired by hoarders. But this time was different: spatially spread out, sectioned off, and not managed by someone with a severe mental illness. Tinker and I puttered through the vintage trinkets, verbally analyzing items based on era, colour, texture, purpose, possible refurbishment, how that item made us feel at that exact moment, all the while preceding the same script of adjectives with the word 'so'.

"So cute."
"So awesome."
"So cute."
"So awesome."

We made our way to the back of the store, which at one time had been a storage room, or possibly the hoarder's dungeon that housed the squished, mummified animal carcasses, when something in the shadows caught my eye.


Elaborate replica formerly for sale via Etsy shop, Painted Cottages.

Suddenly shit got real.

I knew from the get-go that this headboard was not meant to be mine. I was infatuated with the colour scheme of my bedroom, and red was not welcome. When we saw the $40 price tag, and at closer inspection, confirmed the velvet was not saturated with fifty year old bodily fluids, it became apparent that Tinker needed to do what was right and buy the headboard. Tinker, however, has a husband.

I understood (and respected) Tinker's hesitation. She was being conscientious of her husband's boundaries, a courtesy that I was rarely given by my past man-wives who would stock pile dizzying numbers of man-dolls, sports paraphernalia, edged weapons; who would add their decorative touches by creating feng shui murder scenes with electrical chords webbing across the floor, or hanging a corner store calendar featuring Canadian landscapes in the middle of a massive, feature wall. I understood the sensitivity of bringing another 'show' item into the household, particularly since Tinker told me she has an affinity for spending evenings in her garage with a bottle of wine, spray painting the shit out of second-hand, home accessories. Tinker texted her husband her sales pitch, cell phone picture in tow. After a short period of text tennis, husband gave the thumbs up: "as long as it doesn't collect dust in the garage."

As we carried it outside and loaded it into the back of Tinker's jeep, the sunshine hit the red velvet, proving that the brilliancy of the color had defied the test of time. Grandma had obviously kept that shit swaddled beneath plastic in her guest room for fifty years with a sign reading, "touch it n' imma cut a bitch." When we saw the red velvet illuminate, we screamed, we cheered, we hollered, and I may have thrusted my groin through the air repeatedly while grunting, "fuck yeah."

I then realized I had been wrong. Drifting on that patch of ice would not be the climax to my excitement for the day. Tinker and I had found a pristine, antique, red velvet headboard for $40. In the world of vintage, that shit doesn't happen every day. We didn't just go thrifting, we had a thrift. WE HAD A DAMN GOOD THRIFT.

"I feel like I just snorted some PCP."

"Followed by a rail of cocaine,"
Tinker replied, and we knuckle-bumped our fists together like the O.G.'s of thrift.


"I'm gonna pop some tags
Only got twenty dollars in my pocket
I - I - I'm hunting, looking for a come-up


In the Sun Kurt Feels as One





Money is the Root of All Politics: Nishiyuu Walkers Arrive, Harper Cuddles Pandas

It was a Monday in Canada.

Last Monday, to be exact.

Justin Bieber was being put in his car seat . . .

 . . . Avril Lavinge was snorting a line of blow from the strip of man-curlies ascending from Chad Kroeger's ass crack . . .

 . . . the residents of South Central Saskatchewan were breaking trail through 16 feet of snow . . .

 . . . and a group of Cree youth, AKA the Nishiyuu Walkers, reached their destination at Parliament Hill after walking 1600 kilometers in support of Idle No More.

In an article titled, Journey of Nishiyuu walkers' names now etched into history of this country, Jorge Barrera of APTN wrote,

The idea for the journey was spawned by a vision walker David Kawapit experienced during the protest fast by Attawapiskat Chief Theresa Spence who pitched a teepee on an island in the Ottawa River to demanding a meeting between First Nations leaders, the prime minister and the governor general.

Kawapit, 18, said part of the vision involved a wolf and a bear. He said the wolf symbolized First Nations people in Canada and the bear symbolized the government.

“A wolf alone can be easily killed by it, but with its brothers and sisters everywhere, it can call upon them and it can take down the bear with ease,” said Kawapit. “That is what became the unity part of this. We all need to stand together.”

As it should have been, the Nishiyuu Walkers were greeted by an estimated 4000 - 5000 supporters, and they also met with some political figures.

All in all, a triumphant demonstration of giving a shit; of dedicating oneself to a conviction based on ground root, communal goodness, and consequently inspiring further discourse.

But wait. 

Where was Prime Minister Harper; aka our Fuehrer; aka Emperor Herper, the symbolic, open sore on the genitals of the Canadian people?!

Oh, it's all good. He was just greeting a couple pandas on loan from China.

While I'm generally supportive of men petting animals, especially when it's documented and uploaded to the internet, this seemed very 'FUCK YOU, PEASANTS!', and this 'FUCK YOU, PEASANTS!' attitude seems to be Harper's permanent approach to the people he 'serves'.

While sifting through the comment feeds of mainstream reports on the panda visit, I came across the typical dichotomy of defiant rage VS apathetic statism. It was only a few years ago when I maintained the assumption that big government at least intended to serve in the best interests of the people. But as the world continued to slide into some sci-fi infused carnival show, and critical, independent news became fluidly accessible, I began to read more and more, and then I realized, ohhhhh. Oh s-h-i-t.

I 'get' the complacency that some are exuding: the "yes, sir" loyalty to the state that still exists due to our lingering comfortability, and the allowance to continue to fixate on our own personal bubbles because of our belief that we're untouchable. In Harper's defense, panda cuddles were probably scheduled far in advance, and in contradiction to a comment from a Defiant Rager who quipped that the panda cuddles were "pointless," they weren't: The pandas leave a money trail, of course.

- Pandas heading to Toronto, oiling the wheels of Canada-China relations

- How panda diplomacy became bear-knuckle haggling

Whether Harper had been there to meet with the Nishiyuu Walkers or not, their efforts to stand up for their people, and in my belief, all Canadian resistors, should have been formally acknowledged and addressed by our prime minister-- THAT would have demonstrated the workings of a legitimate democracy. And while details surrounding Harper's Nishiyuu absence/ panda cuddles are unknown to us (and Canadians do have 'bigger fish to fry' than Harper's no-show that day), this incident does hold a deeper significance, and it does set a precedent as to where our leader's priorities lay.

- Harper sells out Canadians in approving oil company takeovers

- 5 things to know about Canada - China investment treaty

- Canada - China FIPA: Critics Say 'Flawed' Agreement On Fast Track To Ratification:

"This is exactly what China wants if their aim is to acquire major ownership of Canada's resources ... and move them out and be processed in China."




Stretch Pants + Art = Bad Ass Leggings

 Patched, zombie resistance leggings (Cute + Broke)



Imma-kick-yer-ass, shin-guard leggings (HoreHead)




And . . .


Karen Kain's Kris-Kros leggings (Style Bari)


Faux-garter with built in bum-skirt (Herban Devi)



. . . knah.



Fuck yeah.