The Bull Horn: Rants, Confessions, and Missed Connections

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Professor Sexy

“I performed poorer than my potential in a course last semester, so I’d have an excuse to have meetings with my prof on how I could do better, and I used that time to perform some A-game flirting, and I got off on it way more than I’ve gotten off on actual sex with dud Tinder hookups. What in the hell does that mean? I miss that prof like I’d miss a lover, a best friend.” – Alonely


“And if our hands touch when you hand me the coffee I just bought. And if there’s no one behind me and you’re feeling chatty, ‘have you heard the one about the …,’ and if it’s not busy, and you sit and say hello while I wait for my sandwich. And if I’m reading this all wrong, I don’t care. I’m smitten, Mr., I’m swooning. Those green eyes eat me up and up and up. But I’m sure all the gurlz think those eyes are just for them.” – Swooner.

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Lazy Begets Laziness

“Sometimes when I’m downstairs, the bathroom seems so far away I just pee in my cat’s litter box. Also, I occasionally pay for overnight delivery on new underwear online to avoid doing laundry.” – Lazy Arse

I Saw You

“I saw you, at my next door neighbour’s house with the house sitter. That’s way too close for comfort, stay the hell off my street douchebag.” – Nose Now.

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I See You

“I see you, pretending that you care about the issues all of a sudden, now that you need our support (but it’s funny that I never saw you before). I see you trying fruitlessly to establish opinions that you think are right, that you think won’t alienate anybody, and I see you failing. I see you on social media, suddenly displaying a wholesome, neutral, white-bread, phony image. I see you publicly standing proud as a feminist when privately you are anything but. I see you, and I’m sick of it.” – Citizen

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Andy Wells

“Andy Wells, St John’s needs you back to save us from the thin-skinned useless bunch currently at city Hall. We need Sheilagh and Dave and Doc and Gagway gone and we need a real leader who gets things done, at a reasonable cost, for the taxpayers. We’re sick of these foolish studies to assess the need to study the need for_____, we’re sick of busy-body pet projects, we’re sick of ineffectual policies and stupid bike lanes to nowhere all at massive cost. We’re sick of million-dollar golden parachutes. We need our roads fixed and the property taxes down, not plastic bag bans and feel-good programs for 0.01% of the population while sucking up grossly inflated amounts of our sparse dollars. Please come back and run for mayor. You’ve already got my vote (but I’ll spoil my ballot in protest if it’s more of these same idiots down in the bunker).” – ANON

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Just So We’re Clear

“Just so we’re clear, a bunch of white bayman can violently protest outside of DFO and kick windows in, break property of the government!, and they won’t be charged. But Beatrice Hunter, an indigenous woman, peacefully tells a judge, no, I won’t stay away from the Muskrat project area, and she is put in a MALE prison immediately, stripped searched, humiliated? Give me a break we’re not racist bullies, how is this fair?” – Humanity Itself

They’re Not Out to Get Me!

“You know how restaurants and movie theatres, or whatever, give you a water with like, 8 be-jesus-million ice cubes in them? It turns out that’s because more ice cubes means colder water, which means the ice lasts way longer! All these years I thought I was being ripped off, because more ice meant less volume of drink (a way of ripping cosumers off). Facepalm.” – Skeptic


“If you wear a plain white uniform-looking shirt and hang out in the mall food courts, and go up to a table of 3 or 4 folks looking done with their meals, and say, “All done folks, I can clear that away for you?” you
can score enough scraps to constitute a supper every night of the week. I’m leaving this secret here now that I’m moving back to central.” – TRAY BIEN

Silence The Pianos

“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with a muffled drum,
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.” – W. H Auden