Stephen Weir articles, editorials and popular social media weir postings

  THE FUTURE IN THE DYING STINK He must be dead. This time.  Yes, undeniably, he must be dead. And he is in Hell. Obviously, he must be in Hell because it smells just like the train to Rebuilt. Nothing can be worse than sitting on the train to Rebuilt, smelling the grotesque mingling of alcohol, fear, sweat, blood, and rot. Nothing... except being in Rebuilt itself. He drinks in the hopelessness that hangs in the air like a thick fog. He sees the twisted buildings and the massive lumps of rotting flesh that hang from the windows and door frames. Yes this is Hell. He groans heavily; some of the passengers, seeing Rebuilt for the first time, vomit and scream all manner of incredulous things at the same time.  Not he. Someone has ordered him to be here, or else he wouldn't have suddenly woke on this third class passenger bench. He's lost count of how many times he has passed this way before. "Final stop!" the automated train voice crackles through the ancient PA. The tra

  Doing a Number on Mister Two and his Three Wishes University of Windsor. 4th year. Creative Writing Assignment - Stephen Weir - story has copyright  I know that I can’t out wish Lucifer, that Old-Scratch. It is well known If one gets three wishes and Number One is to demand three more, punishment is coming Big Time.  Satan style. He is bound by God to make people like me pay for their avarice and sins. Kidnapped. Beaten. Raped. Theft. Soul Destroying. God knows I have done it to more than a few angels in my time. Or maybe he will get all humourous and transfer me into the body of Helen Henny the chicken bassist with  Munch's Make-Believe Band at Chuck E. Cheese's. In between playing that maddening Happy Birthday ditty He will force-feed me day old pineapple pizza until I break down and wish away those extra wishes. It could take decades, but  Mephistopheles  doesn’t care, he revels in timeless torture. Back on Earth I have always done my homework. Before I paint a bull’s eye

These Days Problematic Information  is Often Called Alternative Facts This article is based on an exam answer I submitted to my University of Windsor Poli-Sci Media course on June 20st By Stephen Weir Blame it on   Kelleyanne Conway , the former counsel to the past president of the United States. Back on January 22, 2017, while being interviewed on the well-watched Meet the Press television programme, Conway was asked why Trump’s press secretary would “utter a provable falsehood”. Her response? Spicer was just providing “Alternative Facts”.     In just two words, Conway had   main streeted   the business of politicians lying to the media.   There is an old meme (which ironically, given this topic, is a lie) that says there are 500 different words in the Innuit language for SNOW. The meme could easily be retooled to say “that there are 500 different words in the English language for  Problematic Information . The list is so long that one could just list the different words and terms th

Mick Jagger Gets No Satisfaction from Clichés (Windsor U creative writing assignment 2021) SIDE ONE I don’t usually go outdoors in Windsor carrying loaded heat It came in handy savin’ Mick as he was getting mugged in the street Gotta reveal that Mr. Jagger ain’t no Street Fighting Man But, as I sewed him up I knew I was still a huge huge fan. “Sorry ‘bout the  Sticky Fingers ; Just  Let It Bleed  my mate.” “ Start Me Up . Gotta make tonight’s Cobo concert date” “I won’t be your Beast of Burden this night of painful ‘fun’ “Next time in Windsor I’ll tell ya what really needs to be done!” Let’s Spend the Night Together . No, I am not his date Jesus Jack,  my pal.  Looks like Mick Jagger is arriving late. And listen Jumping Jack , he will demand that you jiggle, So limber up and be ready to leap up high and wiggle. He said something ‘bout painting this door red, Jack. No Fucking way, Jagger and I are going to  Paint It Black! Or maybe we will just sit and roll these  Tumbling Dice, Yeah,

  Iceland's famous 24-hour hot dog stand    Never mind the rat. Bad things come in tiny bites By Stephen Weir Since this is the end of the term and you will have long forgot this 4-page story (oops) by January, I can shamelessly tell you about my bad habit of eating street food. No, I don’t mean an Island Patty from the food truck at the corner, I am talking about protein that has tumbled from someone’s mouth onto the road or a pet drenched lawn. I can’t help myself. I am always hungry and what tastes better than free food, even when you get it from the gutter? With me the 5-second rule is my life’s mantra. Haven’t heard of it? Author  Mel Robins  (The 5-Second Rule) describes it thusly. “Almost everyone has dropped some food on the floor and still wanted to eat it. If someone saw you drop it, she might have yelled, "5-second rule!" This so-called rule says food is OK to eat if you pick it up in 5-seconds or less.” To be honest, after a near death experience in Iceland I

From Handcuffs to the Group of Seven  It was the fall of 1969. Somehow I got out of Renfrew alive! University of Windsor. Q-Year with a class full of American draft dodgers. I was in the residence lounge, the one room on campus with a working stereo record player.  I was listening to Led Zep for the very first time.  Beautiful girl who I'd never seen on campus  before was sitting next to me listening to her new LP. Thaddeus Holownia floated in, dressed like Sgt Pepper with the addition of  a turkey feather stock in his hat. He drifted over to us, snapped handcuffs on our wrists and slouched out of the building in his own purple haze! Thaddeus used to do that a lot - walk around in a bit of a haze -- but, this time he did remember to come back and unlock us. We have been together ever since. My wife and I, not Thaddeus. In fact I haven't seen Thaddeus much since then. He moved from Windsor, to Toronto and settled eventually teaching art at Mount Allison University out eas

YOU CAN TAKE THE BOY OUT OF  RENFREW BUT ...      George Heath, a former Renfrew resident and a keen follower of www.stephenweir.com, sent me a clipping announcing the January closure of the H. Imbleau & Sons Foundry in Renfrew. George's wife Marie is a member of the Imbleau family. The company, founded in 1858, is the town's longest running business. For over 150 years the factory has put the Renfrew name on the map ... literally. One of the company's most successful products is manhole covers. When I received George's note about the closure, I wrote him a quick letter, reprinted below, which tells my story of the impression the foundry had on me in the early 70's while a student at Windsor University.   Back in my days at Windsor University I worked a variety of part-time jobs so that I would not have to move back to Renfrew and work in the mines at Haley's Station in the summer. One of my steady gigs was in the student pub, which was held in the