RoadDave

This one crossed our desk earlier in the week.  A male student at York University in Toronto has asked for and received permission to not work with female students, in this story from the Toronto Star.

The deal is, his religious beliefs do not permit him to work with women, study with women, or interact with women.  He applied for an exception and it was granted.

As you know, we’re fairly tolerant of differing belief sets.  As long as you’re not impolite about it, then live and let live.  You’ve got your brand of God that you really like, we’ve got ours, we like our brand, you like yours and have a happy day.   

Trying to be inclusive here, we can see this as tip of the slippery slope.  Let us turn this around and see if the logic fairy will appear.

Conceptually, my particular and peculiar religious beliefs state that I can only work with women with natural intimate hair.  This is because the principal doctrine of my religion is based on a song. It’s a song allegedly penned by Hunter S. Thomson as the ultimate country song.  The title?  Jesus Hated Bald Pussy 

Since HST coined that title, we have adhered to it fervently, in the hopes that we’re never exposed to shaved, waxed, trimmed, dyed, bleached, plucked or sculpted intimate hairs on females of legal age.

Part of the religious orthodoxy is that any female that we work with must prove that they do not currently, have not and do not plan to ever perform any maintenance on their Secret Garden, beyond basic personal hygiene.  In fact, this is so important to our religious beliefs that any female must publically expose said areas to prove same. 

If we do interact, even inadvertently, we will forfeit our right to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, suffering Eternal Damnation, Hellfire and Brimstone.  This is a deeply held belief amongst us. A deeply held, religious, belief.

Assuming we were enrolled at York University, could we demand that the only those students with a, to quote Gwyneth Paltrow, 70’s groove to interact with me as a student.  Would York University demand that any female student in our class be required to visibly prove said 70’s groove?

Before you start writing a hateful email, we’re merely posing this as a question, a theoretical question, to illuminate the logic in York University’s decision. 

As you might tell, the logic fairy did not appear in our test. York University has received an F.

We want to be inclusive, tolerant and accepting of other belief sets, as it is the right thing to do, but there are lines out there that we, as a society, have to draw. No Gurrrls Allowed is one of them.  It has to be drawn with a big-tip Sharpie. 

If that particular student can’t, for deeply held religious beliefs, be near women, then he can find and enroll in an all-male University somewhere on his own dime.  The same would conceptually hold true for those who might ascribe to the Hunter S. Thomson sect: An entire post-secondary institution dedicated to natural hairs.

And it’s just as dumb as No Gurrrls Allowed.

Since our posting regarding the Duck-iness of the Mayor of Toronto, Rob Ford, things have unwound very quickly. Yesterday, noon-ish he admitted to smoking crack cocaine to a group of media.

Later that afternoon, in one of the most confusing pressers ever presented at Toronto City Hall (and we’re counting the Mel Lastman years) not only admitted it again, he apologized profusely, then said if voters want to judge him, they can judge him in October 2014 in the municipal election, but for now we go forward.  Mawkish, then contrite, then hard-ass business as usual with Rob leading the way.

After sitting for a few moments, letting it sink in, we came to the conclusion that the man is in his own special world.  You can search up all the video you want, including the commentary from Jay Leno, Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart, but the short form is that the man is now the butt of jokes from here to Absurdistan.

The gall of the man is on par with the apocryphal story of the teenager who slaughters his family, then begs for the mercy of the court because he is an orphan.  Of course, various pundits of the nattering class are demanding he resign, take a leave of absence, or that some legal way be found to kick Ford’s ass to the curb on Blue Box day. 

Except there is no legal way to show Ford the door under the Municipal Act.  He could be on live breakfast television, violating a giraffe, while drunk and higher than Jack The Bear and there is no provision to have him escorted out of the office of Mayor.  Ford knows the law and unless he is charged and convicted of a serious offense, the law can’t touch him. 

Ford knows that process would take at least a year, probably two, with appeals up the line and legal skee-ball from every angle possible, including the “Have pity on my client, as he is a confessed drunkard, drug abuser and giraffe fondler” defense.  Conceptually, he could sell Toronto to a Latvian oligarch as his personal theme park and there’s squat anyone can do.

There used to be what was called the Indiana Rule of Politics as codified by Hunter S. Thompson which we paraphrase thusly:  Never be caught in bed with a live man or a dead woman.

Of course, the first part of the Indiana Rule is gone now and the second half could be in danger of being eclipsed by events in Toronto.

The frightening part is that come October 2014, he might just get elected again.