Ready to serve my community

My shoulder is killing me. 

Who know's how it happened? Maybe I shot a few too many baskets with the boy, or took a few too many tennis balls to the body during our driveway hockey game (if I find out who taught him how to do flick shots, I'll kill them) or maybe it was one of those mysterious "sleeping accidents".

I'm sure you've all had one of those. You go up to the bar for a couple with the boys, come home, go to bed, and when you wake up the next morning, you feel like somebody beat you up the night before for saying that hockey is nothing but a game for goons to a table full of drunken local hockey stars.

I've never figured out what happens during those obviously fitful sleeps, but it sure hurts.

Ouch! Jeepers!. My shoulder really stings! 

Anyway, the big topic on everyone's dirty little mind this week is of course the uproar prompted by the rumour that a massage parlour is moving into the old OPP detachment building on Sandymount Hill. Understandably, all of the neighbors were upset, as would any property owner who suddenly found their hard-earned equity smack dab in the middle of Sodom and Gomorrah. 

But, thanks to the Times-Journal Sound Off feature, I discovered the possibility that Sandymount might also be adorned with the occasional pillar of salt once the inevitable wrath of the Lord descended on this little Peyton Place.

Youch! Sorry, but this shoulder is really bothering me. I'd better get some liniment on it.

The Sound Off feature, for those of you who have yet to discover that newspapers are printed on both sides of the paper, is on page 2 and features phone-in comments on the question of the day. Although I work at the Times-Journal, they never use my question suggestions like "How dumb are Tories" or "Do you think Mike Harris beats his dog once a week or twice a week?"

On Wednesday, the paper asked for opinions on the rumoured massage parlour. Some answers were quite surprising. There were, of course, the expected fire and brimstone diatribes about social and moral decay, and "Where is this world going?" kind of stuff. But mixed in was the occasional "So what?". 

That's the nice thing about the Sound Off feature. You can say what you really mean and your wife will never find out it was you, especially if you garble your voice to sound like Jean Chretien on a four-week bender.

Not that I called, mind you.

Ooooooch! That liniment does nothing. Maybe I should try some aspirin. Or some 222s. Or some scotch - single malt of course.

So when some callers phoned in their defence of the proposed operation, I was taken aback. (I really don't know what "taken aback" means but the spell-checker seems to take it so I'll leave it in). They were obviously not from the neighborhood, but still, they were expressing support for a business that would, how can I say it, be hard-pressed to achieve membership in the local Chamber of Commerce. 

I can only imagine the disappointment of these patrons of the flesh when the owners of the property said the business was legit, and would only involve massages from registered massage therapists. But hope burns strong in the immoral. There are still those who greet that announcement with a wink of the eye.

"Yeah, right. Registered massage therapists. And I bet they're named Candy, and Taffy and Isolda, Mistress of the Dark." 

I guess the only way we'll ever find out the truth about this proposed operation is if, when the lotion starts flowing, some brave individual steps forward to investigate first hand. This person will need courage, objectivity, and the moral stamina to withstand any kind of temptation thrown their way - all for the betterment of the community and for society as a whole.

Yow! I really should see somebody about this shoulder.

And, of course, they'll need some kind of honest excuse to actually see a registered massage therapist.

Maybe I should see a chiropractor about this damaged shoulder, which is really a damaged shoulder, and not just a fake ailment.

Or maybe there's some other kind of treatment.