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For the most part I am a supporter of our affable host. On good days you could even call me a fan. But today I am worried. I am concerned that our friend might be facing temptations, you know, the kind of allurements that lead lesser souls to unhappy outcomes. The cause of my concern is right here in this video. Here he is, skulking about town under the cover of darkness, purportedly doing errands that could well have been done during daylight hours. Going to the Superstore at 7 in the morning? Considering the fact that any self respecting male would put off grocery shopping until the last second, and considering the fact that alcohol is now available in grocery stores, I think we could put those two facts together to form a troubling question. Does our friend have a problem he is hiding from us? Then there is that evening trip, with all its unnecessary route changes, in the direction of a destination that many citizens have been accused of visiting for the purposes of tax evasion. Come to think of it, the actual destination was obscured as was the object of procurement. These are concerning obfuscations. With our country's economy in such delicate condition, we need all our citizens paying their taxes freely and generously, not looking for ways to avoid them. I pray that it's not too late for our compatriot to turn away from the ranks of the selfish. Mind you, I am not making accusations here. I am simply voicing concerns that our friend might be headed to hell in a red Honda, otherwise known as a handbasket. Like I said, I am worried.

This fine video of a law abiding citizen travelling the streets of his home town is a marvel to behold. It was impressive to see the citizen obeying the law at all times, not just when he was passing the police station, his church, and his old high school. This is a proud moment for his local constable, his clergy person, and his aging guidance counsellor.

There was a time when I thought our host was perfect. In fact, I estimated his proximity to perfection to be so close that he might not be human. You know, angel, or perhaps even archangel on a good day. But tonight a dark shadow has been cast over my enthusiasm. The trouble started around the five minute mark of the video. We are coming down a bridge incline and two green traffic lights are smiling in our direction. But then at 5:02 the lights change to amber... one and a two and a three and a... Oh, no! Please God don't let this happen! Horrified by the catastrophy unfolding before my eyes, I forced myself to go back and stop the video at 5:06. Oh God!. On the left side of the intersection there is a red light. On the right side of the intersection there are two red lights. Strung along the near edge of the truck hood there is a relflection of five red lights. Five. Red. Lights... Jack Daniels, my one true friend, comfort me now!

Put your hose away!! You're triggering my A D D!! Also, you can borrow my good windshield washer fluid. Can barely see the trap houses when you went down some of the streets.😂

"Just driving around aimlessly," he says in his laid back, offhand way. But he's not fooling me. No sir! What we actually watched was the most deviously crafted, most unceremoniously executed, most inconspicuously concluded bank robbery of all time. First there was the robbery itself, disguised as an everyday ATM cash withdrawal. Then there was the huddle at a remote restaurant where he and his shadowy accomplice plan the next move. Then the leisurely, rules-conscious drive through city streets leading to stops at two shady locations where the illicit procurements were transmuted into untraceable common currency. Brilliant! Awesome! Delightful! I am totally in awe of our nonchalant hero who has Jesse James proclivities hidden in his soul!

What a nice peaceful ride. No lawsuit-seeking lunatics running out in front of the vehicle. No road ragers fist fighting in the intersections. No 100 kph police chases through the city streets. Maybe we are living in heaven.

Woke up to this. Preparing my day by eating cereal and going for a spin with D3stry. Lol. What's the weather like?

I won't be leaving a comment this time around. I've been injured. Disabled. Put out of commission. See, I'm pretty sure somewhere in this video I heard someone say something about masturbating with a cheese grater. Oh my Lord God Almighty! The horror of that thought sent me into paralytic shock. I was traumatized. To be honest, I was so psychologically mauled that I phoned my lawyer to see if there was any chance of a lawsuit. My lawyer thought it was all very funny and laughed so hard I couldn't get a word in. He was still laughing when I hung up. (For you younger viewers, the phrase "hung up" goes back to a time when we held a phone receiver in our hand and hung it up in the cradle when we were finis... Never mind. I touched the red icon on the phone screen, okay?) Nonetheless, I am still traumatized. I am also suffering the residual effects of paralyzation and I am certainly too cerebally immobilized to be scouring for things to put in a comment. With a little bit of backwoods voodoo I might heal in time for the next edition whereupon I will be scribbling in the style to which I have become accustomed..

Hey, my relationship with the win-loss ratio was revealed by Waylon Jennings when he sang, "For lovable losers, no account boozers, And honky tonk heroes like me, hey, hey." Waylon, like the Greek philosopher Socrates, had something to say about everything.

As I was listening to this I was reminded of Waylon Jennings and his song "I'm A Ramblin' Man." (Don't confuse this authentic, strong, he-man song with that weak little "Born in the back of a Greyhound bus" rendition by the Allman Brothers.) Anyone who thinks this epsode was just the aimless meandering of a host with no agenda should pay attention to the lyrics of Waylon's song: "You better move, move away; You're standin' too close to the flame. Once I mess with your mind; Your little heart won't be the same." The Canadian Infowarrior is not to be underestimated. Consider this edition as setting up the tent for the next big event. Mark my words.

This episode was something of a disappointment. Our customarily friendly and chatty host was silent. Eerily silent. Stonily silent. It was like he was mentally occupied by an important matter, a matter too important for the lesser minds of we mortal folk. So I thought, in an effort to sheild my soul from the pain of this unexpected snubbing, surely he has something in store for us of the demonstration variety. He, being of poetic and phiosophical nature, probably has a lesson from the wild to teach us something about the meaning of life. Perhaps he will show us a scene of a bull moose leading a lost bear cub back to its mother, showing us that life is better when we all get along and that it really is possible to achieve world peace. But alas, there was no such scene. Just that icy silence and the miles and miles of empty road. Sigh... I think I'll pull out my old vinyl disc and listen to Donny Osmond sing "Where Did All The Good Times Go" until I drift off to sleep.

I viewed, I liked, I left these words as evidence.

This was a fine tour of a fine town. The tour was so fine that there were times when I felt like I was right there in the vehicle, the sole audience for our host's friendly chatter. That feeling was so realistic that I started thinking I might be a special and valued individual, one singled out for this highly personalized attention. But then, right at the end, the camera panned the whole of the vehicle's interior with an emphatic focus on the front seat. Lo and behold, I wasn't there. Well! With cold, stark, and indisputable evidence like that there was nothing left for me but to face the facts of reality. And so here I sit, sifting through the broken pieces of a shattered dream.

I didn't see u drive past my place. Next time.

Cowboy boots in, pants out! And I'm watching the ride around after this video. And thanks for the Casino trip. She peed in the car.😅

And yes I’ve been made aware that the music is too loud to hear me speak. On the next video like this, I’ll fade the music when I talk.

I had a pair of cowboy boots once. I think of those boots often. Okay, maybe not the boots exactly but the girl. There was this girl I knew who had a pair of cowbot boots and I bought mine just to please her. I wore mine with the pants leg outside because she said I should. She wore hers with the leg inside and I said nothing for fear she wouldn't. I used to ask her to fetch things for me just so I could watch her go get them. She always reminded me of the old Merle Travis song, "So Round So Firm So Fully Packed." One time I took her to a Ricky Skaggs concert where he sang that song. I got all carried away in the moment and told her what I was thinking. ... That was one fine pair of boots.

Very interesting. The guy walking backwards on The Bluffs road, I mean. First I want to say declaratively, emphatically, and categorically that the guy is not me. I want everyone to be very clear on that. But if it had been me... Yeah, if that had been me, and if our fine host had stopped and asked what the hell I was doing, and if he had asked the question sincerely and not merely to express his hostility toward people who walk backwards, and if he had actually waited for me to answer, I would have told him. Yes, I would have told him exactly what I was doing. I would have told him frankly and without pause that I was conducting scientific tests on a theory related to reversal of the aging process. And then I would have held his gaze unblinkingly until the idea began to form in his mind that this would be excellent fodder for his next video.

I too am a self styled computer repair geek. In private moments I imagine I am Inspector Gadget, tiny screwdriver in hand, flashlight strapped to my forehead, confident expression planted firmly on my face. I peer into the innards of that open case where I am greeting by a mass of coloured wires, whirring fans, and little mini batteries stuck to the motherboard all over the place. (Just saying the word "motherboard" makes me feel so special, like I am in a superior class high above the madding crowd.) I have great plans of actually touching something in there one of these days.

One article referencing the MAiD debate is a piece by Michael Higgins in the National Post, Dec 2, 2022. There's lots out there, including input from CBC, CTV, and Global.

Well, well, well... So much to say, so little time. First of all, a big thumbs up for introducing a discussion that has real meaning. In a very general sense, I believe that, if we are of a mature age and a sound mind, we should be free to choose the circumstances of our own death. That is offset by all the variables surrounding the desire to choose death. Life carries an inherent impetus to move forward, to keep things going, to make things better. If that positive force is overriddden by an urge to cancel the future, we should proceed with extreme caution. But if the future has already been cancelled, by an accident or irreversible disease, for example, then a person (not the person's relatives!) should be free to make an exit of his own choosing.

This episode is one that sets the mood for a special kind of melancholy. Everything comes in 3's, they say. News of the he death of Maggie Smith was bad enough. Then the death of that faithful, valiant motherboard made one twist a little in his chair. But the news that really sends a fellow to brooding, to contemplating the futility of life, is the death of that infant romance. The romance itself is probably not a big loss since it never was. But the potential it contained, the promise it carried, the bright, rosy-glow, spring-in-the-step atmosphere with which it could have anointed everyone from casual acquaintenance to bosom pal... all gone. And the loss to our fine host, the companionship, the inspiration, the wind beneath the wings kind of support, the children that could have grown up to make the family name shine, must be near unbearable. All those things that could have been will now never be. Yeah. The meaning of life is buried much deeper than we've dug so far.

Did I hear something about a date? Well now. There's pirates in them waters, boy. You'd best peel an eye seaward, keep your spyglass handy, and reef your sails loose. I'd put in a word of prayer for you but I can't think of any gods I haven't pissed off with my doubts and jeers. Maybe I'll leaf through my Book Of True Gods one more time to see if there's one in there I might have missed.

I clicked, I watched, I said nothing. Nothing is what I had to say.

I object to the dismissive treatment given to mugs in this episode. Mugs are my friends. I've held handles with them for years; I've pressed my lips tp their rims; I've wrapped my hands around them and felt their warming comfort on a cold winter's day. Mugs are loyal. One day your tumbler will let you down. Then you'll wish you had a mug in your life. Oh yeah, and they're not all short, not that such a scornful back of the hand has any power at all. Humph.

I too have computers. It's possible I have three but I confess that I've never finished the job of counting them. I recently saw a guy on TV talking about how easy it is to change hard drives to some new and better thing called SSD. Full of confidence that I could make this change, I went down to the basement where my computers are sitting on desks waiting for me to put them to use. With a little bit of poking, prying, and muttering I managed to get the computer case open. The mass I saw inside - shiny things, plastic things, cables... hoards of cables... caused such a wave of exhausting despair to wash over me that I went upstairs to lie on the sofa for two solid hours. After regaining my strength I went out to the garage and found a dusty cardboard box labeled 1976. Out of that box I pulled an old song book, a table-top cassette tape recorder, a cheap plastic microphone, and four blank cassette tapes that had somehow escaped being filled with numerous sessions of me playing "Wildwood Flower" on guitar. So, until I work up the courage for another go at computers, you'll find me sitting at the kitchen table making cassette recordings of "Red River Valley" and other such hits.

The passage of the mantle of leadership from one generation to the next is a sombre occasion. For sure it marks the sadness of losing the one who puts the mantle down. But at the same time, it marks the hope of gaining the one who picks the mantle up and dons the responsibility of carrying forward the inherited traditions and goals. This occasion is a milestone in the human experience that takes as many forms as there are people to shape them. Thank you for sharing your form with us.

As I listened to our deep thinking host ruminate on the circumstances of his life, I was drawn to his repeated use of the word "censorious." Not being as intellectually gifted as our host, I thought I should look up the word's meaning. You know, to make sure I was getting an accurate take on his message. Well... Merriam-Webster sure opened my eyes with this phrase: "... censorious means inclined to look for and point out faults and defects." I was immediately taken back to some of the longer term relationships I've had with women and thus became symbiotaclly untangled with the pain of our host. It is safe to say that I now have no plans to develop a personal relationship with TH-cam. Thank you Canadian Info Warrior.

I've endured surprises before. I've survived a few disappointments, some of them served up by a woman. I've even made it through a couple of shocks; you know, the kind that makes your palms sweat, your knees wobble, and your thoughts focus entirely on navigating the next five minutes. But never before have I been faced with the emotional tsunami howling out of the content of this video. My very survival is teetering in the balance. The cause of my angst? Our host! He of saintly countenance; he of soothing voice that never strays in pitch or decibel; he of obvious heirdom to the job of Pearly Gates Greeter when St. Peter retires. What has he done? He has confessed to being a pirate! Heart, don't leave me now! The very uttering of the words has loosened my hold on life. My only hope is that in some future video he might ameliorate this ghastly unbosoming with a denial, a recantation, or at the very least a weasel-word explanation. I wait and teeter.

I was about to say that this episode could be named "What A Doorknob." I was about to say that but then I was restrained by the thought that such a reference carried a high risk of hurting someone's feelings. Nevertheless, there in plain sight, unmistakeable in identity, continuously attracting the eye of the viewer, attached to an open door was (is) a doorknob. And a fine doorknob it is. One could so easily be carried away into thoughts like, "What a doorknob!" So here we are, trapped in the circulating current of listening to the content versus acknowledging the unrelenting presence of the doorknob. New lighting... doorknob. Ronald Regan... doorknob. Centrist politics... doorknob. I was about to say that but then I remembered that what I really wanted to point to was the open door and its metaphorical implications for welcoming people into a warm online environment. Maybe next time. Sigh...

I feel nostalgic. Lonesome. Maybe even homesick of I let my emotions get the better of me. I miss the good old days when communicating our thoughts was simple. Whatever happened to smoke signals? Or crayon sketches on the front door? Sending handwritten notes in the mail was a hasty step in my mind, but then we moved on to telephones. And now we can use them to insinuate that we are slim, handsome, and rich with snapshots taken out back in the trailer park. And on top of that we've had the language sabotaged by that nebulous, blurry, slippery word-wreck of a phrase "going forward." We were getting along just fine with "in the future." It was easy to say, easy to understand, truthfully descriptive of what we meant. Does integrity even exist anymore? Sigh... Maybe the old guy looking back at me is not a phantom in a foggy mirror.

Taxi drivers are humanity's best! It's a high quality individual who can suffer all the calamities described here and still find the mental wherewithall to think of something positive to comment on.

This looked like the Maiden Voyage in the video list so I hopped on for the ride. The young host bears some similarities to the current personality but I'm not convinced he's the same guy. That's a subject that requires deep pondering so I'll slide on out of here to get it started.

" Ooh ee ooh ah ah, ting tang wallah wallah bing bang..." Many of you may feel threatened by such a sequence of grunts and growls emanating from the buccal cavity of a biological entity, but let me assure you, there is nothing to fear. I have witch doctors in my ancestry and I understand the language to a small degree. A common mistranslation of the utterance above is, "If you don't watch my videos I will drill into your pants legs." But the true translation is, "If you don't watch my videos I will drool in your porridge." You can easily protect yourself from this threat by any one of these three practices: cover you porridge; keep your porridge at a distance from droolers; don't eat porridge. The foregoing advice is free but if you so wish you may send cash gifts to the Witch Doctors' Liberation League via yours truly.

Aside from being charmed by a partial rendition of "Comfortably Numb," this episode has left me sheechless. It is is so chock full of debate-inspiring topics that I just can't bring myself to pick one. Making people angry, beating kids, shooting Trump, drinking rain water... Any one of these subjects would be reasonable grounds for three hours of conversational jousting and maybe even a turn or two of fisticuffs. Such a delight to comtemplate! So, in liu of drafting a witty comment for this video I'll just sit here and leisurely count my marbles. (I mention that so the next time you hear someone say "I think that guy has lost his marbles" you'll know it's not me they're talking about.)

I was making bets with myself on what Talking Guy here did for a living. Due to the hat, my money was on: 1) truck driver; 2) grader operator; 3) trailer park maintenance contractor. Then somewhere along the way he started talking about the travails of his work as a cab driver. Well, thanks a whole lot! I lost on all three of my bets! In light of my nebulous employment status I'm now in debt to some guy who's hardnosed toward people who owe him money. I may have to unsubscribe from here and go live in a remote location for awhile.

The handsome, clean cut, clean shaven narrator on here claims to be the same guy who hosts the 2024 episodes of the channel, but I am suspicious. The only thing familiar about this guy is the voice. We all know that voices can be reproduced by AI. Be careful, everyone.

Like droplets from a leaky faucet, little facts about out host appear without fanfare and plunk surreptitiously on the sink bottom... bottom sink... bottom of the sink... you know what I mean. So this time around we discover that our fearless slueth is a taxi driver. And he wants to tell us about it! He wants to share the chilling tales of his life hunkered behind a steering wheel, under cover of darkness, transporting who knows who, who knows where, for who knows what. I'm in!. Bring it on, I say... bring it ON!

There was a time when I was perfectly comfortable in the (cyber) prescence of our host, completely trusting. But as I watched this video unfold I must confess that little suspicions began to form in my mind. Maybe I'm suffering from a small degree of paranoia but I do feel like the bond of trust has been weakened. Not broken at this point but definitely weakened. Why have I been reduced to this fragile emotional state? Well, our host keeps telling us that he lives in Canada; you know, that grand stretch of wilderness sprawling across the top of the continent. But as he drove along on this leisurely tour there was not an igloo to be seen. Not one wigwam. Come to think of it, there was not as much as a beaver dam. Maybe I have to change my idea of Canada but at the moment my confidence in the integrity of our host has been damaged.

Frankie and Johnny were sweethearts... No... wait... it's Johnny and Frank... yea, that's them... Wayne and Shuster. I knew I knew what you thought I knew.

I don't know who this Albertan sunroof salesman is, but his political views do nudge a person in the direction of contemplating the forbidden. On a quiet summer evening, just minutes away from complete sunset, a full glass of Rare Batch No. 1 gripped firmly in hand, one could be tempted to savour a brief subversive thought of absolute personal freedom. Yeah.

As I was watching our intrepid host discussing diabetes, I became eerily aware of a deja-vu-like experience. Where in my past have I seen this guy having this conversation? Then it hit me: Wilford Brimley! Yup. There he is, straight out of the 90's, still trying to convince people that there is some kind of symbiotic connection between diabetes and medications. Shiver me timbers!

if you want to see big falls go to kakabeka falls if you want to sit in the falls and let the water flow over you go to trowbridge = )

LOL pinic table?! Best ever

try niagara falls

Well, there are a few tales.

Think it's haunted?

How dare you not know of the trans canada trail! Shaaaame.

lol Good thinking Jean, :-)

Good opening.....nice tripod. I don't know how folks make out without a tripod.....we have one in the car at all times. Hi Steve! I'm not sure I'd go for electric.....safer to go after the plumbing guys!