Jim Foster

I don’t doubt when he jotted down the poem, old Clement was pretty well juiced.

Under the terms of the union contract at Otaco (re: statutory holidays) he shouldn’t have been paid for Christmas at all.

“Look, he’s not talking to some jerk on the other line right now; he’s talking to me… What do you mean it’s the same thing?”

My first thought was perhaps a lonely bachelor had just finished off a bottle of Bombay gin and realized another evening was over and once again love had passed him by and…

Shakespeare knew a lot about women and romance. His gals were never prim and proper ladies who were subservient to men.

ShareA Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster A few years ago I was fiddling around with the idea of coming out

Lying in a column is called poetic license, story enhancement, and sometimes pure bull droppings.

One of the problems of being a world-renowned columnist is hundreds, if not thousands, of loyal readers base their daily lives on our sage advice…

… but Mr. Swartz, my esteemed editor has become a bit of a prude in his old age even threatening to have me fired and charged under a number of obscenity laws.

All Bill needed to say was ‘Them’s nice flowers’ which almost anyone could memorize unless you had the misfortune to be educated in Barrie.