Brad MacDonald

Life for Brad MacDonald was once difficult. Living as a street urchin amidst the urban warfare of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Brad went to the school of hard knocks and got a degree from the university of noogies. Then his big break came: a gig at BALLZ: A Response to Modern Journalism. Once he got his lucrative cash advance, Brad moved to Montreal and started living a life of luxury. Now he blows his nose on twenty dollar bills. Now he keeps confetti made from fifties in his pocket and, whenever he leaves a room in any situation, he throws it into the air and screams out, “I got the green baby!” as loudly as possible. Now he sprinkles ripped up hundreds on top of the weed brownies he feeds to his pet bengal tigers, named after his two most cherished heroes, Gandi and Optimus Prime (Fun fact: Brad also named his pet giraffe “Monkey” and his pet monkey “Giraffe,” just to mess with them and to assert his god-like power. It’s fucked). And the women. Oh, the women. Brad has strategically impregnated a series of fine ladies in various states and provinces so that the locations of his illegitimate children spell out his name across North America. When Brad isn’t procreating, he spends his time either “just kicking it,” “buggin’ out,” beard-growing, or eating cookies in coffee shops while pretending to be an English student.