The Gates of Hell erupted in our small corner of the universe, and according to one local denizen, "We have no one but ourselves to blame for it. If those buggers on the West Don Lands committee had just consulted with us more, this never would have happened. Now we know we were right in walking away from the committee, because What You Don't Know Can't Hurt You."

The first clue something was wrong came just a week ago, when little Timmy Smithee, son of the never-endingly oft-quoted Alan Smithee, came home from the new Brownfield Playground sporting a second head and singing a duet. The tune, sung in beautiful two-part harmony, went something like this:

"There's a cloud in every lining,
Every smile hides a frown,
If you don't believe this,
You don't live in Corktown.

What's the point of research,
We just know the facts,
Don't you say we dream things up,
And don't you call us hacks.

Sometimes we do our homework,
And then we get it right,
But other times, you have to ask,
"Who turned out the light?"

For some its fun to whine and moan,
While others take a pass,
It's hard to see the road ahead,
When your head is up your (expletive deleted)."

The Smithees, who live near the Richmond Street overpass, were miffed. "Why did we let him play under the concrete bridges down there, when we have a perfectly good concrete bridge right here? Those demon worshippers on The Committee believe our kids should have a right to experience contaminated rail lands and dog compounds, but really, with the animal clinic and all the poop in the park - which you can't see for all the needles and metronomes - don't we have it all here?"