I used to really get a laugh of Saturday Night Live years ago, when Chevy Chase played a news anchor on a segment called Weekend Update. A running gag was when he would read, in an earnest tone, “Our top story tonight! Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead.” Other times, he’d read something to the effect of: “This breaking news just in! Generalissimo Franco is still dead.”

In the news business, there are plenty of General Franco stories. They’re clearly significant, but just not news anymore. Nothing has changed since the last report.

One such story that comes to mind at this time of year is the unsolved murder of Quan Cham Lu outside the Guvernment nightclub, walking distance from my office at The Toronto Star. The mystery about this case isn’t who did the killing. Everyone who cares knows that. The mystery is why authorities haven’t done anything about that.

And it’s clearly not funny for anyone who cared about the victim or who cares about justice.

The big biker trial in Toronto has finally gotten underway. What I find interesting, however, is what happened before the trial even got underway. Somehow the search warrant on the Downtown clubhouse of the HA was leaked, and it still hasn’t been explained.

Ah, the Christmas lights, the wonder in children’s eyes, the memories of the brawls of holidays past… The Bandidos call for a written apology in this message of holiday cheer is a particularly nice touch.

No one can accuse the Peterborough Examiner of ignoring the Outlaws’ new clubhouse in their midst. Aside from covering the actual formation of the clubhouse, the paper is in the midst of also running a six-part series on local biker history. It’s nice to see this sort of enthusiasm. One instalment deals with Robert Pammett, referred to in my book as “Peterborough Bob.” Another looks at a key police agent. The final article deals with impact on the community.

Among my recent emails is one from the Loners Motorcycle Club, who aren’t so happy about recent publicity about the Outlaws expanding in Ontario. There’s a bit a tense history between the Loners and Outlaws in Ontario. It goes like this: The Loners came into being in 1979, founded jointly by Frank (Cisco) Lenti and Jimmy Raso. Lenti and Raso each joined the Satan’s Choice in the early 1970s, then patched over to the Outlaws in 1977, along with several other Choice members. When Lenti had a falling out with the Outlaws, he quit the club, followed by Raso. Not long after that, they started up the Rebels in Toronto and then switched the club to King City, north of Toronto, and called it the Loners.

A Loners emailer tells me the club still has members in Canada, the U.S., Italy and Spain. The club lost members – including Wayne Kellestine and Boxer Muscedere – to the ill-fated Bandidos expansion, but it still retained a core, especially in York Region north of Toronto. “We’re not going anywhere,” the Loner emailed me.

Don Norris, part of the original Satan’s Choice in Ontario, also sent me a note recently. Norris was with the Choice back in the 1950s, even before Bernie Guindon came on the scene and I enjoyed his recently published book, Riding With Attitude. I’m repeating his joke here, with apologies to blonde readers:

A blind cowboy finds his way into an all-girl biker bar, sits on a bar stool, and order himself a shot of Jack Daniels.

After sitting there for awhile, he yells over to the bartender, “Hey, you wanna hear a blonde joke?”

The bar immediately falls absolutely silent.

In a very deep, husky voice, the woman next to him say, “Before you tell that joke, I think it’s only fair, given that you are blind, that you should know five things:

“1. The bartender is a blonde girl with a baseball bat.

“2. The bouncer is a blonde girl.

“3. I’m a 6-foot-tall, 175-lb blonde woman with a black belt in karate.

“4. The woman sitting next to me is blonde and a professional weight lifter.

“5. The lady to your right is blonde and a professional wrestler.

“Now seriously think about it. Do you still wanna tell that blonde joke?”

The blind cowboy thinks about it for a second, shakes his head and mutters, “No… not if I’m gonna have to explain it five times.”

You can’t write about the Hells Angels in Quebec – or the Bandidos – without discussing the Mafia family of Nicolo and Vito Rizzuto. Normand Brisebois, one of my sources on the links between the Mafia and outlaw bikers in Quebec, told me he was shocked at the murder this week of Nicolo Rizzuto.

It appears the killer was hiding in the woods behind Rizzuto’s mansion. This death-by-sniper calls to mind how Rocco Violi, the younger brother of Rizzuto’s bitter rival Paolo Violi, was murdered in October 1980.

Clearly the final act in this drama will play out in the summer of 2012, when Nicolo’s son Vito is freed from an American prison. It’s clearly kill or be killed for Vito, who has lost his son and father to gunmen since going to prison.

When you’re writing a book, you’re essentially writing it for yourself, trying to tell the story the way you think it should be told. Then, you hope that a lot of complete strangers will plunk down a fair bit of money and invest several hours reading it. It’s natural to wonder who those people are, and I had a surprise this week finding it mentioned on a July 13 entry on the website of Anti-Racist Canada, a group that deplores men like Wayne (Weiner) Kellestine.

I’ll be doing a reading and hopefully answering some questions this Saturday (October 23) in the parlour of The Little Inn of Bayfield at 26 Main Street North, Bayfield, Ontario, Canada N0M 1G0.  It’ll be hosted by The Village Bookshop, a spot where one of my writing heroes, Alice Munro, sometimes visits. She spoke at Central Secondary School when I attended it, decades ago, and I was greatly impressed with how politely and sincerely she treated us. I remember one of us asked if she just writes a story and rams in symbolism later. I forget exactly what she replied, but I don’t forget the grace with which she answered the question. Four years ago, I had a chance to speak with Italian prosecutor/author Gianrico Carofiglio. He’s also huge Alice Munro fan, and was duly impressed that she spoke at my high school. He was also relieved to hear that she’s a classy person as well as a great writer.

With a few exceptions, the Canadian Bandidos weren’t about motorcycles. Several of them didn’t ever own bikes. That’s in contrast to these B.C. Hells Angels, filmed by police going 160 kms an hour on a B.C. highway.

It’s easier to pick a winning book than a winning lottery ticket, unfortunately. A few weeks ago I predicted my friend Betsy Powell’s new book, Bad Seeds: The True Story of Toronto’s Galloway Boys Street Gang would ecome a bestseller. Today that came true. The book’s too hot to promote in some parts of Toronto and will continue to catch an audience.