Jan
24

Go game the system, guys


Mitchieville is a place of caring. The tireless Mayor makes it his personal crusade to bring quality services to the good people of Mitchieville. There are no taxes in Mitchieville: funding for the municipality is taken from other jurisdictions taking advantage of the dim witted employment equity hiring of bureaucrats in these places. Despite our Canadian location, many foreign jurisdictions are happy to send us money to fund their pet projects. Since these programs are not results driven, we can squander the money as we see fit.

The Merry Funeral Home is just off the Ian Paisley parkway in downtown Mitchieville. Originally operated by William Merry, this fine commercial establishment has been repurposed into a research center tasked to spend progressive money. Just step inside to see the good work being done to advance Global Warming Science.

The first thing that strikes you as you walk in the door is the thick pall of cigarette smoke, the smell of beer, and the sounds of people having a good time. Indeed, the William Morris chapel looks a lot like a bar from the red tape free sixties. Liquor and beer are freely available: just order from Smiling Jack the bartender (and, incidently, the bylaw enforcement officer of Mitchieville). Instead of using that worthless paper money, you can exchange your privilege tokens. You pay no liquor taxes on beverages in Mitchieville: let the taxpayers of Baltimore pay, instead! There are merry table wenches to entertain you (thank you prison outreach program!). Dogs roam the room to gnaw bones and gobble up table droppings (thank you, dog park grants!).

Gather at the Mayors table. I usually order a traditional whole roast pig for my supper, to be washed down with a viking sized horn of beer. At the Mayor’s table gather his henchmen, minions, and research scientists. Ah, a meal fit for a Raubritter! As the beer and whiskey flows, as the table wenches come by on their stiletto heeled hooker boots, a warm feeling of contentment comes into your bones. This is the ultimate goal of progressive social spending, is it not? To make people happy? So to redirect funding from literacy programs for illiterates, rehabilitation for reprobates, and propaganda science is really, well, just a darn good idea.

After the example of the Wild Rose Quisling event, why bother with the political process?
Go game the system, guys. Your neighbors are doing it. You are not a half wit degenerate, so, for you, it should be easier.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

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Jan
18

Is The Pope An Asshole?


Pope Francis, seen here before his workcation to Transylvania where he intends to slaughter 200 vampires with his cross ‘o death, was asked about the recent terrorist attacks in France that claimed 17 lives. Instead of giving the proper answer that terrorists are diseased cock-holes and will burn in hell right after they are smeared from head to toe with pig blood, gave this freestyle rap answer that can best be described as “An answer an asshole Pope would give“:

Pope Francis has weighed into the debate over freedom of expression in the wake of the murderous attacks in Paris, saying that anyone who insults a religion can expect “a punch in the nose”.

In provocative remarks which may cause consternation in France, the Pope said that freedom of expression had its limits, especially if it involved insulting or ridiculing religion.

You cannot provoke. You cannot insult the faith of others. You cannot make fun of the faith of others.”

Yes Francis, yes you can.

In the world of the civilized, religions are made fun of, faith is often insulted, and you can provoke. And particularly, freedom of expression doesn’t have the limits a dirty little commie Pope would like them to have.

Francis believes that anyone who makes fun of a religion “can expect a punch in the nose”. So much for turning the other cheek. Civilized folk turn the other cheek. Actual Christian’s turn the other cheek. Commie pukes and mentally deranged Islamists believe in punishing freedom of expression, believe in redistribution of wealth, and think that insulting a faith is worthy of an assault, or in the case of Francis’ friends, murdering 17 innocent people.

The Mayor is also sure Pope Francis believes in forgiveness. He seems to have already forgiven the murderers and psychopaths who carried out the French slaughter, but yet he hasn’t seemed to come around to forgiving those who perpetrated the heinous crime of insulting the Prophet Mohammad.

So the question/title of this post is, “Is The Pope An Asshole?” Obviously the answer is yes. Yes he is. He’s an asshole. A stupid asshole. A stupid asshole who probably fights like a girl.

Asshole.

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Dec
20

Christless Christmas


Those of you looking for suitable progressive gift ideas for the special people in your life should ask for My Mommy’s Penis is Oozing Pus. This lavishly illustrated children’s book addresses many of the themes those ability challenged progressives whine about. Little Tsetse, a fifteen year old child in grade two, has an other gendered Mommy, who is challenged by inadequate health care spending. After you get past page six, you will not be able to read much for all the tears running down your face. Poor Mommy: just about nobody accepts her gender role, let alone is willing to handle her diseased penis and associated infectious discharge. We soon learn that the legacy of colonialism in Africa extends to the Ontario Health Care system, and affects social housing, the food bank system, and Global Warming. The book is lavishly illustrated, anatomically correct, and empowered with scratch`n`sniff panels that will appeal to the deviants in the educational system. You should rush out and spend your after tax dollars on this sort of progressive propaganda to help them brain wash your children. Alternately, you could spend five minutes of your time and reuse your hand me down ice pick to give that progressive commissar a lobotomy in the parking lot.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

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Dec
16

Sharing the Caring


Sometimes, commuting in Toronto traffic can be a chore. Stressful. Anxiety making. But not for me. I have learnt several helpful techniques through my affiliation with the cultists of Set, the Snake God. The Emerald Eyed One is full of help for His Followers, provided, of course, that you help Him get what He wants.

Today was a case in point. I was slogging down one of the major arteries of the city when I was gripped with angst.  So, I just stopped.  I slowed down, coasted to a stop.  I punched on my four way flasher.  Three lanes became two.  Instead of feeling anxiety, I felt refreshed.  I changed my music selection from driving music, to something that would bring me closer to inner peace and tranquility. Sure, traffic was bottle necked behind me. There was honking and swerving. Angry faces. But there is always angry faces in the the commuter lanes. Now, thanks to the wisdom of Set, the Snake God, I was not angry. I was happy. I was at peace.

I picked up my cell phone and smiled sheepishly at the people driving past. I called the wife. She had some ideas for dinner, and I needed to do some shopping. Then, we discussed some changes to a poem I was writing. Then we had phone sex. I felt refreshed. I was not suffering from angst. The people driving by, they were filled with fear, anger, and ill will. They lacked spirit. Could they even be considered human? Were they not just so much slabs of meat being fattened up for the worms? Right around that time the All News, All Traffic radio station began to report a disabled car at my location. I took a deep sigh of contentment, started my car, turned off the four ways, and headed out into the thin traffic ahead, leaving the snarling primates behind me in a cloud of exhaust.

Take advantage of opportunities for reflection
. Are you a chef, a waiter, or an entree? Start being a chef. The chef has freedom; the waiter serves the slop he is told to serve. The entree is the slop. Choose freedom. When the sun rises, rise with it.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.  I care.

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Dec
15

The Struggle of Light versus Darkness


Every day, the soldiers of the forces of Light struggle against the forces of Darkness. Can you count yourself in one of their number? Go outside at night and look up into the darkness, there you will find street lights. The one shown is known as a Cobra head, and acts as a burning beacon of prayer to Set, the Snake God. What a warming thought. So, when you are out shopping for a new false religion this Christmas season, give thanks to the tireless, unionized, workers who struggle to keep your streets lit at night. And, give a thought to coming over to the local chapter of Set, the Snake God for a drug and liquor drenched orgy as our way of saying welcome.

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Everything was 100% off.

Thank you very much.

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According to the latest figures by Equifax, Canadian’s are in more debt than ever before:

Canadians continue to pile on debt and now collectively owe more than $1.5 trillion, according to the latest figures from Equifax Canada.

The consumer credit rating agency says the level at the end of the third quarter was up 7.4 per cent from $1.409 trillion a year ago.

At the end of the day it matters not that collectively, Canadian’s are the most indebted nation in the world. What matters at the end of the day is how much cool shit we have. Living paycheque to paycheque, hand to mouth, is really no big deal. What is a big deal is a kick-ass giant TV and a poo-load of awesome apps loaded onto a $700 Android. Can’t pay the mortgage? Who cares, check out the new rims on my new Camero. They’re made of gold. They cost 5 million dollars each.

Most folks worry about debt, but if the last 6 years since the Great Financial Crisis has taught The Mayor anything, it’s that we need to embrace debt, let it become someone else’s problem. Like the old adage – if you owe the bank $1 million that’s YOUR problem, if you owe them $100 million that’s THEIR problem.

Now get out there and spend. Kiss debt square on the lips and stick your disgusting whiskey tongue straight down debts mouth. Embrace debt. Love debt. Make love to debt. Doggie debt until until you explode.

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In an interview with The Telegraph UK, “fashion designer” Vivienne Westwood gives us her thoughts on obesity among Britain’s poor:

“People who can’t afford to buy organic food should eat less and stop getting fat.”

Whether you agree with Vivienne Westwood’s comments or not, whether you think she is right or wrong or somewhere in the middle, the one thing The Mayor is positive we can all agree on is that it is hard to take someone seriously when they are as fucking ugly as Vivienne Westwood.

If Scarlett Johansson had said those same words as Vivienne Westwood, we might have said that Johansson was a stupid, ignorant ass, but at least she’s as hot as dripping syphilis. Whereas anything Vivienne Westwood says can never be taken seriously  (especially on the topic of food, because she looks like she’s fed chum by Filipino fishermen) because of her major ugly problem.

Vivienne Westwood would be better suited hanging by her legs at a Mexican child’s birthday party while revellers beat her with sticks until candy exits her bone-rack stomach, than ever opening up that festering gob and spewing ugly.

The Mayor sticks by his comments, and he doesn’t care if Vivienne Westwood never again invites him over to her winter chalet for cheese and select trays of crackers. Besides, her crackers are whole wheat trash and the cheese she serves smells like a dead homeless man that has been laying in the burning sun for 70 hours.

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Nov
20

It’s True, The Mayor IS Alive


Call it a Christmas miracle, The Mayor is alive. Do you want to know what a true miracle would have been? If The Mayor was actually near death and somehow pulled through, but that’s nowhere near the truth.

The truth isn’t important, what is important is that this shit-can website is back and running and the posts will start flowing like illegal/legal Mexicans through a porous American border.

Though not right away, The Mayor is busy for the next few days. Maybe Fenris might put up a post or three, if someone can wake him from his drunken stupor.

Mitchieville is back in business. Hide the sheep.

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Shay, what do you think of the big collar, Hawaiian shirt under a shport’s jacket look I’m shportin’? Ya, it’s pretty shitty, isn’t it?

Sean Connery knows that with each pashing day he’s shtarting to resemble a human catheter more and more, but that doesn’t mean I shtill can’t make the most kick ash loaf of bread you’ll ever eat. Case in point, I am preparing some delishish Apple Oat Bread.

You need to ashemble a cast of indrediants firsht: milk, apple jiush, butta, shuga. shalt, chinomon, white flour, oats, and a bunch of dry yeasht. Shay, that shounds like something my firsht ex-wife Diane Cilento used to eat when I fed her in her shtall at the shtable – that horsh-face lawn gnome.

Anyway, crank up the Black & Decker and let’s get this potty shtarted.

Measure ingredients into pan. Select “white/powdered milk.”

Now push shtart.

When complete, the light will flash green.

Wash your filthy hands

Remove bread.

Wait until the bread cools before slicing. There is no need to be a jackash.

And that’s how you make a delishish loaf of Apple Oat Bread.

Shpeaking of a delishish loaf, Sean Connery is going to the men’s room to pass an Oprah Winfrey. Send in a dove.

**Mitchieville takes no responsibility whatsoever for any advice/advertisement/recommendations or opinion in regard to the Black & Decker Automatic Bread Maker 2000™.

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Mar
21

Malaysian 777 Found


Typically The Mayor would scoff at a story such as this, but the evidence is the evidence, and ya can’t beat the evidence.

Imagine, the 777 was hijacked by aliens. ISLAMIC alien hijackers, no doubt.

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Mar
18

Other than sticking your fingers inside a smelly Tim Horton’s coffee cup in order to roll up the rim in the hopes of winning a donut or coffee, or drinking out of another persons water bottle, there are very few things in life as appalling as The Man Hug. We, as a peoples, managed to live on this earth for the better part of 72, 850 years without The Man Hug, but somewhere around 2005, some arsehole, or arseholes found it necessary to introduce this scourge into our every day life. This abomination must stop. And it must stop today.

There are very few reasons to embrace another man. If you fall off a cliff and lay at the bottom of a mountain and sustain two broken legs and a shattered spleen, and then are found by a search and rescue team who pull you up to their helicopter by ropes that dangle precariously around your waist, there is still no need to Man Hug your rescuers, a thank you will suffice. If you are in a jungle and are cornered by a hungry wildebeest, and out of nowhere some guy shows up and shoots the wildebeest in the face which in turn saves your life, a high five will do nicely, just keep your hugs to yourself, you big sissy.

A hug between father and son is appropriate at times. That’s different. A hug between guy friends is hardly ever appropriate. If your buddy’s mom dies and he tells you the news, it’s ok to grab him, with one hand, by his shoulder, give him a little shake and tell him you’re sorry for his loss. But keep your arms away from his neck, a Man Hug isn’t necessary. It’s just awkward.

If you’re into sports, there are times when a shoulder-to-shoulder Man Hug is acceptable. If it’s the bottom of the third and the outfielder makes a nice catch to end the inning, that certainly doesn’t call for a Man hug. Just smash your glove into his and make a joke about his mother. If it’s the bottom of the ninth and you’re ahead by a run and there’s a guy on first and the batter hits a line drive that the outfielder snags, winning the World Series, then yes, a small, respectable Man Hug is in order.

That’s about it.

There was a time not long ago (before 2005) when hugs were associated with women only. Women hug women for all sorts of stupid reasons, but that was their thing, not ours. Women would hug other women because of a relationship gone bad. They would hug each other when a relationship was going well. They would hug each other if they hadn’t seen each other for five minutes, and they would hug each other if one of them found a coupon for .25 cents off maxi pads. Women hug. alot.

But now guys are into hugs and it just doesn’t make sense. It goes against our nature. Instead of just saying hi, the first thing guys do now is reach out and hug their buddy. Wha da fuq?

This shit has to end NOW.

The Mayor has decided to take the lead on this. From this point forward, any attempted Man Hug on The Mayor’s person will result in a swift punch to said huggers chest. The Mayor doesn’t intend to leave his knuckle prints on said huggers chest cavity, but the punch will be hard enough to make said huggers eyes water.

That’s what The Mayor’s talking about.

Said hugger will also hear the words “no hug” after the punch has been delivered.

The Mayor understands that the pussification of the western male is nearly complete, but The Mayor will not go down gently. He will go down swinging. Man huggers beware. There will be no more warnings.

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