A Victims Perspective

Take your sorry capitalist ass down to the Occupy Toronto encampment. Step past the outstretched hands asking for a handout, and keep clear of materials that may carry bedbugs. There in the Solvent Fanciers Congress you will find Moe-Moe, victim of the greedy one percent that ruin the lives of the ninety-nine.

Moe-Moe is a victim. Even being born into an activist family and being dressed in the invisible diapers of white privilege did not protect him from social injustice. His mommy and daddy were both (er, are currently, and will collect pensions accordingly) six figure socialists toiling in the socialist social services sector, despite being heteronormative (it was OK back then, kinda like Qaddaffi was a socialist hero). They named Moe-Moe after Colonel Q, and that is where his victimization began. Moe-Moe was bullied at school; there were inadequate services available for children victimized by having dumb names given them by their dumb parents. It is societies fault. Moe-Moe got the nickname ‘Moe-Moe’, and it stuck. Now he uses it like a badge of gay pride.

Being unhappy, Moe-Moe turned to recreational drugs to self medicate. It was that hot summer when he was thirteen, staying at the family summer house on the lake in Barrie, when Moe-Moe broke out of the basement and got into his parents stash of marijuana, hashish, cocaine, and valium. His parents did not even notice. They were at a three day teaching conference at a resort; they had left him with an ample supply of dry food, and a source of tap water. They cared, but they did not notice the dope supply had shrunk. Moe-Moe then turned to glue. He began to huff glue, solvents; anything to make him forget the misery of capitalism that existed outside the walls of his loving home.

That year, that fall, his parents bought another house in London, to be closer to Stratford because they had seasons tickets to the Shakespeare festival. Moe-Moe would sniff glue when he was locked up in his bedroom, or in the dog cage his parents put him in for traveling. Moe-Moe will tell you how people were intolerant of his special needs. A man once called him names and struck him when Moe-Moe was urinating onto the drivers seat of his convertible. Violence is never the answer. A woman once screamed at him when he went into the ladies restroom and tried to get into the cubicle she was using. This is intolerance. Moe-Moe is a vanguard activist for gender diversity.

School was difficult for Moe-Moe. His parents, high in the ranks of the education system, used a line editor to change his grades from fail to A. He was accepted into the best education program in the province, even though Moe-Moe could not read, and spent his days in his basement care center sniffing glue and listening to his parents collection of hippie music. Only the intervention of his parents with the computer records system at university allowed him to graduate with marks good enough to get admittance to graduate school. Moe-Moe broke the chains of capitalism, broke down the door that let him up the stairs to the garage of his parents house in Toronto (the summer house, and the London house were easier to get out of) and he ran out into the streets to become a homeless advocate against the injustice of society.

This Global Warming fall finds Moe-Moe shivering with cold at Occupy Toronto. You won’t find him at the main encampment. No, you will find Moe-Moe in an underground parking garage taking a dump. He likes to write slogans on peoples cars with his feces. There is only one Moe-Moe, and ninety nine cars on subterranean level: this is his way of speaking out, for social justice, for climate action, for free glue to those who ask, and for places where solvent fanciers can enjoy their glue in a safe place.

Moe-Moe is a victim. Nobody cared about him when he was young and vulnerable and growing up. You would think Moe-Moe was an N-person, it was so bad. His parents got his home room teacher fired because she noticed Moe-Moe was missing school; she was a Christian, and you cannot have them teaching, for sure. A neighbor, instead of calling the police when his house was burgled and desecrated with feces, tried to get Moe-Moe into counseling. Like there is adequate funding for staffing (let alone decent parking) for counseling. In university, an instructor wondered why there guy who attended lectures and wrote exams as Moe-Moe was not the guy who attended the graduation ceremony. One was Asian, one was Moe-Moe. His parents had this racist busybody put down with a behind closed doors defamation campaign. No tenure for racists; Moe-Moe gets his degree.

Moe-Moe is a victim, and this is his perspective.
If you see him, give him money. If you find a turd rubbed over your car, look upon it as a smear of pride. If you step in piss, try not to taste it: Moe-Moe may have hepatitis; it is all your fault because of underfunding on staff and pensions for health care administration. Those ninety nine cars in the underground parking belong to the one percent; Moe-Moe is the one who represents the ninety-nine percent. He has the progressive wisdom that comes from glue. It sticks in the mind.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

xpd The Fenris Badwulf School of Telemarketing Excellence

2 Responses to “A Victims Perspective”

  1. The Mayor Says:

    The only cure for a city full of Moe Moe’s is increased social funding. Moe Moe is indeed a victim, and whitey needs to man-up and open up their racist wallets.

  2. Fenris Badwulf Says:

    I am glad you have learnt to mouth the politically correct words, Mayor. It is like a dead language used for rituals to worship a lifeless stone idol.

    Say what the bolshies want to hear, but act otherwise. Embrace the black market (pay no taxes), boycott the bolshies (look at the face of who you are employing), and raise up your like minded brothers and sisters.

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