Archive for the ‘accomodation’ Category

Black History Month in Mitchieville

Wednesday, February 8th, 2017

In keeping with our Hegelian dialectic of synthesis towards the end of History, here is the most representative anti-Thesis of our Thesis of the month, Black History.

An overview of the anti-Thesis, which is, really, anti-Thesis prime, ya?

Cooking with Fenris

Friday, May 1st, 2015

These balmy, hot and humid post Global Warming May days call for some greasy local meat done up with some taters and roots from the cellar.

Locavores
will want to go with the plentiful Squirrel, Raccoon, or Ground Hog that infest our modern cities. I sure do like the rasvainen ja sitkeä taste of this Finnish delicacy that the Finns loved to serve to their Russian guests.

Here is what you need:

3 lb skinless, boneless Squirrel, Raccoon, or Ground Hog, cut up into bite size pieces

1 cup onion, coarsely chopped. You can keep the peelings for the compost bucket.
4 medium carrots, peeled and thinly sliced. Pitch in the green leafy stuff at the top for extra fiber.
4 stalks celery, thinly sliced

To taste black pepper
1 pinch ground cloves
2 Cups Badwulf Mill’s Premium flour
6 Cups water

1 med. potatoes, diced
12 Oz. bottle brown ale
1 package (10 oz) frozen peas
¼ Cup Butter
¼ C grapeseed Oil
1/4 C olive Oil

Cook it all up like Mom used to do. In a big pot.

If the kids won’t eat it, pour ketchup on it.

The Magic Donkey

Sunday, April 5th, 2015

The Magic Donkey is a store that caters to the Dungeons and Dragons market in Mitchieville. You can get your troll figurines, books of spells, and Game of Thrones t-shirts there. They have a no smoking sign out front. Smoking is a social plague for which many layers of government will fight by shoveling money at most anybody who fills in the right forms. The money flows, and there is no effect on smoking.

The social plague of smoking sits upon the fevered minds of the progressives like dog turds in a park. Did you know that smoking is considered a fetish by some people? When will these people get organized and get recognized as a member of the deviant sexual practices community? LGBT blah blah blah. There should be a S in there, for smoking fetish.

Remember the Vagina Monologues? When you were in university learning socialist theory in math class? Well, the new deviants on the block, the trans deviants, they got it denounced. Neat, eh? Well, it is time to join the rainbow parade and spark up a smoke. Time to embrace diversity, and they better embrace your diversity. Remember when women (back when women had vaginas) were not allowed to smoke? Well, by smoking you are raising awareness of that glorious struggle. Your inner feminist (even if you have a penis) is shouting out for liberation from the patriarchy. Spark up that smoke when you are in a bar, restaurant, or asthma clinic. Progressives are, well, stupid. At least the cadre at Mount Holyoke College are. After a lifetime of listening to their bitchy whining, it is time to be bitchy too. I want a handout with that hand job.

And what of the Magic Donkey? In the back, if you read the notice board, you will see a message board for the pony play community. There is something so progressive, so liberating, about a woman (with vagina) being trussed up in a leather harness, gagged, and prodded with a whip to pull around some guy (with a penis). You can just slurp up the white guilt with this aspect of the rainbow of diversity. All very normal, and if you say otherwise, you will get hated. Who wants to be hated? So come on down to The Magic Donkey, and celebrate the rationalized pleasures of the gay mafia. You can read some ‘about to be kicked off the reservation’ postings by soon to be oppressed activists. Ah, how the wheel turns.

Diary of Irresponsible Government

Sunday, February 8th, 2015

The driving experience in Toronto is a snapshot into the inner state of the great progressive experiment that is being heaved onto our heads by our irresponsible leaders. My observations are personal anecdotes, and completely distant from the standards of journalism and Global Warming science.

Being crafty, I live only a twenty minute drive from my place of work. I never have to take the major highways (401, DVP, 427, …) on my morning commute to work, nor on my afternoon return home. Ha ha, I have it easy! Not so. Since starting this commute, some six months ago, I count the number of driving infractions I see.

In Toronto, it is rare for a driver to signal lane changes or turns. From experience I watch their wheels to second guess where the progressive driver wishes to go. Every day for the last six months I have counted at least one failure to signal. Big deal you say. Indeed. Just drive on the defensive.

At night, the number of my fellow drivers who drive without headlights, without running lights, runs to one every two to three days. On one special occasion, there were two head lightless drivers. Big deal you say. Toronto is filled with street lights. Who needs head lights? For that matter, drivers in the progressive urban setting like to drive with their high beams on. This happens, oh, at least twice a week. And every day there are those with a headlight, signal, or tail light just not working.

In the early morning, before sunrise, the streets of Toronto have their share of joggers and cyclists. Even in winter. Joggers like to run on the road, with their backs to traffic, and wearing trendy black sports gear. This is the standard, not the exception. People walking dogs, though, they use the sidewalk. I have yet to see a cyclist who uses hand signals to indicate turns. The majority of cyclists will run stop signs and red traffic lights. They do not even slow down to give the illusion that they are aware of the peril they place themselves and others in. When the sun rises, the jogger and cyclist behavior is the same.

The Danforth is notorious for drivers driving backwards down the street.

Let us park. Anywhere. One may complain about the choked streets, sluggish commutes, and inexplicable delays. The Toronto driver is a scofflaw who thinks nothing of standing, stopping, or parking in Do Not Park zones. Delivery trucks will stop to deliver in dedicated right turn lanes … just check out St.Clair West any old day. Toronto has no parking during rush hour zones. Usually filled with parked cars. You can count them. I do. At least one a day; the record is seven.

Who cares? I know I don’t. I assume my fellow Toronto drivers are scofflaws. I expect them to turn left on red lights, barrel through stop signs, and open their doors in traffic. Let the other drivers, cell phone distracted, to plow into them. Let Darwin do his job, I say. Let the night joggers in black get plowed under by some darkened car. Let the cyclists get crunched by a door, squished by a left signal, right turn combination driver, or just crushed by a cell phone chatterer. I drive with caution, I drive slow, and I drive undistracted. You do the same. But what of all that money, that confiscated income, taken by the state to provide services? Is there not a constabulary responsible for enforcing the Highway Traffic Act? Some sort of impediment to the left turn on red light tribe, a watch dog to deter distracted drivers, an enforcer of parking laws? In my youth, the dominant white male patriarchy frequently pulled over wayward white devils for missing signal lights, rolling stops, and mid intersection parking. Today, are they asleep? Or just too busy with diversity seminars, and too wise to mess with the victims of the legacy of racism for fear of facing some hissing, spitting progressive white guilt slurper?

These transgressions occur daily, frequently, and across a short time frame. Do the math. If this is only a one hour slice of a narrow reality, then what is going on in the greater Toronto? The Toronto driver is a scofflaw, the roads are a death trap for the unwary, and the constabulary are career wisely avoiding confrontation in preference for the warmer classroom of bullshit meetings. Of course, I could complain to The Authorities. Sure. I could collect license plate numbers, makes and models. Sure. That would work. Do you think it would work? Do you think it would work to modify human behavior, make the streets safer, and generally bring about the rainbow utopia where unicorns roam free. My money is on silence. I will drive slow and cautious. Let Darwin do his job. Darwin works, and he is free. Traveller, be warned.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

Down and out with the Deep State

Sunday, March 16th, 2014

Do I have to define everything before I start talking about it? I have no intention or desire or hope to convince statists that statism exists, statism is bad, or statism is inefficient in the long run. Why bother? I am an Army of One, my struggle is personal, with weapons economic, psychological, and hypnotic. I admit to myself that those beyond my touch are Untouchable. I study them, yes, but I horde my resources for those I can see in my sights. I am more a sniper than an artillery brigade.

I can strangle the Hollywood bolsheviks when I download a movie rather than rent it. I act outside of a command structure, and no group renders me material assistance. My actions are doable and gettable. You too do things, but do not share them verbally. Action speaks louder than words. Action under the radar is invisible; and, being invisible, you can make it daily.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

Your fellow Canadians

Tuesday, August 20th, 2013

I live in a racist shit hole, and that racist shit hole is Canada. At least I live in the least racist, least deep, least stinking shit hole that is Toronto, the City of Light. This glorious city, Toronto the Good, has a socialist social conscious. Here the welfare people live, spend, and breed. Some call them never workers because they will never work, never add, only subtract. For every handful of never workers, there are the socialist social services sector workers. Marching towards pension, living in ‘burbs and condos that are far from the criminal, diseased, and useless never workers, these public sector uber tapeworms are Your fellow Canadians, too. Unlike the media, the academia, the elites that spend your confiscated income (and, now, are borrowing your children’s future income), you can travel amongst Your fellow Canadians. Just get in a car and drive around Toronto. Come join me, Fenris Badwulf, on the streets of Toronto to rub fenders with Your fellow Canadians.

Driving with your lights on is never required at night, fog, nor rain. If you do have your lights on, have them high beams. Traffic laws are a commonly agreed upon set of standards, yes? Better yet, study the standards by which Your fellow Canadians stand. To drive in darkness in Toronto is to peer into the gloom for the person driving without lights; opposing you is the inevitable fellow with his high beams on. Close your eyes as he blazes past: you will need your vision in the following seconds. You can draw conclusions: the driving citizens of Toronto lack empathy, they do not care for cause and effect, for consequences, for anything but their own primate urges. Ooh ooh, aah aah. You can also realize that the police in this town have abandoned the policing of traffic laws. Understandable, really. If you pull over voter Shyte to tell him he is driving without lights, your police career might just end on a charge of racism. If you pull over Mango to tell him he is driving with high beams, you could get shot, then charged with racism. So, the police no longer police, but observe and respect. As a common driver, one of the cannon fodder that pays taxes to support the welfare state, you are expendable. Just learn to live with it, much as you keep your door locked, hide your PIN during transactions, and avoid bedbugs.

Seize the right of way. Just back out onto a busy street (Wilson, say, during rush hour) and stop one lane, then two of traffic. Keep on backing up into the opposing lane and then turn to make your precious left turn. So what you are playing dice with death. Your fellow Canadians consider this acceptable behavior. Some honk in anger, but fewer than the common primate that hauls left on his merry, id driven way. To this you can add the other related behaviors you better be wary of as you drive the streets of the City of Light. Who cares about the stupid primates? You should: they could smack your car.

Take yourself onto the streets of Toronto. Watch the primates drive like ignorant monkeys. Id driven and unsupervised by authority. This is the society that the elites have allowed to come into being. It is not for you to gnash your teeth and lament. Sure, joggers run on the road; sure, cyclists cut you off; sure. The past is gone, you racist white piece of shit. Embrace diversity. I embrace diversity. I drive slow and stupid; turn left to bung up traffic, and stop on a whim. I fit in. I go about my business. Where diversity is leading is anybodies guess … the Baby Boomers have yet to decide how to fund their retirement health care; but I know I can drive like a primate without fear of censure. Everyone else does.

Fenris Badwulf caring person

Wednesday, July 3rd, 2013

OK, I think that putting Lithium in other peoples’ water is a good idea. I admit it. If the people of British Columbia think it OK, it should be OK with you. Only an insensitive bastard, er, fatherless, er, well, white-identified racist, would be opposed to putting Lithium in the water. Actually, Bastard-Canadians and Fatherless-Canadians are a misunderstood group, and victims of oppression. By ‘bastard’ and ‘fatherless’ I was alluding to racists, who tend to over value such things as family, effort, skill, and determination. Family-less, effort-less, skill-less, and/or determination-void cultural traits are as equal as anything any white culture has come up with. So, Lithium in the water. It is coming, thanks to the same sort of scintillating intellect that thinks Trudeau the Second would make a good leader. You are outnumbered. This being so, I took this as permission to start doping up other peoples’ water (and drinks, and food) with Lithium. I care.

Your neighbors are going to get Lithium in their drinking water. You should get on the band wagon and start putting Lithium in first. Try it on other people and see what happens. You are spreading progressive sunshine, but with a manure fork instead of a tea spoon. Your boss at work, some co-workers, or even that stranger you picked up hitchhiking deserve happiness.

Celebrating Kwanzaa at Christmas in Mitchieville

Tuesday, December 25th, 2012

After the food has been shoveled, the booze guzzled, and at least one of the old folks has gone to vomit in the stairway leading to the bathroom, it is time for Kwanzaa. It is Christmas, after all. Any made up festival that has a black candle as the central spiritual principle sparks a sympathetic cord in any follower of Set, the Snake God.

My nephew, Gluten Badwulf, has a mixed heritage. His mother is German. He told us all about Kwanzaa at Christmas dinner. That went over real well, especially as his father was drunk at the time. We had CBC on the stereo as elevator music. Gluten’s father has to pretend to be politically correct at work and really has a hate on for progressives, activists, and Bolsheviks generally. Hearing that his kid had been brain washed by some ***bad words*** at the school his taxes paid for did not please him. Gluten caught on to the fact that his Dad was not a Kwanzaa worshiper, and passed on the conversation to his younger brother Spud.

Indeed, Spud Badwulf is the youngest of my nephews. He freely admitted that Kwanzaa is part of the mathematics curriculum in his taxpayer funded public school. But the version of Kwanzaa taught to Gluten differs from the version taught to Spud. The younger students are getting the improved version of Kwanzaa. The older, obsolete version is still being taught to older children, like Gluten. Neither version has much appeal to parents, so the school establishment encourages the young children under it’s care to STFU and not talk about what they are learning. By the way, STFU is an ebonic term for something.

Some details about Kwanzaa were let out before Spud’s Dad took control of the conversation and moved it elsewhere. The idea of burning black candles is interesting: everyone knows that burning black candles brings evil into the spell. Red ones, burning red candles will bring passion; associated with a black candle, you get blood shed, violence, and road rage. You do not have to be a necromancer of any talent to realize that the situation in the modern ghetto seems to be a life force consuming enchantment propelled by the sort of spell driven by burning black and red candles. The green candles speak to the free ranging whores, nob goblins, and cult of bastardy found in those places. Too bad Christians have been set back, so far as to be unable to warn the simple and innocent folk of the evil demons that they are unleashing on themselves.

Activists are atheists and feel free to play in the sandbox of the images of the collective subconscious. They do not believe in demons, and if a demon pissed on the subway, cut his dope with asbestos, or raped his daughter, they would not see a demon. Heck no, they blame the white man. This has a sort of appeal to the sort of demon that likes mischief mixed in with his mayhem. You can also look at the seven candle device used for Kwanzaa worship. It mocks the God of the Jews. We can conclude that the prison trained devil worshiper who designed this bit of necromancy has a hate on for those people.

My nephew Gluten is a good boy. He keeps his family up to date on what he learns in school, even if his Father (a busy man) pays attention to other things (the collapsing economy, mafia involvement in the construction industry, and the decline of automotive manufacturing quality). So, I was fully aware of the Kwanzaa component of the mathematics syllabus in our public education system, even if the Education minister, administration, and tax payers are not. What progressive fun! It was like watching something in a crystal ball. How could I help? After all, I care.

You can turn Kwanzaa to your own purposes. Think of all those young souls as a power source. The older ones, the enablers, are closer to the Emerald Entrails of Set, the Snake God. You help push then into the stew pot of perfection. Easy as boiling an egg, and you do not need boiling water. In my case, I helped young Gluten with his Kwanzaa homework. He was tasked to design a Kwanzaa ritual illustrating the seven principles of that faith. I have some experience in designing rituals. It was as easy as the Ring Wraith form of Julia Child stuffing a turkey. Young Gluten’s activist teacher did not even have a crumb of doubt or disagreement when she agreed to recite the words, make the symbols, and (ultimately) invite the poltergeist into residence in her car. Everybody in the know laughed and laughed.

You too can turn Kwanzaa rituals to your purposes.
January is the month of the Re gifted Soul at temples of Set, the Snake God. You are invited to partake in the orgies, feasts, and debauchery. There, between pleasures, you will be instructed. Everybody is welcome. Just use the passwords Julia Child Necromancer to receive your privilege token.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care

Lets go Gun Control

Sunday, December 16th, 2012

Face it, Gun Control is coming to the United States of America. Who could resist a coalition of socialists and RINO’s? Their bum boys in the media, judiciary, and administration? How about all those Santa Claus voters? Heck no, the consensus is Go! Go, go Gun Control!
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Fenris Badwulf on the Arts

Friday, December 14th, 2012

I was watching a movie just last night. It was not something I would pay money to see, what with all the progressives involved in acting, directing, and producing. But it was something I would watch for free. This way, none of my after confiscated income finds its way into the pockets of the socialists who enable confiscating my money. While the movie was running, the girlfriend remarked at the mandatory queer sex scene. Her words, not mine. I do not watch as many movies as her, let alone listen to CBC radio as apartment muzak. When the mandatory queer sex scene comes on, she rushes off on bathroom break. Apparently, the Hollywood chapter of the Red movement now has some sort of inclusion regulation. Imagine that. And all this going on with the not so subtle queer movement to force acceptance of pedophilia. The next stop, of course, is necrophilia.
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Fenris Badwulf caring person

Saturday, November 24th, 2012

I, Fenris Badwulf, am a caring person. Rare is the day that my keyboard is not soaked with tears, or the interview room in the Human Resources department not filled with shouts of anguish. People have remarked that the basement where the department is located has the ambiance of a torture chamber, what with all the shared suffering going on. Someone has to have stewardship over the resources that are human, and that someone is me. I care.
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Fenris Badwulf caring person

Sunday, August 19th, 2012

My heart is bleeding, I care so much. Not only do I get paid to care at work (under my double dipping identity as Cumulo Nimbus, Human Resources professional, manager, and fully state funded stuffed shirt) I get to care at home, too. The girlfriend has a daughter, of high school age; a parrot, like the one Long John Silver favored; and she has a car, a sensible station wagon.
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