Archive for the ‘Boys Will Be Boys’ Category

The Christmas Dog

Tuesday, December 24th, 2013

Mrs. Badwulf finally got around to calling her friends in her address book to see if they had power. I told her it was a bit late in the crisis, but you know how women are. She told me to shut up. So, I shut up. The Badwulf household is already filled with refugees from the Dreaded Ice Storm of 2013. Grandpa Badwulf is here: he is on parole for Christmas. My nephews, Gluten Badwulf and Spud Badwulf, are here while their parents travel to Florida for a fact finding mission for the Friends of Dentistry. Mrs.Badwulf has had some casual friends drop by for coffee, red wine, or just whiskey (depending on the time of day). Finally, she called them all.

I never really found out for certain if Mrs. Badwulf’s friend had no power. None the less, she came over; with her dog. Now, in my culture, we eat dog at Christmas. The oppression of the homophobic, slavery loving, abortion hating Christians led to the suppression of dog eating. Such hatred! Now, thank any god but Christ, the evil tyranny of the Christians has been broken by the hysterical progressives under their patchouli scented batik banners of Che. This dog was some sort of poodle shih-tzu cross. Very fine example: plump with overfeeding, a layer of fat fine for rendering into gravy, and a hide that would make a nice hat; maybe a polishing rag for the car. And lazy. No redeeming quality as watch dog. Poorly house trained, so opening up a slot in the household organization would allow a better guard dog candidate to be recruited.

I started my search on the internet for a suitable dog recipe. Dog treat recipes, apparently. Does not anyone cook up dog? You know, a proper skinned and gutted carcass? Chopped up into quarters and cuts. What spices are best? Should you bread the cutlets before frying? My helpful nephews found some more pertinent links, offering suggestions. We have plenty of potatoes, carrots, peas, and spices in the kitchen; and a big soup pot. Gluten and Spud licked their lips as Grandpa told them how tough and tasty a dog meat soup could be.

The dog, itself, was foul tempered and lazy.
It growled at me when I found it sleeping on the bed. It growled on me when I was too slow to let it outside to pee. It growled at me when it put a trembling, fat, tasty paw out onto the ice outside. It barked at me to be let in. ‘Would you not want to be somewhere warm, doggie?’ I asked, looking into those brown eyes. The dog smelt bad, in the way that dogs smell.

Mrs. Badwulf’s friend had fallen asleep. I had been plying her with Tahiti Treat spiked with Jack Daniels: you cannot taste the alcohol with this concoction. Her words were slurring before she nodded off. Her last words were a curse upon her ex-husband. As for the Christmas Dog, it had signaled that is was suitable for sacrifice by gnawing upon Mrs. Badwulf’s suede pumps.

You too can celebrate a post Christian Pagan Christmas. Let us call it Holiday! How about a nice bowl of greasy, spicy dog stew? Mmmmmm.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

Watching Television with Fenris Badwulf

Saturday, June 18th, 2011

Day three of the socialist angst over the riots in Vancouver. Does anyone care as much as the news readers of the CBC? I can see them hold back the tears as they interview each other in their air conditioned studios in Toronto. Getting to the bottom … er, catching the spirit of the city … er, flapping your leftist gums … er, whatever. The answer to the problem of activist angst was right in front of their noses. I guess their eyes were stuck shut what with all that sticky white guilt ejaculated all over their face.


Fenris Badwulf, caring person

Sunday, January 30th, 2011

I return to my community in full measure the horse dung and spitting peasants that they force me to endure as I go about none of their business. And the best way to do that is community service, and I do mine in the for profit charity sector. I volunteer at a Suicide Distress Call-Center, of my own creation. I intervene, more efficiently, than does the clumsy, over supervised, state apparatus. And I have people of good character help me in this work. My friend Conrad helps me at the Suicide Distress Call-Center line I run as the methods seminar from intermediate fraud at the Fenris Badwulf School of Telemarketing Excellence.


The British Army Knife

Friday, June 11th, 2010

The Mayor could be wrong (unlikely), but I believe the Britsh Navy use this knife, also. The difference is that the Army uses a two-blade and the Navy a three blade. Possibly.

A Contunuous Lean had this to say about the British Army Knife:

All stainless steel made in Sheffield, England. Labour and Wait (one of my all time favorite stores and early ACL material) sells them, or  you can get one direct from the manufacturer via their website. These knives are classic. Equal parts function and weapon.

You can pick this knife up at the above website for about $50 Canadian ($49.99 American), or you can go to Garrett Wade and pick one up for about $32.00. That’s what The Mayor did, I went to Garrett Wade and picked up a three blade. And now I am a man.

Boys Will Be Boys

Friday, April 3rd, 2009

I’m not sure why it feels so great to pee on things outdoors, but I don’t even question it any more. Whether it’s peeing on plants, trees, walls, the cat, it’s always fun and it’s always great. Even the pee shiver at the end is a little bit of special, it’s intensified or something. The great outdoors is a giant urinal, and I’m proud to say I’ve marked my spot on four different continents and over 25 countries in my lifetime. It doesn’t even matter what town, country or continent you’re in, peeing outdoors is natural, and it’s the right thing to do.

Now, how about introducing yourself to that giant pine tree in your neighbours yard tonight?

Boys Will Be Boys Week

Thursday, April 2nd, 2009

Everyone alive has had a *should I stay or should I go* moment. I remember mine to this day. I was probably about the same age as the boy in the picture, and I was trying to impress a girl (go figure). For some reason I thought it would impress the little Philly if I jumped into a shopping cart and propelled myself down an insanely steep hill. I can picture it as clear as day–I got to the top of the hill and put my legs into the shopping cart and when I looked down, it seemed as if the hill was for some odd reason much steeper than I remembered it.

If I pushed off I was dead meat. If I didn’t go, I was a coward.

I still to this day have a cool scar over my eye.

As for the girl? Who cares, this was a story about me going down a hill, not of some lame-o girlie.

Boys Will Be Boys Week

Wednesday, April 1st, 2009

I see little Timmy has developed quite the roving hand. Blondie had it coming though, look at the way she’s dressed.

Boys Will Be Boys Week

Tuesday, March 31st, 2009

I like the boys spirit. Even though his mouth probably tastes like he’s been sucking on pennies, the kid’s alright in The Mayor’s eyes.

Boys Will Be Boys Week

Monday, March 30th, 2009

I get the same look on my face when I see they have snow crab at the All-You-Can-Eat Buffet. Breasts. What?