Archive for the ‘Fenris’ Category

From the Desk of the Darklord

Wednesday, October 4th, 2017

I am trying to find a picture of whats-his-name, the diversity guy who won the NDP leadership. There are pictures of him everywhere. The progressives really have their tongues up their rectum for this one.

Dark rumors have it that the trans-progressives infiltrated the NDP with members to secure his victory. I have never heard of progs infiltrating anything to shift things around. Never. Go talk to some of your old-core, hard-core Bolshevik friends … they do not know who voted for the guy. Of course not. Trans-progs slithered in and did it. Har har har.

Dark Rumors are that the actual guts of the NDP (you know, the ones who actually work campaigns, make phone calls, place signs) are ghack vomiting over the elevation of this wet dream for white guilt slurpers.

My Ouiji board
tells me that whats-his-name will be the end of the NDP. Do not believe me? Does not anything the trans-progs infiltrate just shrivel up and die? You know it is true.

My Crystal ball tells me that the labor movement … the real one that represents people who work … has had the derelict scab of the leadership of the NDP torn off. The proletariat is leaderless yet again. Hmmm. While the Social Parasite Party gains strength and prepares to absorb the NDP into the arms of the Stalinist beurocracy, the over taxed and over regulated working class is out looking for leadership … a leader. Will it be Peron? Franco? Cromwell? Go figure.

A prediction. Just like whats her name of the Wild Rose bolted for the Alberta conservatives, you can add the migration of this white guilt dream boat to the party of Trudeau. I said it first. Expect some charges of the usual racism and sexism and ismism; and he gets a cabinet post.

I, the Dark Lord, wrote this, from my desk.

Horoscope for the week

Saturday, September 23rd, 2017

Select clients of Sargon the Magnificent, the world’s foremost financial astrologer, can now have instant access to personalized chart interpretation. It is in italics after the general notice. Understand?

Aries: Look to the artistic genius of Sonny Bono for inspiration. You will win the love of the one you love with clever japes and sleight of hand. As for the pesky, take them to the swamp.
Aries in Etobicoke: The shipment from our friend in St.Petersburg should arrive at Toronto airport on Wotan’s Day. Practice your Finnish anecdotes and bon jours for an evening of libation.

Taurus: A special opportunity to make someone smile at Christmas happens while shopping this week, Taurus. Give yourself those shoes you have been lusting for.
Taurus in Don Mills: Brush up your calculus …. some components from a phased array radar system will find their way to the warehouse on Osler with the Tuesday delivery. Check the manual. If it looks good, inform Stavros.

Gemini: Recommend a bad dentist to an enemy. Take advantage of the decline in standards to improve your own. Ultimately, you alone must decide if your shoes are comfortable.
Gemini at TDSB: The new synthetic is available for your enjoyment and profit. I’m sending you five hundred. Let’s do some feedback from the high school kids, too.

Cancer: A delightful feast awaits you, brought at the hands of a stranger. Your secret admirer will make an offer of a secret liaison.
Cancer the electrician: Your name is showing up in the wrong databases. Go back to driving the truck. The ‘57 T-bird is too conspicuous.

Leo: Avoid large fleet actions until after you have personally inspected the lifeboats. A nest of rats is discovered at an embarrassing time.

Leo at Davenport: This laboratory work you are doing is impressive. You are doing a great job! Expect an extra thousand in your packet and a blue privilege token. Thank you from me and the gang!

Virgo: If you are squeemish about the use, or absence, of false teeth during lovemaking, you are better advised to silence, as you could offend a wealthy patron.
Virgo who commutes: That minion I told you about is both incompetent and treacherous. Your soft heart is spreading to your head (and then to your purse). Ghaack. Thrax will be in town Tuesday if you are feeling squeemish for final solutions.

Libra: Be discrete in your mistrust of the person packing your parachute. Someone around you is due for a fall from grace.
Libra on Redpath: Have minions capable of handling the barrels of hypergolic fuels in the Friday shipment. No slip ups!

Scorpio: When your serving knave passes the poisoned flagon to the wrong party, be prepared to laugh it off.
Scorpio on vacation: Thank you for the thoughtful Christmas fruitcake. Mom and Dad wolfed it down with that new formula Scotch. Our friends in Tokyo would like five thousand kiloliters of the X-20161112 batch for a taste. Largo will contact you with shipping details.

Sagittarius: Have an open mind to new experiences. This means being covered in icing sugar and licked all over. You will deepen a friendship.
Sagittarius with dog: Just tell people it is ’self talk’. When you mention ‘hearing voices’ it can upset some people. It is their fault, really. They do not understand the lengths to which you will go to express your genius.

Capricorn: You will discover an extension to your powers of telepathy that is triggered (and powered) by music with kettle drums.
Capricorn with chocolate: The reason the time travel chamber is left in a mess is because people are thoughtless and do not think of others. Clean up after yourself (coffee cups, pizza boxes, paper plates) please. Once we get past the anniversary of the Battle of Warsaw, things will slow down.

Aquarius: Music of the French Revolution will put a spring in your step and hope in your heart, Aquarius. Make a proscription list.
Aquarius in the Junction: These are the expected side effects of a transplant of rat testicles. Of course you are interested in different foods. It is normal and natural.

Pisces: A sinkhole will swallow up a vexing problem at a most opportune time. If you can remember what you wrote on the ground at that spot last spring, you can repeat the experience.
Pisces in Orton: Get rich quick on the stock market this week. Look to United States Steel for your pot of gold, you capitalist opportunist. Further details can be had from the ouiji board. Ask for Clem of Cambridge.

Total Victory calls for Total War

Tuesday, September 19th, 2017

Catchy title.

Now that the lunar eclipse is safely in the past, I can resume posting.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

Tales of the Tree Chipper

Wednesday, January 4th, 2017

The Cult of Set, the Snake God seeks to manipulate and master the forces of Chance for the purpose of financial advantage of its adherents. The Cult is a secret society, a fraternity of secret combinations which holds loyalty to itself above respect for law or morality.

You awake in the morning.
The weather is bad. Snow. Freezing rain. Darkness.

Holding your morning cup of coffee, you summon thoughts of Victory. Victory coffee! The legions of state and municipal authority! The apparatus – tirelessly working to plow snow, apply salt, and encourage safe practices! Hurrah! Those defeatist thoughts of crumpled cars and spilled wreckage are banished from your mind. You are safe in your home. Your toes are toasty in your fuzzy tartan slippers. Today is a stay at home day for you. Work from home on your under capitalized home business; tomorrow it is back to your temporary, part time job working for Shitty Ego Crushers and Company. You are safe, and your family is safe from this ill-omened icy driving weather.


The Perfection that is the Progressive Future

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2016

In the morning, before school started, all the students would sing California is the perfect place for people. Our hero, Brit, used to be one of those students. He now listens to the students singing as he waits by the side of the road, waiting for a car to pass. Brit is a dancer, there are three of them in the mountain village of Che. To show how happy they are, the mountain village of Che (which has a breathtaking view of the valley) have their village dancers do tribal dancing. Brit was chosen by the school shaman at an early age to be a dancer; Brit was also identified as trans-gendered (at age five, again by the school shaman) and was put in the education and health care stream for such people. Lucky Brit! Such is the progressive future in California. And in the future, better place that it is, the gendered pronoun thing did not quite catch on. Brit is still called a He, even if he has state health care double d boobs on his slim frame, still has his penis and testicles, and underfunding and law suits means no hormones, but he does get sex trade worker training.

WARNING! Are you offended? Do not press to continue.


Maybe it is time

Thursday, March 12th, 2015

Coming into the brotherhood that is the cult of Set, the Snake God, is mutually beneficial.

You have tried the little experiment. A bowl, some coins, a childs figurine of a crocodile or alligator. Yes? From the excited emails and phone calls I have received, you report success. Ah, success. A twenty dollar bill lying on the street for you to use, to spend! Nice.

But what of those who used something other than a bowl, or put bills into the bowl and not coins, or put a monkey on top, rather than a crocodile or alligator?

They report … strange events. Unexpected demands on their cash flow: A wife calling from the county lock up on charges of distracted driving. The price of coffee has risen at your favorite coffee shop. Gangbangers have taken to public urination outside the local shopping mall.

This work is like that of being a chef.
You have ingredients. They are added in sequence, using the right containers. A corning ware casserole dish is not the same as a bowl. A monkey is not the same as a crocodile. Ten dollar bills are not coins.

You do not have to be a rocket scientist to realize that substitutions do not work with Set, the Snake God. And, the effectiveness of your communications with Set, the Snake God can be improved. Maybe you want a bag of money, more than just a twenty on the sidewalk. A gym bag full of money. For you. To use, to spend! Yes.

You ask yourself, how do I improve my bowl/coins/crocodile recipe? Good question. You ask yourself, what happens when I try the bowl/coins/monkey recipe?

All your questions can be answered. But let me ask you a question: If you are hungry for more, what is Set, the Snake God hungry for?

Make a drawing of what you want in your present life. Do it on a large piece of paper. Upon the drawing, place figurines of things you want, people you want in your life, and things that reflect your desired station. A toy car will do for your dream car. Two cows will represent prosperity. Use your imagination.

Indeed, Set, the Snake God eats people. Someone is falling into a wood chipper as you read this. The open elevator shaft, the transformer explosion, the train that hits the station wagon … The list is long. You may serve Set, the Snake God as an entree. We all do, in the end. Better to be a waiter, even better to be a chef. Like all appetite driven creatures, Set, the Snake God has likes and dislikes. Roast beef dinner is better than cold turnip mush. Indeed. So, when you help Set, the Snake God to another helping of mashed potatoes, Set, the Snake God will help you to a bag of money.

Experiment with your diorama.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

Maybe it is time

Wednesday, March 11th, 2015

Coming into the brotherhood that is the cult of Set, the Snake God, is mutually beneficial.

You can try this at home:

If you want money to come into your life, put some coins into a bowl. Cover the bowl with a saucer. Upon the saucer, place one of those kids plastic toys that look like a crocodile or alligator.

When you are satisfied, I can supply you with a prayer scroll (to be burnt to ashes, so be prepared) and simple instructions to boost your return.

There are, or course, other things you can do at home.

Let me know if you are interested, and I will tell you more.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

From the desk of the Darklord

Friday, March 6th, 2015

You cannot have a disintegration chamber without an electrical distribution system. Maybe you have been watching too many Hollywood movies. Disintegration chambers are heavy, and are placed on top of a concrete pad. So we are looking at a ground floor location, or in the basement. The apparatus needs shielding: cheap drywall and some metal studs will not do the job. Soundproofing, some easy clean up wall coatings (tile is nice, for that East German look), and sensible doors.

You need dependable minions to design, install, operate, and maintain your disintegration chamber. This means dealing with a Union contractor. The non-Union construction sector is incapable of doing new built installation for disintegration chambers. To get the concrete in the ground, the plumbing in the floor, and the wires in the wall, means working with organized labor. Union workers are predictable: they are motivated by money, entertained by schadenfreude, and great consumers of liquor, weed, and whores. No need to waste the good stuff on these crude primates, which is even better.

Toronto Hydro is the largest utility in North America. When you need those thousands of amperes to spark up your disintegration chamber, look to the helpful people at Toronto Hydro. You can even get your peak demand load for free with some back channel networking. A case of beer, or the attentions of a specialty prostitute, when given to the right person, can get you an un metered hookup.

The Problem of World Hunger

Wednesday, February 18th, 2015

I burst into tears when I read about World Hunger. Nobody on Earth should be hungry. That is my core issue. When the world is fed, then all other problems will be solved. But it is not easy to forget the other creatures here that we share the Green Earth of Gaia with. They are hungry too.

I remember the first time I thought outside of the box and solved the problem of world hunger. I was in high school; I fed the parts of my lunch that I did not want to eat to a flock of seagulls. I was on a field trip to Toronto. Those poor seagulls. They reminded me of that book character, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. They appreciated the lunch supplied by the school board.

From then on, every time I came to Toronto, I found excuses to feed the sea gulls. When I went to University, I started to feed squirrels and ducks.

Actually, the University I went to had a bear in an enclosure in the big park that I walked through from home to campus. They do not have one now, but they did then. One weekend, I had had an argument with my, then girlfriend, when I had a good idea: I would take one of the shoes she had thrown at me and fill it with hamburger and give it to the bear. It worked! The bear snacked down on that! The shoe was shredded, as only a bear can do while chewing a shoe. I had taken a negative and turned it into a positive.

Instead of donating the ex-girlfriends wardrobe to some capitalist front clothing donation bin, I found different, cheap, easily available foods to stuff into items of clothing. Mister Squirrel likes peanuts stuffed into a pair of mittens. Raccoons like leftovers stuffed into gloves, socks, or shoes. Skunks like turned refrigerator foodstuffs.

As you are reading this, a difficult and challenging winter has descended upon our Outdoor-Canadians.

You can share your bounty, your privilege with them. If you are in Toronto, you can go down to the waterfront, where the sea gulls live. Throw them the contents of your kitchen green bin. When you have turned meats, you can put them in an old pair of gloves, or sock, or toque, and feed them to some ground dwelling rotten meat eater. Teach our fellow travelers on the Spaceship Earth that the Hand of Man is a handout, a handshake of friendship; and not an angry fist, raised in violence. Raccoons and skunks should see your mittens or socks and think happy thoughts of food, not bad scary thoughts of fear and flight.

My eyes are wet with tears and I cannot write any more.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

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.

Diary of Irresponsible Government

Saturday, January 31st, 2015

Mitchieville readers need to know the dangers of communicating with those subversives known to wear ‘tin foil hats’. Most of us ‘normals’ already have a healthy caution when it comes to dealing with these people. Avoid eye contact, say nothing, be agreeable, and keep yourself close to the exit. But the tin foil hat people are widespread. These are the casual contacts that bore at parties with yap about Global Warming even as people complain about the long, hard winters. There are the feminazis, those who find oppression in everything with testosterone, but nothing wrong with cultures that dress their women in potato sacks, castrate them, and keep them illiterate until they are stoned for lack of enthusiasm over forced anal sex. Perverts, deviants, criminals, and the otherwise stupid all celebrate the tin foil hat. And it is best to avoid them. They have human rights, don’t you know. But what is new and you should be aware of, to protect yourself from peril, are the factions that exist within the tin foil hat community. They hate each other. Violence is common. Unreported incidents that rival the numbers of unreported rape, racism, and subjugation of the Nigoons. And what are these factions within the tin foil hat community, you ask?

Some tin foil hat people are old school traditionalists who wear the tin foil shiny side out. Another faction has since appeared, those that wear the tin foil shiny side in. Do not ask why, as this could get you labelled a racist, misogynist earth rapist. This faction appears to be motivated by this article. Those academics at state funded skools o’ higher learning have discovered that shiny side out foil does not keep out all of the mind control rays. Hmmmm. So, be aware of the factions, and zip your lip.

Go game the system, guys

Saturday, January 24th, 2015

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.