Archive for the ‘Fenris’ Category

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.

Christless Christmas

Saturday, December 20th, 2014

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.

Sharing the Caring

Tuesday, December 16th, 2014

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.

The Struggle of Light versus Darkness

Monday, December 15th, 2014

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.

The Research Justice Movement spending other peoples’ money.

Wednesday, March 12th, 2014

Those of us involved in the Research Justice Movement are celebrating a new way to expose primate test subjects to stem cell therapy. Under the hate culture of dead white males, the idea of getting food from the garbage was considered ‘bad’. Now NOW magazine (a Toronto dead tree publication) is in the vanguard of the dumpster enabler movement, squeezing out a positive image of what was once considered a stupid thing to do. Instead of getting the straps of your invisible knapsack of white privilege into a knot, ask yourself, How can I take advantage of this newthink? Lucky for you, the activists at the Mitchieville Public Library celebrate diversity. The Supreme Central Library has devoted laboratory facilities to furthering Global Warming Science. And not one penny of your money is paying for this. The lab was paid for with a grant from an American state (to promote literacy amongst the illiterate). Har har har.

You, like me
, are interested in the therapeutic recovery of pre-frontal lobe function with emphasis on recolonization of defective or damaged brain structure. Everyone knows the value of lobotomy. This has been well documented in peer reviewed literature cherry picked from the internet. Second phase post lobotomy therapy has, up until now, been limited to repurposing freed cranial spaces with hardware: a cell phone, an I tunes player, a camera, or a remote destruction device. Our own research librarian, Doctor No, has discovered that introduction of stem cells will lead to the regrowth of previously damaged brain structures. This is a fantastic development in Global Warming Science. And, none of it is supervised or overseen by any sort of evil Harper scientists.

Now people who get lobotomized are sick. Lobotomy cures aberrant social behavior. Here in Mitchieville we are proud of the steep decline in ‘youth crime’ wrought by Doctor No and his work with the Special Reading Program. Thank you Doctor No. But this is not a final solution. There have been complaints. Social stigma. Our Special Readers, in their distinctive electric lime green vests, have been called drooling zombies, brain gimps, and Turnip-Canadians. I burst into tears when I read the reports. Children throw stones at them on the street, and at last months Celebrate Reading Festival, three Special Readers were set on fire by drunken hooligans. Boys will be boys.

Reptilian stem cells work best, says Doctor No. And now we want to experiment on Vegans. The problem was how do we get to them? Experiment protocols require that the subject be tested without their knowledge (this eliminates the need for a control group). What better way than to dose garbage foodstuffs with Reptilian stem cell vectors? This is the keystone of our Involuntary Test Subject Initiative (funded by a grant to build wind generating capacity in the swamps of South Garafraxa).

Encourage other people to eat food they find in the garbage. Watch those people who eat food from the garbage. If they develop patches of green, scaly skin, develop a heightened sense of smell, or start to eat bugs, these are all signs of healthy recolonization of the brain (and body) with Mother Nature’s own renewable, zero carbon footprint, primate-reptilian hybrid form. Just whisper your information in any of the book stacks of the Mitchieville Public Library. We will be listening.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

Abandon your fears and surrender to the happiness that awaits those that worship Set, the Snake God.

Sunday, September 1st, 2013

Giving yourself up over to drugs, drink, and debauched sex, Ontario. The gorging and drunken fogs you float in. My eyes water and my throat chokes on the hashish clouds over the shores of Lake Huron. In the distance: gunfire. Cars crashing. Dog fights. Festival is upon us. Break shit; it feels good.

I knew these jackass Welsh-Americans during my adventures in America. Star Trek episodes were their model of reality. The Landru episode was really about Canada. Canadians have Festival, something a casual American tourist or businessman or traveling salesman should know, for their own good.

Hunting the joggers of Forest Hill

Thursday, August 22nd, 2013

Those of you bored with dooring cyclists (and, Set, the Snake God knows your anxiety over property damage to your doors, bumpers, and side view mirrors) might wish to broaden your hunt to joggers. Toronto, the City of Light, is infested with joggers … almost as bad as bed bugs, but you will find the joggers in the ‘hoods that do not have the bed bugs. Joggers are pay check collecting minions and satraps of the socialist social services sector; they do not live amongst the bed bug infested collectors of social services handouts. Heck no. They administer and propagandize for the gimme sector; they are working towards pensions; they know better than to live amongst the never workers that justify their cash flow. You, schmuck worker, just pay for this system. If you complain, you are a racist. Go drive through the ‘hoods where there are joggers: there you will find the administration of the welfare state. And, if you have had your fill, filled your quota, of dooring cyclists, well, you can move up to jogger sport. (more…)

Remembering Aaron Swartz

Wednesday, January 16th, 2013

I was completely unaware of how many people in the media were ignorant of the existence of Aaron Swartz, but who felt the call of their hearts to pinch off a weepy obit themed piece in memory of the young activist. They never wrote anything before about Aaron, and then, like the miracle of mushrooms growing in dung, all sprout up at the same time, mentioning the same points, using the same style, using the same order of thought. A friend of mine suggested that the activists were just copying and pasting together an assignment, just like they did in high school, and college. There are so many sudden mushrooms messages of care for Aaron, so similar, so Chris Spence. It is the thought that counts, and the end justifies the means: caring about fallen activist Aaron, and taking a dig at some institution you do not like. Impressive Group Think, activist media primates. You get to dash off a quick piece and drag your primate ass off to for early beer, bong, and same sex suck; we get stuck with the thought that you care. But I, Fenris Badwulf, I care. I have questions; I want answers. Answers about Murder, for one.

Remembering Aaron Swartz

Monday, January 14th, 2013

Who the heck is Aaron Swartz? I know he is dead. And, he is important enough to have his own wikipedia article. Wow. Who is this guy? I was just surfing the net, checking out one of those mouth pieces for the tenured ivory tower activists who tell the working class which of themselves should get more funding. They are in a tizzy over the death poor of Aaron Swartz, who ever the heck he is.

Celebrating Kwanzaa at Christmas in Mitchieville

Sunday, January 13th, 2013

Just who the heck is Chris Spence anyway? He must be Chief Spence’s cousin. You know who Chief Spence is: the fat indian who gets fatter on hunger strike, thanks to the secret wisdom of our indigenous first primates. Chris Spence must be one of them. There is so little information in the main stream media that I am forced to turn to the blog-o-sphere to find information. I guess the serial plagiarism, the serial failure of academic oversight, and the serial failure of leftist hiring committees, is not important. Those activists, they are ability challenged, after all. So, I am not here to consign Chris Spence to the flames. That is only for people who are not leftists. Chris Spence, who ever he is, is a darling of the Bolsheviks, protected by the silence of the like minded embedded in academia, media, and administration. (You know, the academics who failed to do their job and spot the plagiarized Ph.D; the media whose eyes were gummed shut by white guilt and failed to do their job and spot the hacked writing; the administration who failed to do their job and vet the credentials; those like minded leftists; those ones). No cleansing fire for you, Spence. Instead, I come here to copy his methods. My nephew, Gluten Badwulf, has a school assignment due for Kwanzaa; and I am going to write it for him, by copying good stuff from the internet. Thank you, Chris Spence, Bolshevik primate role model.