After the Big Game, the Big Riot. Which is more interesting to talk about?
The Big Game. Who watches hockey now a days but a bunch of white right wing extremists who begrudge paying taxes to support the leftist non-worker class? It was only a while back that the state media was trying to get rid of Don Cherry, and hockey coverage for that matter. I took that as a hint from the progressive brain bug that showing interest in this corrupt manifestation of the lingering effects of colonialism in Africa was not to be done. I remember the big signs the media party had up with an N-person lamenting that it was the hockey playoffs. There was a big one at Woodbine and Danforth. So, this year, while passing by the television on my way to the kitchen I was astounded to see the (safe sex) oral-rectal relationship the media aristocrats had adopted to the attempt by Vancouver to win the cup.
Lacking freedom of speech I cannot comment on the wise Trotsky policy of changing policy (kinda like the way the Bolshies betrayed the anarchists after they used them to wipe out the White Russians) other than the surface insights that the CBC is running scared of losing its viewers and started to, in their ability challenged activist way, appeal to their market rather than their dream of making Canada into Haiti. As such, the New Face main stream media did a good job of creating the illusion that the evil white man’s sport of hockey is important to them too. Success for socialism! This lasted until …
The Big Riot. Yeah, the big riot. The media newspokerpersons were positively aghast. This was the generation that they had formed in their mold. Politically correct kids of high schools and public schools, Canadian system educated. How many of the high schools in Vancouver were represented by a showboat arsonist? Round up the vice principals of Vancouver (add the same from surrounding prefectures) and they could do the job of identification. This is the youth that surround you, and it is the activists who have raised them up. Last night, the ability challenged looked into the snapping jaws of reality. They are frogs in a drying wetland, bordering snapping turtle habitat. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha.
This is the fruit of toleration of the third world: you become one.
There are a lot of people counting their overtime dollars in the police services industry. What about you? Did you know that running a fire truck, sirens blazing, stops darkie from turning to riot? You should not have to believe me. When those sirens stop, will you notice? And what an awful thing to be true, if it was true. And so easy to prove with scientific experiment.
The posties are being irradiated by solar flare (while wise management hides in the lead lined lunch room and does Sudoku), and are going to be dead within five years. Spending a day in the sun in that sort of massive photon bombardment is certain death. Go bathe in the deadly rays of the Canadian Sun, you fools. Hold your microwave wavelength phone up to your head, all day. I bought the local posties coffee and salty snacks. No pensioner, no pension crisis. Doing the job the state death panels are paid to do, but do not. So I, model statist citizen, fill the socialist resource shortfall with my meager volunteer, community spirited, semi professional efforts.
Watching Television will continue to accompany you on your march down into the Middle Ages.