Gundrun is an activist. She closely identifies with Hobbits *, and feels that the Shire* is a perfect model for society. So stong is her belief that she is taking a direct role in working towards social justice.

Gundrun’s issue is smoking. She believes with all her heart (in defiance of the white man’s science) that smoking is natural and positive, just like it is for the Hobbits, the Hobbits of Bree and Buckland.

No man is going to tell her what to do. Taking advantage of her teaching position, Gundrun depicts smoking as positive and progressive to students. She also subverts members of the volunteer organization that she works for, a group which expedites abortions for underprivileged children. She misappropriates the funds she gets from Abortions’R'Us (which is Ebonic for the white mans title) to not buy Ebonic teaching materials, but for smokes. She buys smokes. And she hands them out, in ones and twos and whole packs, to whoever she wants to encourage to take up smoking, and to discourge others from not smoking. She also makes smokes available to her grade 9 and 10 students, to help them feel accepted by adult society and to feel grown-up. She calls her students her little hobbits. In her class, they all have a renaming ceremony at the start of the school year. People who are disliked by the class are given orc * names. And all her little hobbits usually start smoking, too.

Gundrun is not alone. She has activist friends allied with her program of socially engineering bad Morgul Canada into good Hobbitsy Shire. Her friends want to take back the night, too. They also believe in smoking, be it cigarettes, cigars, pipes, or chewing tobacco. They also redirect funds to further their campaign of social justice. They have formed a secret society, modeled upon the Freemasons * for this purpose. And this Kwanzaa *, Gundrun, along with four friends, is travelling to Cuba for their secret society convention held this year in Havanna. They are only just drawing expenses to attend and Ebonic * language convention, but they have no intention of doing anything other than enjoy the Sun, smoke, and plot more ways to siphon off social spending dollars to fund their secret societies social engineering master plan to further their Utopian vision. The Utopia of the Hobbits of the Shire, who smoke.

To help bring a little love, hope, and possibly happiness into their lives, the London Ontario Homeless Coalition and a local area yoga studio gave free massages, foot care, and meditation to local area street peoples this past Monday:

The event at the Downtown Yoga Holistic Centre on Dundas Street was intended to be a chance for homeless people to know they are cared for, said Ekatarina Nikiforova, manager of the new studio.

While she acknowledged few homeless people took part in being pampered, Peckham said it was a first-year outreach she hopes will grow in coming years.

She said some of the intended recipients might have been daunted by the unfamiliar environment. “For most of them, having the bread and soup is what they came for.”

Really, you mean the homeless were there for the food and not for the ear-candling and ozone therapy? You could knock The Mayor over with a feather. A holistic feather.

While I’m sure all the granola eaters are gently patting themselves on the back for being so nice to the homeless for one day, let’s see how Moonbeam and Rainbow Chakra react when the urine people start camping out on their stoop for the next three years. All is well and good when you can rope some idiot college student into rubbing a homeless guys disgusting boiled feet for a day, but when Gus the street urchin starts pissing on their storefront window, I’m telling you right here and now that the stoned smiles on the faces of the happy Ghandi’s are going to be gone quick smart.

Charity begins at home, and the yoga peoples should take care of themselves first. Trust The Mayor when he says that you’d be hard-pressed to tell the difference between a homeless urchin and a hippie yoga freak. Both smell, both are allergic to bath water, and both don’t have a full array of functioning brain cells.

**Paul sent this to The Mayor. I don’t think I know Paul, but it seems Paul knows The Mayor very well.

Spotted at Belmont Club.

I don’t know too much about this Climate Change thing that so many people have gotten into over the past decade or so. I know some folks say it is a religion of peace. Me, I’ve never had much of a religious/apocalyptic bent, so it’s just never interested me enough to look into it any deeper than I have, say, Scientology or palmistry.

But, whatever the truth or falsity of their promises of salvation: I do know that I would far, far rather the earth spirits’ wrath burn the planet to a crisp than see these people and their thoroughly fascist aesthetic succeed. Better to be slightly warmer on one’s feet than be pressed into a chanting, letter-shaped mob of anonymous, faceless Action-Takers on one’s knees.

Keyser was under the impress that a ganesh was one of those Jewish food things you buy in Brooklyn. But no. It turns out that it’s a sort of Hindu god that might choose to manifest himself in your plants. (more…)

I believe in balance. I am moderate in many ways, indulging in one thing, only to counterbalance it with another. Every ecosystem must maintain a delicate sense of equilibrium or risk falling into chaos. Thus was I asked to start writing Man Flesh after a dearth of Lisa’s great posts. When Lisa and I both started posting recently and unexpectedly, another weekly Female Flesh also cropped up to accompany Reg’s fine female posts. Balance. Equilibrium.

And then this week, the balance was not just tipped, but completely thrown off kilter.  I didn’t know this ahead of time, and only just discovered it Saturday morning Pacific time. And, quite honestly, it offended even my (gay) sensibilities. I felt a compelling urge to restore symmetry. So I dove into the magical world of girls of summer adorned in bikinis:

You may think, "How would you know what hot female flesh looks like, Logan? You’re gay!" True, I won’t deny my membership in the homosexualist club. However, even I had my years of female flesh appreciation. I used to sneak peaks at my dad’s Playboy and Penthouse. I even had a year-long subscription to Penthouse in college.

Men are either ass-men or breast-men. You’d assume that since gay guys love ass, they’d naturally be ass-men even when appreciating women’s fine assets. However, this is not necessarily true. I was an avid breast-man myself growing up. Even after I turned gay I had a fascination with breasts. All of my current "Top 5 Famous Women I’d Switch For" have nice, large racks.

And what better way to enjoy breasts than the scant bikini? Enough exposed flesh to be a visual feast, and just enough clothing to tease and intrigue. That’s why beaches are so fun in the summertime: Shirtless guys and bikini-clad women.

Balance. The way it should be.

Posted by Reg, who posted this post for Logan, who wrote this post on behalf of Reg.

Suffice to say, there is something wrong with the participants in this short video clip, though I confess I don’t understand what their trouble might be. Is the arts funding check late, or too early?

On the left we have International Environmentalist, Algore. For our international readers, the guy on the right is Canadian Environmentalist and leader of Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition, Stephane Dion (see: here and here ). What kind of environmentalist is Stephane? He has a dog named Kyoto. What kind of leader is he? He flew all the way to Bali from Ottawa for this photo op. Discuss amongst yourselves…

Update: Senator Marginalized Action Dinosaur has a great post here .

One of the big new items for the day is the revelation that Neil Diamond’s famous song “Sweet Caroline” was inspired by Caroline Kennedy , the daughter of assassinated US president John F. Kennedy . That may be what Neil says, but in the Saturday Night Live parody of ‘VH1, Behind The Music‘ below, Will Ferrell tells us the “real” story behind the song.

Tuesday night bonus link: The Zapruder Film

As a good Citizen-Minister of Mitchieville, I take the time to read each and every post posted here. Imagine then my shock then tonight when the sacred pages of this blog, the blog that laughter built, were sullied by the image of womyn’s breasts at this post by Lisa Foggy.

Horrified by the sight of bare breasts on Mitchieville I read the accompanying article to see that an “artist friend” (read smut peddler) of hers had defamed one of Christianity’s most sacred paintings – The Last Supper (see related posts here, here, here and here.).

This is a shocking outrage. Not only is this an unconscionable defamation a historic piece of art, Lisa seeks to profit from it. The evidence is in, reparations are demanded, tithes must be paid - Lisa Foggy must withdraw her candidacy for Mayor of Mitchieville. Citizen-voters of Mitchieville are invited to attend an anti-Lisa rally tonight at 9:00 PM in front of the Mitchieville Public Library. Stop the outrage that is Lisa Foggy!

Vote Mitch, not *BITCH* on October 10!

Every Tuesday I make a visit to the local welfare office to catch up on all the good work our frontline combatants in the jihad against human waste are doing, despite spending cuts, racism, and invisible white consumer goods.

There are so many people in need in Toronto. There are no programs or funding to help them. There is a famine. Children are without hope.

I met Inyrtyy, a typical welfare person being helped with the meagre resources available to welfare people in Toronto. So up I climbed from the heated indoor parking lot, up the four flights of stairs to the third floor meeting room which overlooks Queen street. On Tuesdays, Inyrtyy has his weekly progress meeting. Even though he is downtrodden and oppressed, he sat up straight with pride in his accomplishments. The meeting began when two urns of coffee and three big boxes of muffins from Tim Hortons arrived. Inyrtyy sat and fidgeted in his wool sweater, designer jeans, gold chains, and sneakers with flashing lights.

I was introduced to Inyrtyy’s team of caring care givers: There was his social worker, Lyndy. His Job search coach, Dyrlyn. His conflict issues co-ordinator, Wyndy. His Opportunities-Ontario Librarian, Bylyndy. His current Diversity Teacher, Cywbyll, was there too. It was quite a tribute to the dedication of these people that most of team Inyrtyy was present. Only Jyrry, his Diversity Tutor, was absent as he was on a well earned vacation to Bangkok.

The meeting opened with a public cursing of Stephen Harper and his greedy, selfish taxpayer followers. Then everyone gave a reading of last weeks minuites, then moved to present business. Inyrtyy is preparing to go to a job interview, hopefully in April when the weather is better. Inyrtyy wants to be a concert pianist, or a stock broker. Last year, at his last job opportunity with the Regent’s Park School of Music, he had a difficult time.

The Regent’s Park School of Music is racist, said Inyrtyy. I had a job interview with them. Those racists said that I had to know how to play the piano to be a pianist.

There are no job opportunities for the homeless, said Dyrlyyn. Wyndy and Bylyndy burst into tears. What more proof that Canada is a racist shithole!

Inyrtyy starts to cry too. I will never become a stock broker now! My hopes are crushed by invisible white consumer goods!

I looked down at the ground in shame at the disgusting greed of taxpayers who refuse to give more money more often to give the deserving poor like Inyrtyy the opportunity to become concert pianists or stockbrokers.

The crying was interrupted by Inyrtyy putting up his hand. I am hungry, he said. Cywbyll then bared her breast and Inyrtyy began to suckle. I kept my eyes averted yet also watched so as to not offend the feminists by neither staring at the breast feeding nor not staring at the breast feeding as a rejection of a woman’s right to suckle in public at any time, place, with the exception of offending Muslim religious sensibilities.

I nibbled on a muffin listening to the loud slurping of Inyrtyy and the soft weeping of his team of care givers. For here part, Cywbyll sat stoicly, her face flushed, her lips reddened with anger at racism, panting in a slowly increasing tempo.

After his Charter of Rights guaranteed right to not have to be weaned was confirmed, Inyrtyy put up his hand again. My diaper is full, he said.

Bylyndy turns to me, You are new so you get a pass today. She groans, then giggles. Like the team they are, the care givers dump the coffee down the sink, pitch the boxes of muffins into the trash, and clear off the conference table. Bylyndy comes in with Inyrtyy’s tote bag, and puts an adult sized changing towel down on the table, along with a fresh adult diaper, and a carton of wet-wipes.

Unfortunately, I got an important cell phone call from the Mayor of Mitchieville right around then, so I was unable to see what happened next. What happened before then is available as a pay-per-view at Badwulf’s Activist Action web site. If you like to watch, if you support feminist breast feeding, have your credit card ready. We accept Visa, Mastercard, or American Express.

None the less, activists think that everyone thinks that every thinking person thinks that social spending should be increased. Inyrtyy needs your help. Can you let him into your home or office as an equally challenged, ability-zero Half-Canadian who needs your money, your food, and your bed to sleep in?

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

crossposted at Dustmybroom, because I can.

One of the brightest students in the Math Collectivist class at Karla Homolka High School is a young man called Wrapper Shemp Shempson. His street name is No Knack, and if you are in his youth gang you can call him by his gang name, Nob Gobbler. Wrapper has acheived top marks in culture, sensitivity, diversity, and caring in all five years he has been in Ms. Sappho’s grade ten math experience class. Thanks to the loving embrace of our public education system, he has discovered freedom from toilet slavery, and now gets ten percent of his protein from mothers milk, fresh from the breast. He is a team player: one team member pushes his wheelchair, another team member hefts the diaper bag, and a rotating team of four provide fresh mother’s milk. When he reaches his eighteenth birthday later this year, he will automatically receive his high school diploma and a scholarship to the University of Toronto to study Journalism. Because of white privlege, he cannot read. To overcome these unfair obstacles put in his way by a racist society, Wrapper writes evocative poetry. This poem has won the Ontario Commissioner of Community Safety and Emergency Management Colorblind Society Competition:

Why, Oh why does my bum hurt?
It’s red and running with pus…
Health care is free in this province
but it’s not really free enough

I am a descendent of victims
my needs are the care of the state
so where is my handout, you racist?
without your money I cannot procreate

How dare you call me an infant!
because I have the size of a man
your society is rotten with hatreds
O how I hate the heteronormative plan

It’s time for my inadequate handout
work harder, you taxpayer scum —
to all your enemies I give comfort
because, really, I want them to win

Ability? I have so little
if I did, someone would say I was white
socialists upon me they dote
because to them I give my vote

So, fork over your racist wages
Then I can call you scum!
Take my diapers out to the blue box
The spending of your money has just begun.

Wrapper will be receiving a bursary for ten thousand dollars to study Use of Color in Fingerpainting before he automatically receives his Honors B.A. in five years. I think we should all slap the ground, hoot, and toss vegetation at the impressive awards and credentials that have been given to this exemplar of political correctness.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Crossposted at Dust My Broom, because they care.

Rangoon Kabob is at one of the few homeless shelters here in Toronto. He is on a disability pension that only pays him four grand a month, so he has to make ends meet by working under an assumed identity for Metro Social Services as one of the assistant nutritionists at the Kamau Kabon hundred bed shelter in the Jane-Finch N’bele Tribal Village area. His work as nutritionist involves supervising homeless volunteer workers as well as six nutritionist technicians.

Rangoon is a vegatarian. All the meat that Metro Social Services sends to the shelter is recycled by selling it to hotels and restaurants. Rangoon takes the money and uses it for activism, buying up shares of Exxon, Haliburton, and Microsoft. This way Rangoon can write activist comments on the mail that comes to him with his dividends. Sometimes he just burns the discarded envelopes with Sandalwood incense as a purifying ritual. One day he hopes to travel to a shareholders meeting and confront these oppressors of the oppressed with the truth of their crimes.

Recycling and saving energy is important to Rangoon who believes that he is two souled. Rangoon is really a Hibiscus-Canadian, trapped in the body of a hairy white primate. Recycling is a religious requirement for Rangoon, who joined the United Church after attending a missionary seminar on Enver Hoxha. Using his position of leadership in the homeless shelter kitchen, he makes sure that none of the bounty of Mother Earth is wasted.

A great way to save energy is to use boiling water twice. Water that has been used to boil eggs is rich in calcium and makes great tea or coffee. Alot of the kitchen biomass that used to go into the compost pile can actually be used as a source of fibre in a Green-Friendly diet, says Rangoon. Onion peels can be ground up and added to a nutritious dinner mush, adding flavor and natural cellulose. Rangoon is experimenting with other cellulose supplements, too.

AIDS awareness is important in Rangoon’s kitchen. Most of the homeless volunteers have HIV, Hepatitis, or intestinal parasites. Rangoon made sure that underpriviledged people whom the white patriarchy keeps out of food preparation positions get the opportunities they deserve in the kitchen. A hands on person, Rangoon takes a caring approach to his diverse multicultural work force, guiding them in the art of boiling water and salad creation.

Rangoon Kabob is a model activist.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.