Archive for the ‘your local high school’ Category

Inside the Beast

Wednesday, March 21st, 2012

Just what is going on inside the Big Red Corporation? You can observe from afar, I guess. You can count heads going into and out of buildings; make estimates of cash flow and salary based on car selection and hours of work; and figure out hours per day of useful work based on starting and leaving times. But my Dad always used to say Who Dares, Wins, so why not just join a leftist organization? Get the view from the inside the red cadre, so much better than just working in a red infiltrated institution * . Somewhere around the beginning of your inside the Big Red Corporation experience comes Indoctrination, also known as History of the Glorious Struggle.


What The Hell Disease Am I Ridden With?

Wednesday, April 16th, 2008

Due to the overwhelming success of What the Hell Disease Am I Ridden With? from last week, I have decided to extend this installment for at least one more week.

Mitchievillians were all around the disease spectrum last week, guessing that dirty douche Sandra Bernhardt had everything from Hep A to skankitis. Which she probably does. There was a lot of originality and hatred kicking about last week, and to The Mayor it was like a cool breeze on a hot summer’s day. Ya baby, my analogy kicks ass.

If you are thinking that the picture this week is of Ronald McDonald, or some broad Ronald McDonald is throwing his clown cock into, you may be right. However, that’s not a fact, it’s only innuendo. This piece of work is Joy Behar, one of the cackling damaged genetic packages on The Phew.

I managed to get a good picture of her somehow, usually she’s about 20x more disgusting than the already disgusting unit you see before your beautiful eyes. And I want to state again, you really do have beautiful eyes. It’s your ears that are causing havoc and commotion.

Joy Behar is about as useless as they come. I’m not sure how she got famous, or why a sniper hasn’t ended this tragic comedy, but that’s for God to know, not us. Joy Behar is diseased, mentally and physically, more likely more mentally than physically, although looking at that putrid dart board of a face she sports, that’s up for argument.

It is up to my fellow Mitchievillians to decide what disease(s) this monstrous, grotesque, and unsightly urchin has.

So, What the Hell Disease Is Joy Behar Ridden With?

Hall way monitors

Sunday, February 17th, 2008

Somehow, all feelings of outrage drain from my body when I pick up the Red Star, the flagship newspaper of Toronto, the city of Light. As I sit in the staff lunchroom, getting paid to wait for material, or wait for the supervisor, or wait for morning break to end and lunch to begin, the constant voice that is the Red Star calls to my collectivist soul.

Sunday is a special day in Toronto schools. The guy who drives the truck with the parts does not work this day (he is in Cuba), and neither does my supervisor (he is on a cruise), so I have a day dedicated to earning pensionable hours, crosswords, and reading the paper. And what could be better than an article on the beloved, efficient Toronto District School Board? *

Hall monitor Dave Bradley only earns 30k a year, apparently.

1) Strangely enough, all the other hall monitors that I have talked to earn alot more. And that was in their first year, as recent hires, too. But then again, I am not a news hound with a nose for news.

Hall monitor Dave Bradley is a white male.

2) Strangely enough, none of the other hall monitors that I have seen are white males. I would have thought that the Red Star would be more embracing of diversity by spotlighting one of the other 157 non-white non-male monitors.

Earl Haig is a relatively peaceful school.

3) Strangely enough, they had a knife fight only last week. This would appear to be contradict the ‘peaceful school’ theory. But then again, what do I know, I am a peasant and the Red Star is a big newspaper. They know better, and if knife fights make a school relatively peaceful, then it must be true.

Earl Haig is a relatively peaceful school.

4) It gets better. Apparently last year ‘… tensions emerged between two groups of students …’ Certainly not gangs. It would be nice to know who the two groups were. Perhaps the Chess club was feuding with the Yearbook committee over office space? Who knows, other than Ace reporter Louise Brown, and people who work in schools.

The Red Star reporter seems unaware of the No Snitching * culture in Toronto. Louise ‘Ace’ Brown is to be commended for penetrating through the veil of silence and rooting up all these soothing facts. This is impressive, given the misogynistic gang culture (do they call Louise a ‘ho’ or a ‘bitch’, I wonder?). High fives, homegirl!

I am glad that the Red Star makes the effort to keep information from its readers, and pursues excellence in reporting by considering last weeks knife fight as a sign of relative peace. Other unimportant facts, like the pensions and perks that the underpaid monitors get would be interesting. The infiltration of gang members as hall monitors would be interesting too.

The Red Star … reading that is like a mug of warm milk. Mmmmmm.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Welcome to Ms. Periwinkles Kindergarten

Tuesday, December 11th, 2007

You can learn alot about education watching the surveillance cameras in a Toronto public school in one of the troubled communities of North-East Scarborough.

It is noon, and time for the afternoon kindergarten class to arrive. One of the custodians giggles and points at the screen, so the rest of us tradespeoples wander over to look.

That guy has a gun!

Fast rewind shows that the fellow dropped his pistola out from his baggy back pocket. He stood for a bit, then turned around, stepping on his own foot. He reached down and stuffed it back into his ass-crack central pistol holster. No, he did not check to see if the safety was on (or off), or if the hammer was half cocked, or full cocked. No, he has the security of universal health care, and just stuffed a pistol that has been jarred into close proximity to his testicles. Thank you, Pierre Elliot Trudeau!

That guy does not have a gun.

Thats what the shift supervisor said. He was still eating the Tuesday Pizza, Ribs and Wings that the Board brings in on Tuesdays.

Besides, we do not who he is. So, the guy with a gun who brought a kid to kindergarten is unknown to us. So says the shifty (as shift supervisors are known). So we all return to our Tuesday fare of Pizza, Ribs, and Wings. The shifty goes back to his office, computer, and his Pizza, Ribs, and Wings. And from his office, he shouts: Guns are not allowed on School Property. We can hear him pound on the sign that says Guns are not allowed on School Property with a pencil.

I know who he is. Thats what one of the plumbers said. That kid is in Ms. Periwinkle’s kindergarten.

Indeed. The kid with the gun toting caregiver lives with his baby momma. There are up to three adult males living there at any one time, along with assorted other baby mommas and their children from historically subjugated cultures. Certainly, there is no lack of adult male interaction for healthy child development. Only a racist could criticise this social structure, so similar to that of the Bonobo.

And every day, the kid gets one of his not-gun toting uncles to take him to school. After all, there are no guns on school property. The sign says so. And our Ms. Periwinkle, for the next year, is going to be up close and personal to those that are oppressed and outraged by the inherent racism of Canadian Society, the presence of the invisible snow plow of white privilege, and the lingering effects of colonialism in Africa. Next year, maybe not … then it will the Grade one teachers turn.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

The Black Douglas

Wednesday, November 21st, 2007

To help pass the time today, I watched some kids play soccer. Here in Toronto, that means watching a group of surly gangbangers stand by the gymnasium door, smoking, while their outnumbered gym instructor stands far away with his back to them. A small number of smaller boys actually kick the ball; their larger Crip cousins, smoke, listen to hip hop, and call the girls ho and bitch.

The instructor was careful to keep his back to the youth gang. What he does not see, he does not have to deal with. Things like dress code (no baseball caps, no bandannas, no low slung pants), smoking on school property, and the sexual harassment of female students, are invisible. But that is ok. The gangbangers are, after all, victims of the endemic racism entrenched in racist Canadian society, outraged over the injustice of inadequate social spending, and fully aware of the lingering effects of colonialism. So, maybe the instructor was showing empathy for their suffering by not enforcing the rules of the evil white man. The instructor was an old guy, anyway. With only a few years until retirement, he was saving his energy for the fight for a Black only high school where he would not have to teach.

I confess that I do not understand N-people culture. I grew up hearing stories about the brave ones who fought the oppression of my ancestors. One of the first I heard about, at my mothers lap, was The Black Douglas * . He was a dispossessed Scottish patriot, who, like many other Scots in the centuries long wars against English oppression, lived, fought, and died for freedom for his people. There were others, like William Wallace * , and Robert the Bruce * . My school chums used the war cry A Douglas! A Douglas! when we played soccer.

Unfortunately, The Black Douglas did not know about selling drugs to show his hurt feelings at not being handed freedom from slavery in a timely manner. Nor did he know about the strong symbol that smoking on school property sends to the forces of oppression. Instead, he just killed his tormentors. Modern freedom fighters just kill each other * * . I do not know if The Black Douglas practiced public urination, another modern Toronto way to show outrage * * * , instead, he just took back what was his. I guess that waiting for someone else to give it to him was not on the agenda.

Like all activists, I carry a heavy burden of white guilt. Having the invisible potato peeler of white privilege is like the burden that Frodo had carrying the Ring of Power. I want to help my oppressed fellow Canadians, even if they are illegal immigrants, welfare cheats, woman beaters, or just simply hate me and my country. What can I do? The blood of The Black Douglas runs in my veins, but robbing a cab or giving the unwed mother of my child a black eye does not have the appeal that it does to my oppressed homeboys and Baby mommas.

What should I do? And while you are thinking of an answer, do send me your money. I accept Visa, Mastercard, American Express, and Shortbread cookies.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Adult proofing your child

Saturday, November 10th, 2007

Study of the death scene photo of Chris Farley * tells us that we should pay attention to adults. Adults say things like you can die of an overdose when you use drugs. But then again, listening to adults is not very politically correct, now is it?

If you actually go inside a Toronto High School, if you actually stand and look at what is on the walls, if you actually listen to the announcements, national anthems, and staff room gossip, you can form your own judgements about education, integration, and taxation. For Louise Brown, hard-nosed reporter for the vanguard Toronto Star, this is her job. She is paid to pay attention, and report the facts to You, The People who consume Main Stream Media.

Unfortunately, Louise Brown has missed out on the wandering gangbangers in the halls *, the use of boredom as a way to curb knife wielding tendencies, and the existance of reward-based punishments for violent youth * * . One can only conclude that such facts do not fit the politically correct agenda in that they make it look bad, so there is silence. We cannot have taxpayers questioning the spending of their taxes by taxspenders, now can we? Taxpayers are racists, after all.

The newest and latest gem of political correctness is the resurrection of segregation. Once considered the darkest manifestation of racism, found only in evil white heteronormative racist shitholes, it now is getting hosed down and given a coat of paint and pushed forward by activists as the latest final solution to the nameless problem of the N-people. Our intrepid revolutionary reporter, Louise Brown, is on the case * . Thank any god but Christ! You can read the article and form your own opinions.

What struck me as interesting is that this community that is demanding an African high school (not an African-Canadian high school, neither an Afro-Canadian high school, nor an African-American-Canadian high school), is that this is the same community that did not show up to a public meeting to share their concerns about their community having alot of gun toting criminals, thieves, bastards, and welfare artists. All the revolutionary slogans are trotted out. And the taxpayers reading this will have a subconscious urge to check to see that their wallet is still there.

Apartheid by white males is racism; Apartheid by the Toronto District School Board is education. Something magical has happened here. It is not the hundred or so high paying union jobs to be created by this school, it is the new left logic to take what is wrong and make it appear not-wrong. Much like the use of the N-word. In a multi-cultural country, where everybody is equal, some people can use the N-word, and some cannot. So extracting all those oppressed victims from a failed system (where half of the males do not pass Grade 10) and put them in a special, caring environment, filled with special, caring, highly paid union workers, makes sense.

The disabled poly-gendered shemale who cried wolf. The term racist has been used so often by our activist vanguard to secure funding for anti-racist programs, office space for anti-racist activists, and paper for anti-racist internal memoranda, that it has no bite anymore. All white people are racists * so, well, who cares?

Certainly, this too has been documented. As much as the African Not-Canadian village peoples have supported the activist agenda of anti-police, anti-military, anti-male, anti-Christian, anti-ability, anti-white, anti-western civilization, so too has those that identify with the anti come to just not care about our African-Not-Canadian-Canadians. Our activist cadre seems to have missed this subtlety. The important point about the African Not-Canadian high school is the hundreds of high paying jobs it will create, not the betterment of African Not-Canadians. The school could be a concentration camp, complete with gas chamber, crematoria, and forced labor. And, indeed, with the passing of the meaning of the word racist, this is what is actually going to happen. Activists are the mouthpiece for unionist feather-bedders now; taxpayers do not care. But that is all adult talk, is it not? Someone told Chris Farley that cocaine can kill you, but he did not listen. And when a racist heteronormative says that a segregated high school is segregation, and hence wrong, well, we do not need to listen to adult white males, now do we?

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Post Script: Some other articles we will not see in the Main Stream:

Economic growth created by African-Not-Canadian-Canadians when half of their youth do not acheive grade ten education levels vindicates Immigration-Creates-Economic-Growth propaganda.

Community silent about guns, thieves, bastards, now speaks up to support Union Jobs.

Parents who pulled their children from crime-filled schools, now returning now that criminals segregated in special crime-filled school.

Your suggestions always appreciated

Your local High School, part 7

Wednesday, October 31st, 2007

One cannot really judge a person until you have seen them face adversity. And what better way to judge the timber of our educational system than to see how they handle vandalism?

Early in the morning, as the staff begin to arrive, the horrible news spreads among the staff: yesterday, several cars in the parking lot were vandalized! Horrors! Shocking!

The caretaker appears bearing a sheaf of three part vandalism report and compensation forms. Each had a five digit number in red, for accounting purposes. The form was detailed and stepped the victim of vandalism through the who-what-where of fact collecting. A tick box was there for victims to select that their compensation be sent to the same bank account as their pay.

The new people, those that have not been through the trauma of parking lot vandalism at a Toronto High School, are outraged. Have the police been called? Has the video of the parking lot been checked to identify the scum? When will Canadian Justice be done? The old hands, shake their heads. They just share memories about the first time their cars were scratched, painted, or smeared with feces. The steward is almost smiling: just take the money, and do not bring your favorite car to school. Save your BMW for home, bring the Ford to work.

Later, one of the hallway monitors, told me that the administration knew perfectly well who the vandals were. There are, at the school, a number of students who do not attend classes, at all. They just float around, carried on the books, generating revenue for The Board, but consuming no expenses. Every High School has a bunch of them, I was told. The hallway monitors know them by sight … they cause trouble (like vandalism), and The Board just has to put up with them until they reach 18. That is, The Board has to take money from the Province, has to count these ghostly students as enrolled, and has to disburse money to staff for paint and body work.

In the background, as the hallway monitor told me an anecdote about street wise teachers who brought in derelict vehicles for a free paint job courtesy of teen vandals, was the mandatory Multiculturalism is Strength mural. The flags of the world, embraced by the loving arms of some red-black-yellow-brown harlequin. Actually, not all the flags of the world: there was no Canadian flag.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Your Local High School, part 6

Sunday, October 28th, 2007

What drew my attention to this particular class room was the portrait sized picture of Che Guevara. It was placed in the spot where The Queen would have gone, if we had all lived in that horrible place, the Canada of the Vimy-Ridge Canadians.

A few weeks later, as in last Thursday, there was much sadness associated with this room where Che was almost worshiped. The instructor, close to retirement, had cashed in his sick days and had called in sick for the rest of the school year. When his sick days ran out, he would be retired. His students, who loved him, were crushed. This made me curious, so I dug a little deeper.

Comrade teacher Smith left no signs on his desk that he had been planning Wednesday to be his last day of working and first day of retirement. On his desk was his daily planner, but he had no plans, or thoughts, or notes entered after Thursday. It was all blank. His marking was in three neat folders in a neat pile on the left side of his desk. There was a row of the textbooks he used for instruction, and a stack of works of fiction.

Comrade teacher Smith was popular with his fellow teachers. There were no issues outstanding with the administration. Infact, Comrade Smith was a model teacher. None of his students failed, which minimized problems for everybody. No angry parents, no concerned social workers, and no prying youth parole officers.

Teaching methods. Comrade Smith did not seem to record attendance. A survey of his attendance records show a series of crisp, unwritten upon, pieces of paper. None of his students have ever been absent, or late, apparently. Which, of course, means that Comrade Smith does not have to edge into the capitalist, oppressive world of disciplining students for attendance.

Comrade Smith did not seem to follow the course outline, either. If you actually bother to did up the course guidelines for the courses he taught, and compared them to the extant course material (assignments, tests, quizzes, essays, reading material), there is a surprising amount of difference. Simply enough, Comrade Smith was not teaching the same course that he described in his course outline (dated only last year; and sent to the board of education for critique). This explains the eclectic selection of novels and works of fiction found in his class. Which, of course, means that Comrade Smith does not have to edge into the capitalist, oppressive world of following a curriculum.

The Vice-Principal is sad. They would have given Smith a farewell party at the end of term. They are personal friends, the VP and Smith. Smith is selling his house in Toronto and moving to his horse farm in Northumberland County. On Saturday, he is flying to Cuba for a month of fun in the sun. The VP, who plays poker with Smith as one of the regulars, will have to find someone to replace him.

How ever will society replace such as Comrade teacher Smith? This man is not easily replaced. For decades he has taught (what he taught we do not know, as what he taught is not what he was supposed to be teaching), for decades he was a light to his students (assuming that the ten years of ‘never a student absent or late for any of my classes’ is true), and he was a comfort to administration (because the failures did not fail).

Our Lesson is to be more like Comrade teacher Smith. Do not create confrontation with others, instead appease them. Attendance and course requirements are but the chains of fascism. It is more important to tell people what to think than to teach them to think independently. And, read and understand your union agreement, so you know to the day when to bail out and ship yourself off to sunny Cuba.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

High School of the Damned

Sunday, October 21st, 2007

We return, gentle reader, to the special places of accomodation and appeasement that the Toronto District School Board has created for its’ growing population of violent students.

This is the second such facility I have been into. Here you will find nuturing: an experienced teacher close to retirement, a street-wise teaching assistant, and a fridge full of food, a coffee maker, a microwave, and a sofa. The room smells of fresh coffee with an aroma of a loving breakfast. The staff arrive early, and the students do not have to arrive at all. I am told that there are twenty assigned to this program, but at most four (on a good day) will show up. Considering that students found with knives * only get a morning of sitting in a boring office as punishment, I wonder what social insult these absentee victims of society had committed. And then again, because of cuts to social spending by Mike Harris, we can always blame the evil heteronormative taxpayers for not paying enough taxes for teachers to spend, now can’t we.

Of the three students that actually showed up (and I must confess that of the twenty students in the expelled students program, only three were there that day, so a proper statistical representation this is not, unless it supports political correctness, in which case it would), all were members of oppressed-Canadian communities. This certainly proved that inadequate social funding, not criminals, cause crime. All three (two girls, one boy) celebrated African-Caribbean-Canadian culture, which gave me cause to pause.

Statistically, I would expect one to two African-Carribean-Canadian participants in the alternatives to suspension for violent crimes program. As the soon to be retired teacher told me (before we started discussing the stock market), social problems are caused by poverty; people are all the same; cultures all across the world are all the same. So the fact that the actual attendees at this program exceed the expected results for the entire group is just so much Mike Harris hogwash. Presumably, the absent seventeen are correctly distributed between knife-wielding whites, machete-wielding orientals, and one and a half axe-wielding jew.

The boy spent his time eating, sleeping, and drawing Crips insignia on anything he could find. His homegirl (also in the class, just to show the Romans that they did not know what they were doing when they said ‘divide and rule’) helped him use a pen to design a new Crips design on the cover of his math workbook. A critic might say, ‘Fenris, how did you know it was a Crips design?’; the answer being the large word CRIP worked into the entwined snakes and spiky foliage of the surrounding garland.

Around 11:30, one of girls had a tantrum, and all guests were sent out of this special place. Apparently, the girl was unaware of the existance of the concept of homework. In the fifteen years of her young life, nobody had told her homework existed, or what it implied. She had never had homework before. I wish I had filmed this priceless gem of social realism: the oppressed, shocked and horrified, eating fresh california strawberries and sipping a latte, that the white oppressors had just made up a new rule. Never heard of homework before! Gosh!

In the staff room, we relaxed with fresh fruit, fresh brewed coffee, croissants (still warm from the oven), and fresh pastry. Everyone agreed on the need for more spending on education. More teaching assistants, more smaller classes, more free nutritious food, and, of course, more administration to oversee this all, are this weeks final solution. After we all agreed to spend more other people’s money, we settled into a nice discussion on good retirement locations in rural ontario, those quiet places that are so pleasantly far from Toronto.

And what of the youth, the Crip obsessed artist? Although gang violence in Toronto has declined (from a peak of 40 murders in the year of the gun, down to 69 so far this year), things do not look bright for him. Survival in a gang, and a gang member he is, is neither long nor pleasant. If he survives to be too old for public school, he has neither the skills nor the personality to hold down a job, even a crappy telemarketing one. His best chances of survival are welfare, sponging off a baby momma, and illegal drug retail. He did not have the advantage of intellegence. Effectively, he is one of the walking dead. I memorized his features, so I could recognize him when he showed up on the Toronto police services website * , as the hottest wanted person, or cooling off on the slab.

Indeed, the High School of the Damned. There in the staff room are the caring ones, and in the classes, the damned. More funding, please!

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this at both DustMyBroom and Mitchieville.

The Learning Process

Friday, October 5th, 2007

Across the troubled communities of North-East Scarborough, the education system has established itself as the bulwark and vanguard in the fight for political correctness. The most troubled students, victims of entrenched racism, invisible white privilege, and the vestiges of African colonialism, act out through violence. It is not their fault. They need to be cherished and nutured and accomodated. Thus, the cycle of racism will end…

When you walk into one of the many high schools in Scarborough equipped to handle the gangbangers, it really looks much like the high schools that they were sent from. The same white paint, the cheery posters promoting black cultural awareness, and lockers. But there are no students in the halls, here. Unlike the troubled schools were gangbangers roam the halls, here they are in specially equipped classrooms. And a curious person, wondering at how the Toronto District School Board is reaching out to these troubled youth from oppressed cultures, certainly wants to know what the magic is that is being used to combat this social plague.

The first thing you notice is the carpet. Admittedly it is an institutional grade, but regular classes for regular students do not get carpet. There in the corner is a refrigerator, filled with snacks … juice and pop, bread and cold cuts. There are no desks, only a coffee table in front of a leather sofa. Here are the first secrets of the school board in its holy war against social dysfunction: There are only two gangbangers in each class, and each class is set up like a lounge.

The instructors only face their two gangbangers for a two hour shift. They give them the personal attention that has been missing elsewhere in their lives. They work through a work book, and hear uplifting stories about opportunities in engineering, science, and journalism, and listen to heroic tales in the struggle against racism: brave activists who complained and succeeded to get more and better handouts. The instructors only have two classes a day (that is four students in a day). The rest of the instructors time is spent in meetings, discussing progress, and planning strategy. Each gangbanger costs the education system a hundred thousand dollars a year for this valiant, yet sadly underfunded effort at reaching out to these troubled kids.

The other staff in these schools find these programs disturbing. The floor monitors are overwhelmed … the gangbangers do not have to follow a dress code (it would disturb what progress the instructors are making in reaching out) and frequently have fights in the stairways when rival gangs meet. The caretakers have to respond to biohazardous waste when gangbangers masturbate in the washrooms, pee on the floor, smear feces, or stink up the halls when they smoke dope. The academic leadership at these schools just shrug and mention all the progress they are making with these troubled youth … the system is working … just look at all the booklets and pieces of paper the gangbangers have made marks in. But everybody is making money … administration is top heavy, instructors are many, caretakers get overtime, and maintenance is always putting in new cameras or repairing some torched computer lab.

As for the gangbangers, they start younger each year, and there are more of them. This is because of cuts to social spending by Mike Harris, as well as entrenched racism, invisible white privilege, and the vestiges of African colonialism. One program brings elementary school at risk youth together to play basketball. Most of the kids make gang hand signals in the self-promotional photos taken and displayed so proudly in the school board display cases. Only a few million more dollars could save more children through the efforts of many more education professionals.

Today, as I write this, is a Friday, before a long weekend. As a reward, the instructors have let their troubled charges leave early. They have filled in their booklets and have achieved their daily goals. So, its off to the shopping mall in their gangbanger clothes. As for the instructors, well, they are off in their SUV’s to their farms in the country. Best to leave early to beat the traffic.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this at both Mitchieville and DustMyBroom

Your Local High School, part 5

Friday, September 21st, 2007

Education is supposed to be an issue in the Ontario election. The real issue is political correctness.

No longer do we criticise aspects of political correctness. If you open your mouth to mutter or complain, you are quickly shouted down. Pick your insult: racist, homophobe, or meanie. So, there is no open criticism. Instead, people have learnt that free speech is a one way street, much like hiring quotas, university eligibility quotas, and race-based sentencing. People, being human, adapt. While we cannot criticise the tree of political correctness, we can attack it at the root, safe from the Elves of King Fairycake.

Supposedly, education is an issue in the Ontario election. Actually, it is the groundswell of disgust at the failing education system; a system failing because of political correctness: both as an ideology and as a great way to create lard ass union jobs.

Toronto schools are not safe for children. Truthspeaker Pierre Elliot Trudeau is now, from the atheist heaven, watching the fruits of his policy. Toronto schools are full of violent criminals. The prison is being re-invented … only the innocent get to go, too. And if you do not like it, well, you are intolerant. And if you do not like it, and do not want to get called intolerant, and you can get some cash together, you send your kids to a private school.

Toronto schools are filled with gangbangers. Either they come from the politically correct, subsidized and nutured housing projects (welfare and free legal clinics be thanked!), or they get transfered in from the projects when they get to be too much. Now if the Catholic Church can transfer sodomite priests, surely the Toronto District School board can do so too. It was wrong for the Catholics, but they were Christians; so it is OK for our anti-Christian school board. That is one way tolerance. In the bad old days of Vimy Ridge Canadians, criminals would be in prison; but we do not have prison, especially for the victims of oppression. Instead, we send them to High School. And so, for those that care about their children, they want out. Out is called private school.

Walk into a Toronto High School and you see cameras. And, if you nose around you can see things like the sleeping caretakers, the dusty tools of union workmen ‘making repairs’, and the stacks of vacation brochures and investment magazines in the teachers staff room. In one school, you will find the automotive shop being ripped out, to be replaced by a studio to teach African Dance. Even the union workmen, on their infrequent work breaks (to ease crossword fatigue), mutter at the wisdom of replacing shop with dance. Anybody who openly criticises the replacement of auto shop with African dance is a racist, right? And besides, the student council (most of whom seem to be wearing gang insignia) thought it was a good idea. Very inclusive. Indeed. I wonder what it is like to run for student council against the gun toting N-people candidate?

The fact that Toronto’s gangbanger problem is centered in one particular culture is a fact known only to those that bother to look. Those that talk about it are racists, obviously. Another spending year of more spending will soon eliminate the problem. Last year’s spending initiatives were only a few dollars short, much as the year before. Remember two years ago when Toronto had only fourty murders? If only we had spent more money converting automotive shops into African Dance studios, then we would not have the sixty murders we have now in September. Blame Mike Harris, but borrow the money to move to somewhere safe, or send your kid to a private school.

And the gangbangers are the fruit of the tree of political correctness. The tree is tended by the anti-Christian activists, and they get great pay and greater pensions from their work. And any attack on the education system is an attack on their jobs, tenure, benefits, and lifestyle. So, the teachers union is active in the political process. Quality education relies on quality pay and pensions for teachers. And if Johnny cannot read, it is because M’Binga has a machete and needs to be soothed by the music that tames the savage beast in the African Dance Studio which is in the room that used to be the Automotive Shop where Johnny’s Dad learnt to be a car mechanic. Hopefully, Johnny’s dad will send Johnny to a private school where he will learn automotive so Johnny can pay the taxes to pay for M’binga’s prison, and for M’binga’s brood of Baby Mommas. African Dance is the current final solution to the problem that keeps on being solved.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this at both Mitchieville and DustMyBroom.

Your Local High School, part 4

Thursday, September 6th, 2007

Today is the last day of the first week of school for students across the troubled communities of North-east Scarborough.

If you actually go inside a high school, and actually spend some time listening, watching, and talking to the people who actually work inside high schools, you will observe a few things.

Firstly, the halls seem to have a steady flow of gangbangers moving about under the cameras. Although there are posters proclaiming a dress code, it does not seem to be enforced. Baseball caps, gang colors, and the chicken walk of the affiliated Crips and Bloods are to be seen both during movement between classes, and in the so-called ‘no movement’ times. Much as criminals do not respect the Canadian gun registry, they do not seem to respect school authority, either.

Secondly, there is a new crop of grade nines for the gangs to recruit from. The announcements from the principals bunker have begun. Those who flaunt authority by indulging in bullying behavior will suffer the full weight of the Safe Schools Act. But in the teachers lounge, it is whispered that the troublemakers are just getting transfered to other schools. The lesson is an important one in the Rule of Law in Canada: just as the evil Catholic Church transfered their sodomite priests, so too is the Toronto District School Board just transfering the gun toting criminals. While it was reprehensible for the Catholics to do this, it appears to be acceptable for the School Board. If it was not, the Toronto Star would have said something, wouldn’t they?

From the principals stern warning, delivered over the public address system, not in person, of course, it is obvious that some grade nine student has done what he has been taught to do in elementary school. When confronted by bullying, he has reported the incident to the proper authorities: his teacher, his librarian, his gym coach, or the principal. And I would like to look at these grade nines students in detail.

As you read this, these victims of bullying are living in fear. There are many of them, for bullying is common across North-east Scarborough. Our new victims have been taught what to do, and most have done what they taught. Now, today, Friday, with their stomachs knotted with fear, they are going back to school to face older students who carry guns, who are criminals, but who have learnt that when the principal thunders over the public address system about The Safe Schools Act that the worse fate he faces is a transfer, not a jail cell. Of course, our Gangbanger-Canadians come from a culture that considers women to be bitches and whores, and most of our principals and vice principals and teachers in North-East Scarborough are women. And our principals and vice principals and teachers in North-East Scarborough are leftists, too, so they do not look to the police for protection for their students. They look to increased government spending, more programs, and a healthy breakfast handout. And our fresh crop of grade nines, who statistically are immigrants, are new Canadians, are poor, and are not white, look forward to living in fear today, next week, and for the rest of the time they are in the politically correct place that is North-East Scarborough. They are the rats in the social experiment laboratory. Lucky them to be living in Canada.

As for the lab assistants in the social engineering project, well, they too are now in the front line. A common gang initiation ritual is to smash up the teachers cars. How will the teachers get to their socialist party riding association to canvass for votes during this election if their tires are slashed? Is a politically active teacher more or less likely to give money to the Bolshevik Central Committee when they are wondering if the bulge in the gangbangers pocket is a gun? More crime means more staff between those running the schools and those running the gangs. Which is good for the economy. Jobs are being created. Thank you, Jordan Manners.

Unless, of course, the next school fatality is a Jane Creba. Non N-people grew tired of violence in schools some years ago. It does not affect them: they moved away. Their kids go to safe schools where the national anthem is not done in rap. They shrug their shoulders about N-people crime: if the N-people do not care, why should they? That is the multi-cultural way. The cops do not care, either. They respond to situations. With the SIU staring over their shoulders like some Trotskyite commissar, well, the coffee shop looks so much better than proactive police work. So, I guess, the ball is in the court of the politically correct, and not the leadership, but the troops. Those that dictate policy do not work in schools. They do not get their car window smashed and their drivers seat sprinkled with piss. Mind you, the foot soldiers do.

I think we should celebrate diversity by holding a pool about when a teacher gets shot in Toronto. It will be our way of showing that we can accomodate dog fighting and celebrate N-people culture. After all, the finger on the trigger is not the finger on the trigger. The poor kid was just acting out years of racist oppression. He felt unloved. So we should gamble on human misery to see when the next socialist foot soldier gets martydom for Trotskyite idealism. Then, we can blame Alberta! If I win, I will give all my winnings to a charity that fights Global Warming.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this at DustMyBroom and Mitchieville.