Bob Hunter is dead

Everybody knows Bob Hunter.

Bob Hunter is the creative writer genius behind the world’s best television series: The Beachcombers. He also is the founder of Greenpeace. I believe these two salient points are definitive of this man’s life. Let me brush the tears from my eyes for a moment before I use a few simple words to touch upon Bob Hunter, the nearest thing Canada has had to a hybrid of Jesus Christ and John Lennon.

My first contact with Bob Hunter was when I was a little kid, a greedy over-consumer of earth resources and a despoiler of ethnic and gender diverse minorities. It was 1970, or there abouts. I was in grade six science. We had a new teacher that year, a scout for the rainbow of diversity that had come down from Bob Hunter’s heaven.

My teacher, Mister Lenin, told us about the Seal Hunt off Canada’s East Coast. The poor baby seals were being murdered by evil inhuman men for that most evil of motives … money. It had to stop. The cute cuddly baby seals were going to be extinct by Christmas of 1970 unless we did something. And something we did. We gave Mister Lenin half of the money we collected for UNICEF that year. Instead of studying culture-oppressing science, we listened to Mister Lenin tell us the truth about colonialism in Africa, the wonders of life in Cuba, the inevitable success of socialism, and about alternative lifestyles. Everybody got an A in Mister Lenin’s class, just for showing up! And Mister Lenin did not stop there. He always spoke to us about truth, even when he was watching us in the shower after gym class.

One day, late in the term, Mister Lenin brought in this wonderful film outlining the horrors of the Seal Hunt. It was a documentary, showing real truth in action. You have seen it … the poor baby seals beaten with clubs, hacked with axes, and skinned alive … and worst of all, the close-ups of the evil seal killers.

Of course, later, I found out that Bob Hunter was behind this hard hitting piece of steaming hot journalism. But that was later, when I got to know the man. I was privileged to see the directors cut of the Seal Hunt documentary! I saw all the outtakes, and the film crew joking it up between takes, and the actors griping humorously about the slippery snow.

And Bob Hunter was the creative genius behind the Beachcombers. He wrote a lot of the episodes. This state of the art vanguard series has been driven from our televisions by the revisionist jackbooted forces that now control Supreme State Television (the CBC) here in Canada.

The Beachcombers, was Bobs only source of income for many years, aside from lecture fees, books, articles, consulting, and his gig as television journalist. Bob suffered for the cause.

This show was the politically correct vision of the perfect Canada, that all politically correct people should embrace. There was Relic, the evil embodiment of capitalist bloodsuckers. There was the hero, played by the worlds best actor, Bruno Gerussi, who embodied gender diversity with his flamboyant hints of homosexual love for his sidekick and most of the male guest characters, and a more refined form of trans-species love for most of the animal characters. Molly represented the earth mother, Gaia, who feeds all and loves all, except evil Americans. And who pays for this socialist paradise? This ant hill of happiness? Why, the taxes on evil American corporations!

I grew up watching the Beachcombers, eagerly encouraged by Mister Lenin and my other politically correct teachers. And we can only thank Bob Hunter for those hours of enjoyment, watching Canadian Television.

Now, Gaia called Bob back to her loving bosom in the nicest way: with prostrate cancer. He fought the disease valiantly, not cutting back on his lectures, or books, or consulting, or insightful television appearances. Money was not important to Bob, the cause was. Bob could have had an eight figure income if he had sold out to materialism; instead he scraped by with a seven figure income. Too bad most of us have not done the same. We can all learn a lot from his example.

We will miss you, Bob.

Fenris Badwulf wrote this, drenched in tears