Famine at Christmas

Oh, how my heart bleeds for the poor, the homeless, the destitute, and the racially oppressed. Only the sping thaw will show how many hundreds, how many thousands, have frozen to death in the horrible winter here in Toronto. When I walk past a pile of snow, I ask myself ... is that the body of an homeless person? frozen solid and crowned with yellow dog piddle?

I can only type slowly as the tears are flowing down my face.

How I agonize as I shovel food into the food buckets of the poor at the secret food shelter that exists in my neighbourhood. Law and Custom in Canada is to let the less advantaged Village Peoples die like flies in the cold grip of winter. The Garbage collectors laugh when they heave the frozen corpses on their weekly rounds. Most stores refuse to serve selected ethnic minorities. They have signs and armed guards who humiliate and denigrate the oppressed Village Peoples. I walk past shivering youth, who ask in fading voices for a cup of rice gruel and a chance to change their pus stained bandages in the heat of a coffee shop.

We need your help. Listen to the weakening crys for help, your help. Take out your wallets and give all you can. Take the presents from your children and sell them. Return your snow blower. Stop taking Viagra. The destitute in Toronto are going to die in the next snowstorm of hunger and cold unless you give me your money. It is terrible. Give me your money.


I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this with a bleeding heart