Toronto, November 22, 2007

As you read this, my hands are shaking. My spoon is spilling nutritious bran mush onto my slippers. A piece of prune has fallen onto my keyboard. The horrible heat of Global Warming has Toronto, the City of Light, in its horrible heteronormative white male grip. The life blood of the city, the mighty river Don, is drying up. The sad picture shows a dying native Canadian Warthog-Canadian dying of todays Global Warming. I am drenched in tears.

I am one of the few who suffer less from obvious ravages of Global Warming. I am white, and have the invisible potato peeler of white privilege. I can just turn up the air conditioning, or turn on a fan, or just have a plantation slave fan me.

You do not even have to look out the window to get enough proof about Global Warming. Just listen to your childs high school mathematics teacher. The time to raise your consciousness about global warming is past; now is the time to send me your money so that I can raise the consciousness of others by funding a telemarketing effort to raise money to raise awareness. So, do not look out the window. Do as I say, and care, and care enough to take out your wallet and send me your money.

Our most vulnerable citizens are suffering the first and most because of the Global Warming of right now, today, as we speak. The starving poor, their epidemic of obesity can be traced to Global Warming (I overheard this on the subway, so it must be true). Small, cute Raccoon-Canadians are panting with heat. Have you seen a raccoon in Toronto lately? They are in danger of becoming extinct. What about skunks? The terrible heat is killing them off; thousands of skunks will die today from dehydration. How many homeless people are now dead and bloating in some pile of garbage? That bad smell is not rotting garbage, but the maggot infested corpse of some victim of Mike Harris' social spending cutbacks.

You mark my words: all of this lack of spending is going to outrage some gangbangers and force them to shoot each other in the head as a protest.

Send me your money. Only our money and my spending is the latest final solution to your feeling bad about that poor Warthog-Canadian dying in the stinking mud. Do not look out the window; reach for your credit cards and send me your money. I now accept Canadian Tire cash, because I care.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.