Onwards, Happy Workers

Give yourselves over to Set, the Snake God.

Without your money, the adherants, acolytes, and the adepts of Set, Snake God, cannot obtain the services of a large sized telemarketing firm. Give me your money so that I might make more telemarketing calls into your homes at dinner time. Yes, as you sit on your baby powdered ass, eating some fish stinking soup that comes out of a can, I want to disturb your gurgling guts and make you shift your stinking carcass over to answer the tele-phone.

As you shovel volume and quantity into your stretchmark marked mouth, a cascade of crumbs of greasy clots erupts as you eat, open mouthed, like a churl. Think then, you hog-goblin, of the greater, larger hog-goblin, which is Set, the Snake God.

Who of your friends will let you feed your kidnapped rivals to meat eating river reptiles? Ask yourself that. And you know the answer to that is Fenris, and his fellow adherants, accolytes, and adepts in Set, the Snake God. Yes, there is a welcoming Golf Club in the Guelph region where you can dispose of bodies, breathing rivals, cheating spouses, and obnoxious (especially sticky) children. Sticky children are fed to Set, the Snake God.

I have rivals. Others, close to the Mayor, but not adverse to slipping a sawzall into my gullet if they could only get me pinned under a sheet of plywood. I recognize the 'two alligators, one pond' scenario. Because of the bungling of that quack alchemist, it is now part of my genetic makeup. Yes, I am a Crocodile-Canadian. Surgeons at the University of Toronto have been using reptiles as a source of cheap spare parts for other students, who fell ill and hence under the control of the Socio-Darwinist Cult that has control over these things. And I made the mistake of going to the free VD clinic at the University. Sure, they gave me penicillin to supress the syphillis, but they added a cocktail of reptile stem cells. Some of them rebuilt the reptilian complex of my brain. It is alot bigger.

So, anyway, I have rivals. My feelings are hurt. I need a hug.

Instead, I give myself over to a weekend of debauchery.

Soon, you will know who urges questioning and spreads murmurs against the The Ministry of Re-Education. Soon, yes, they will surface. In a pond, maybe. A floater. And the head? Slung in a recycled five pound onion bag over a pedestrian crossing light.

Some of you need to decide.

My policy is simple: We, the adepts of Set, The Snake God, should co-operate to suborn the economic system to promote the benefit of ourselves. We should co-operate to share insider knowledge, mitigate crimes of members, and control criminal enterprise. I, personally, am set to gain as a teacher and trainer of such methods. There is nothing that Ayn Rand could disagree with there.

Here is an example:

Two of my regular readers are Chinese nerds working for a large Toronto bank. Both read my blog to stave off boredom, and to fill their otherwise dull, bland lives as 'worker ants'. They have agreed to The Policy. They now have suborned their employers cash flow, and enjoy whiskey and whores every long weekend. They live in Toronto. They are now overpaid and over eating. As you read this, they are sleeping in from their Thursday 'end of the week' whiskey and whore binge.

Come over to Set, the Snake God. Let us conspire to make this true for more of our lodge brothers.

Whiskey and Whores! Sailors, on leave, forever!