My final post

This is the last internet post I shall ever write. Big changes are going to occur in my life.

Within the next five days, big trucks are going to start to arrive in your city, unloading cases of soda pop topped up with cocaine. At fifty-five cents a can, your culture and civilization will be under the control of your local bottler. And I have decided to seek employment with the company that has the great marketing idea to bring it back.

By the time I wake up from my refreshing sleep in the arms of several perfumed prostitutes, have a refreshing mint tea whilst being fellated whilst wearing my dragon robe, you will be having your first can of the most tastiest refreshing beverage you have ever had.

You will never be unhappy again. You will always have a variety of competing, interesting, high paying jobs to choose from. You will never have to give a thought to the economy … because it will always be well run. The War Economy, it is like that. People will give me their souls for a case of twelve. I sell cases for five bucks. Everyone wants them. People close to you: the gas monkey, the coffee shop rag head, and your bread department customer care engineer. Happy people, bouncing to work, listening to public loudspeakers belting out Canadian military march music.

By this time next week, Conrad Black will be free. He will seize the Toronto Star through a hostile stock market swindle. The firings, the denunciations, then the trials and the public executions. Yes, you favourite columnists for the Red Star: you will be put in a cage and dangled above Dundas Square. There, you live on vendor cart sausage, given to you by well wishers. It gets cold at night. And there is no showers for you, political prisoners of Conrad the Black. No personal hygiene. You can shit in your hands and throw your turds at the ten story Karsh portrait of the Imperial Conrad and his noble wife, the Lady Black. You will only have the strength to spit for a few weeks of suffering and torment before He has you burned alive to celebrate Orthodox Easter to appeal to the Byzantine-Canadian voter.

Everyone else will be happy. They will sing the songs of the Onward, Happy Worker song book. Everyone will be so coked up, they will want a better paying job, with better benefits, and better training opportunities, so that they can better themselves with better pay.

Of course, I have some personal enemies, too. Everyone understands that someone as completely important as Lord Black would want to have his personal enemies humiliated, subjugated, then tortured … slow like, and then ritually executed to the cheers of a stadium of fans cheering a Toronto Maple Leafs Stanley Cup victory over Montreal in overtime. I too have a few enemies. Only a few. Written on a list. Only a few pages long. Handwritten, with only half of the page written on. It’s not so bad. There is room for checkmarks, or notes, or suggestions, or little diagrams of anatomy. I will use colored ink, I think.

If you are on my shit list, it is too late for you. You know who you are. I know I know who you are. And for a can of pop, there will be a lot of people who will know what I want, and want to get it for me. Best thing you could do is have sex. Go shag something in your last moments of freedom. Use them before you lose them, the Imperator Maximinus Thrax always used to say.

The trucks are coming. See you on the other side. If you are not in a cage.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. You won’t have Fenris to kick around anymore. No, I am going to be kicking you, scum.

crossposted at DustMyBroom, because I feel like it.