Orange Night, 2008

Not long after the Mayor left the office to head home to his loving wife, legitimate children, adorable house cats, and the feral tree rats that infest his pear tree, it was time to complete the celebration of Orange Day with the Orange Night celebrations ...

Poverty causes Crime. Orange night is a special night in the Badwulf household. I took stock of my cash reserves: only 212.25 in Canadian money. No where near enough for an evening of fun and frolic. I felt poor. I was in a state of poverty. And what better way to level the playing field than to rob some white heteronormative oppressor of the oppressed? Conveniently, I have access to a list of retired members of the Social Workers Union, so it was off to the nearest home of one of these over pensioned folks for a little applied socialism.



Home Invasion. Retired evil white heteronormatives are generally fat and weak. And they never have guns in the house. Which is good, which means I do not have to bring mine, although my drinking buddies, Maximinus Thrax and Sonjia DeSade, do. They favor either a shotgun (the former) or a .222 with silencer (the latter). Personally, I suggest a taser in some sub-lethal voltage range, which comes with several useful attachments and accessories. Not only can you taser a rich oppressor, you can give them electroshock too! This will erase their short term memory for a period generally greater than two weeks, and sometimes leave their personality mostly intact. Ideal for the hands on hands in the pocket socialism that I practice.

Fighting Hunger and Obesity. Having stocked up on extra money which the brain wiped bourgeois supplied us as payback for white guilt, we zoomed down to the decadent part of Toronto. I gave the cabby a twenty dollar tip. Sure, it was counterfeit, but fake money is a great way to undermine the corrupt capitalist system! Just like the twenty I gave to the ninety pound methadone fancier.

The Pleasure Center. Certainly one of the gems of feminism, this five star whore house is the pride of People's Tourism Toronto. Each floor of the five story structure (which includes two basement levels and an unregistered pistol range for those who question authority), boasts a diversity of cultural expressions in money for sex practices, as well as dope, cheap whiskey, and exquisite single malt scotch. Sonjia DeSade was complaining that her thigh high, lace up black patent leather stilleto boots were making her feet sore. Poor baby! So we only took the elevator to the Club Fulgencio Batista.

More pavilions at FolkFest. From the clouds of hashish smoke, to the bare chested women selling potent pharmaceutical strength happiness with brand names like Starshells, Purple Bazooka, and Mind Wipe, we joined up with the Minister of Munitions. He appeared to be dipped in happiness. He smiled like a baby after being breast fed, and there was a dusting of baby powder on his cheeks, forehead, and hands. He was accompanied by feminist activists Trixie and Bunny, both of whom are demanding that our health care system pay for breast enhancement surgery in the fight against low self esteem amongst under twenty year old women. I signed a petition several times demanding that womyn have universal access to double d breasts. As I signed, it felt like I was making the Patriarchy suffer. Suffer, Patriarchy, suffer!

Around two o'clock,
after the official last call, the party heated up. The only police I could see were wearing latex uniforms and dancing in cages off to the sides of the main stage, where feminist leaders in latex catsuits were celebrating freedom of expression by having sex with each other. I knocked back another single malt and nibbled on oysters. Some college types, here doing community service as bar staff, drooled. It was alot of fun!

I, Fenris Badwulf, champion of progressive causes through progressive action and hands on hands in your pocket socialism, wrote this.