Which came first? The listeria or the reparations?

My left foot is swollen with outrage. My forehead is hot to the touch, and there are beads of sweat dripping down onto my white linen suit jacket. My tie is chafing my neck. My dinner of stewed beets and boiled chicken sits cold and lumpy in the serving bucket. Even my adorable house cat, Mister Whiskers, has taken to snoring in his sympathetic anguish over my upset equilibrium.

Oh, let us all line up to get a piece of the reparations pie, shall we? I had a tummy ache back in the summer of love ... was that Listeria or the strychnine in the acid? My darling pet dog, Gengis the Rottweiler, has barfed up his kibble ... how much can I sue for? Shall I ever need to buy a lottery ticket again when I win at the outraged victim of big meanie corporation lottery? Marx is smiling in his hot, firey afterworld.

Well, aside from the greedy whores a' whoring after a handout, be they lawyers, activists, or Tummy-Ache-Canadians, just whose shit dipped finger was poked into the meat mush at the meat factory? Like, aside from the always responsible white heteronormative corporations, whose money deserves to be taken for endless, bottomless, reparations; like whose dirty arse wiped paw was it who splashed feces into the frankfurter vat?

You cannot convince me that the shareholders and corporate directors of the doomed Maple Leaf corp were the guys and gals who spit in the soup bucket. How far can you spit? I can only do six feet with accuracy. Maybe ten if I take up chewing tobacco again. How about racist, sexist, rapist white heteronormative society in general, those greedy Vimy-Ridge-Canadians. Can we blame them? How far can they pitch a used scabby bandage? Could then snort a hork of diseased snot into the machine that grinds up the chicken beaks? I hate to tell you, whoever actually drooled pus into the food vat, is was not the people who are going to pay with money for this outrage.

The Main Stream Media, the Burning Star of Toronto, mentions nothing, of course, about the actual dirty finger. They never speculated about the acutal paw that left the propane tank leaky at the Sunrise joint, either. It would not suit their agenda of boosting the employment rate of nannies, wet nurses, diaper technicians, and progressive witch doctors. Heck no.

But somebody is thinking about it. People with investment money. Plutocrats who live in comfort, and like to keep it that way. People who go fly fishing, and like to continue to go fly fishing, and do not want another one of their investments to blow up (like Sunrise shares), or turn rotten (like Maple Leaf). It just chokes them up (like Mommys position in Johns Mansville). Yes, when the paid employees do not do what they are paid to do, and when the public watch dog is licking the prolapsed tags on its anus and not doing what they are paid to do, and when the populists in progressives clothing are spending xillions on paper clips and their idiot cousins vacations to Cuba, now we have a few scared Plutocrats thinking that their martini money has fallen through a hole in their pocket.

I do not know who spit in the luncheon meat. I do know that somebody, other than me, cares. Me, I talk too much. Them, they do not talk, they act.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this

xpd Mitchieville, DustMyBroom.