Restoring Balance - Female Flesh: Girls of Summer

I believe in balance. I am moderate in many ways, indulging in one thing, only to counterbalance it with another. Every ecosystem must maintain a delicate sense of equilibrium or risk falling into chaos. Thus was I asked to start writing Man Flesh after a dearth of Lisa's great posts. When Lisa and I both started posting recently and unexpectedly, another weekly Female Flesh also cropped up to accompany Reg's fine female posts. Balance. Equilibrium.

And then this week, the balance was not just tipped, but completely thrown off kilter.  I didn't know this ahead of time, and only just discovered it Saturday morning Pacific time. And, quite honestly, it offended even my (gay) sensibilities. I felt a compelling urge to restore symmetry. So I dove into the magical world of girls of summer adorned in bikinis:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You may think, "How would you know what hot female flesh looks like, Logan? You're gay!" True, I won't deny my membership in the homosexualist club. However, even I had my years of female flesh appreciation. I used to sneak peaks at my dad's Playboy and Penthouse. I even had a year-long subscription to Penthouse in college.

Men are either ass-men or breast-men. You'd assume that since gay guys love ass, they'd naturally be ass-men even when appreciating women's fine assets. However, this is not necessarily true. I was an avid breast-man myself growing up. Even after I turned gay I had a fascination with breasts. All of my current "Top 5 Famous Women I'd Switch For" have nice, large racks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And what better way to enjoy breasts than the scant bikini? Enough exposed flesh to be a visual feast, and just enough clothing to tease and intrigue. That's why beaches are so fun in the summertime: Shirtless guys and bikini-clad women.

Balance. The way it should be.

Posted by Reg, who posted this post for Logan, who wrote this post on behalf of Reg.

Pick a blade of grass, suffer the drooling consequences

Suffice to say, there is something wrong with the participants in this short video clip, though I confess I don't understand what their trouble might be. Is the arts funding check late, or too early?

The Earth Is Saved!

On the left we have International Environmentalist, Algore. For our international readers, the guy on the right is Canadian Environmentalist and leader of Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition, Stephane Dion (see: here and here ). What kind of environmentalist is Stephane? He has a dog named Kyoto. What kind of leader is he? He flew all the way to Bali from Ottawa for this photo op. Discuss amongst yourselves...

Update: Senator Marginalized Action Dinosaur has a great post here .

The Real Story Behind Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline”

One of the big new items for the day is the revelation that Neil Diamond’s famous song “Sweet Caroline” was inspired by Caroline Kennedy , the daughter of assassinated US president John F. Kennedy . That may be what Neil says, but in the Saturday Night Live parody of ‘VH1, Behind The Music' below, Will Ferrell tells us the “real” story behind the song.



Tuesday night bonus link: The Zapruder Film

The Blasphemy of Lisa Foggy

As a good Citizen-Minister of Mitchieville, I take the time to read each and every post posted here. Imagine then my shock then tonight when the sacred pages of this blog, the blog that laughter built, were sullied by the image of womyn’s breasts at this post by Lisa Foggy.

Horrified by the sight of bare breasts on Mitchieville I read the accompanying article to see that an “artist friend” (read smut peddler) of hers had defamed one of Christianity’s most sacred paintings – The Last Supper (see related posts here, here, here and here.).

This is a shocking outrage. Not only is this an unconscionable defamation a historic piece of art, Lisa seeks to profit from it. The evidence is in, reparations are demanded, tithes must be paid - Lisa Foggy must withdraw her candidacy for Mayor of Mitchieville. Citizen-voters of Mitchieville are invited to attend an anti-Lisa rally tonight at 9:00 PM in front of the Mitchieville Public Library. Stop the outrage that is Lisa Foggy!

Vote Mitch, not *BITCH* on October 10!

Hippie Wisdom

Every Tuesday I make a visit to the local welfare office to catch up on all the good work our frontline combatants in the jihad against human waste are doing, despite spending cuts, racism, and invisible white consumer goods.

There are so many people in need in Toronto. There are no programs or funding to help them. There is a famine. Children are without hope.

I met Inyrtyy, a typical welfare person being helped with the meagre resources available to welfare people in Toronto. So up I climbed from the heated indoor parking lot, up the four flights of stairs to the third floor meeting room which overlooks Queen street. On Tuesdays, Inyrtyy has his weekly progress meeting. Even though he is downtrodden and oppressed, he sat up straight with pride in his accomplishments. The meeting began when two urns of coffee and three big boxes of muffins from Tim Hortons arrived. Inyrtyy sat and fidgeted in his wool sweater, designer jeans, gold chains, and sneakers with flashing lights.

I was introduced to Inyrtyy's team of caring care givers: There was his social worker, Lyndy. His Job search coach, Dyrlyn. His conflict issues co-ordinator, Wyndy. His Opportunities-Ontario Librarian, Bylyndy. His current Diversity Teacher, Cywbyll, was there too. It was quite a tribute to the dedication of these people that most of team Inyrtyy was present. Only Jyrry, his Diversity Tutor, was absent as he was on a well earned vacation to Bangkok.

The meeting opened with a public cursing of Stephen Harper and his greedy, selfish taxpayer followers. Then everyone gave a reading of last weeks minuites, then moved to present business. Inyrtyy is preparing to go to a job interview, hopefully in April when the weather is better. Inyrtyy wants to be a concert pianist, or a stock broker. Last year, at his last job opportunity with the Regent's Park School of Music, he had a difficult time.

The Regent's Park School of Music is racist, said Inyrtyy. I had a job interview with them. Those racists said that I had to know how to play the piano to be a pianist.

There are no job opportunities for the homeless, said Dyrlyyn. Wyndy and Bylyndy burst into tears. What more proof that Canada is a racist shithole!

Inyrtyy starts to cry too. I will never become a stock broker now! My hopes are crushed by invisible white consumer goods!

I looked down at the ground in shame at the disgusting greed of taxpayers who refuse to give more money more often to give the deserving poor like Inyrtyy the opportunity to become concert pianists or stockbrokers.

The crying was interrupted by Inyrtyy putting up his hand. I am hungry, he said. Cywbyll then bared her breast and Inyrtyy began to suckle. I kept my eyes averted yet also watched so as to not offend the feminists by neither staring at the breast feeding nor not staring at the breast feeding as a rejection of a woman's right to suckle in public at any time, place, with the exception of offending Muslim religious sensibilities.

I nibbled on a muffin listening to the loud slurping of Inyrtyy and the soft weeping of his team of care givers. For here part, Cywbyll sat stoicly, her face flushed, her lips reddened with anger at racism, panting in a slowly increasing tempo.

After his Charter of Rights guaranteed right to not have to be weaned was confirmed, Inyrtyy put up his hand again. My diaper is full, he said.

Bylyndy turns to me, You are new so you get a pass today. She groans, then giggles. Like the team they are, the care givers dump the coffee down the sink, pitch the boxes of muffins into the trash, and clear off the conference table. Bylyndy comes in with Inyrtyy's tote bag, and puts an adult sized changing towel down on the table, along with a fresh adult diaper, and a carton of wet-wipes.

Unfortunately, I got an important cell phone call from the Mayor of Mitchieville right around then, so I was unable to see what happened next. What happened before then is available as a pay-per-view at Badwulf's Activist Action web site. If you like to watch, if you support feminist breast feeding, have your credit card ready. We accept Visa, Mastercard, or American Express.

None the less, activists think that everyone thinks that every thinking person thinks that social spending should be increased. Inyrtyy needs your help. Can you let him into your home or office as an equally challenged, ability-zero Half-Canadian who needs your money, your food, and your bed to sleep in?

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

crossposted at Dustmybroom, because I can.

Hippie Wisdom

One of the brightest students in the Math Collectivist class at Karla Homolka High School is a young man called Wrapper Shemp Shempson. His street name is No Knack, and if you are in his youth gang you can call him by his gang name, Nob Gobbler. Wrapper has acheived top marks in culture, sensitivity, diversity, and caring in all five years he has been in Ms. Sappho's grade ten math experience class. Thanks to the loving embrace of our public education system, he has discovered freedom from toilet slavery, and now gets ten percent of his protein from mothers milk, fresh from the breast. He is a team player: one team member pushes his wheelchair, another team member hefts the diaper bag, and a rotating team of four provide fresh mother's milk. When he reaches his eighteenth birthday later this year, he will automatically receive his high school diploma and a scholarship to the University of Toronto to study Journalism. Because of white privlege, he cannot read. To overcome these unfair obstacles put in his way by a racist society, Wrapper writes evocative poetry. This poem has won the Ontario Commissioner of Community Safety and Emergency Management Colorblind Society Competition:

Why, Oh why does my bum hurt?
It's red and running with pus...
Health care is free in this province
but it's not really free enough

I am a descendent of victims
my needs are the care of the state
so where is my handout, you racist?
without your money I cannot procreate

How dare you call me an infant!
because I have the size of a man
your society is rotten with hatreds
O how I hate the heteronormative plan

It's time for my inadequate handout
work harder, you taxpayer scum ---
to all your enemies I give comfort
because, really, I want them to win

Ability? I have so little
if I did, someone would say I was white
socialists upon me they dote
because to them I give my vote

So, fork over your racist wages
Then I can call you scum!
Take my diapers out to the blue box
The spending of your money has just begun.

Wrapper will be receiving a bursary for ten thousand dollars to study Use of Color in Fingerpainting before he automatically receives his Honors B.A. in five years. I think we should all slap the ground, hoot, and toss vegetation at the impressive awards and credentials that have been given to this exemplar of political correctness.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Crossposted at Dust My Broom, because they care.

Hippie Wisdom

Rangoon Kabob is at one of the few homeless shelters here in Toronto. He is on a disability pension that only pays him four grand a month, so he has to make ends meet by working under an assumed identity for Metro Social Services as one of the assistant nutritionists at the Kamau Kabon hundred bed shelter in the Jane-Finch N'bele Tribal Village area. His work as nutritionist involves supervising homeless volunteer workers as well as six nutritionist technicians.

Rangoon is a vegatarian. All the meat that Metro Social Services sends to the shelter is recycled by selling it to hotels and restaurants. Rangoon takes the money and uses it for activism, buying up shares of Exxon, Haliburton, and Microsoft. This way Rangoon can write activist comments on the mail that comes to him with his dividends. Sometimes he just burns the discarded envelopes with Sandalwood incense as a purifying ritual. One day he hopes to travel to a shareholders meeting and confront these oppressors of the oppressed with the truth of their crimes.

Recycling and saving energy is important to Rangoon who believes that he is two souled. Rangoon is really a Hibiscus-Canadian, trapped in the body of a hairy white primate. Recycling is a religious requirement for Rangoon, who joined the United Church after attending a missionary seminar on Enver Hoxha. Using his position of leadership in the homeless shelter kitchen, he makes sure that none of the bounty of Mother Earth is wasted.

A great way to save energy is to use boiling water twice. Water that has been used to boil eggs is rich in calcium and makes great tea or coffee. Alot of the kitchen biomass that used to go into the compost pile can actually be used as a source of fibre in a Green-Friendly diet, says Rangoon. Onion peels can be ground up and added to a nutritious dinner mush, adding flavor and natural cellulose. Rangoon is experimenting with other cellulose supplements, too.

AIDS awareness is important in Rangoon's kitchen. Most of the homeless volunteers have HIV, Hepatitis, or intestinal parasites. Rangoon made sure that underpriviledged people whom the white patriarchy keeps out of food preparation positions get the opportunities they deserve in the kitchen. A hands on person, Rangoon takes a caring approach to his diverse multicultural work force, guiding them in the art of boiling water and salad creation.

Rangoon Kabob is a model activist.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Hippie Wisdom

My Mercedes is in the garage ... too many bicycle spokes in the radiator for me to fix, so I am forced to take the bus. The Night Bus actually. Toronto, the City of Light, has an extensive and progressive system of public transit, unrivalled across North America. Only progressive countries, such as Libya and the Sudan have better systems of public transit.

Anyway, I digress. I am frequently inconvenienced by my activist work, and having to ride the Night Bus at five AM is but a small thing in my tireless campaign for social justice. In this simple humility for the cause, I remind myself of Ghandi.

This morning, I was impressed by the Diversity on the Bus. I got to sit in a seat that had a pillar rising up where my right leg should have been placed. Obviously, this is a spot reserved for Right-Legless-Canadians. It was a great place to sit, with plenty of left-leg room. There was no sticker reserving the seat for these Oppressed-Canadians, which is evidence of spending cutbacks by Mike Harris and his evil white male earth rapist junta that brutally slashed social spending.

At the back of the bus, sat a Gangbanger-Canadian. He was angry about the lack of opportunity in this racist shithole of a country. As a sign of protest, he wore a white leather jacket embossed with a re-occuring theme of the Ace of Spades. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was forced to massage his penis through his pants because of Mike Harris and his budget cutbacks. He listened to some loud progressive Hip Hop tune that spoke of tolerance, diversity, and mutual respect. His head bobbed in sympathy to the rich ghetto beat, broken only when he paused to spit onto the floor, or change tempo in the stroking of his male member.

As for the rest of the people on the bus, well, they were tired and had jobs. What sort of social parasite has a job? This is based on the racist concept that ability and effort should be rewarded. Anti-Socialist Seal Murdering Garbage! Why should these sleepy people in the tired blue jeans have a job when the noble Looter-Canadian does not have access to this same opportunity? It is unfair. What makes people with jobs so special that they get jobs? The logic eludes me. I think that jobs should be an entitlement. The angry Gangbanger Canadian should have access to a job, too. He has no ability, and that should not stand against him.

The last sort of person on the bus was the bus driver. Another Hitler in Training, eagerly investing his money in a Sugar Plantation in a Slave State. I did not even have to know a single fact about this despot handed a life of comfort and priviledge as he drove the Night Bus on the Wednesday Morning shift. Using my Hippie Wisdom I could prejudge a politically correct opinion about this tyrant whose only claim to the job opportunity of bus driver was that he had the ability to drive a bus. He probably thought he deserved to drive the darn bus just because he had some sort of education, some training, and a good driving record. Bah.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Hippie Wisdom

I had a fine luncheon over at the faculty dining room and listened to a speaker raise our consciousness about World Hunger. The roast beef could be cut with a spoon! The rolls were fresh from the faculty dining room bakery, and the butter was imported from France. What a feast, both for the mind and the body!

Diversity is another of the blessings of Hippie Wisdom. Thanks to Diversity we now can celebrate all voices from the Village Peoples of Mother Earth. Just look around you at all the rich creamy goodness that Diversity has wrought. This is proof that it works. Infact, criticism of any aspect of Diversity is wrong and hateful and should be shouted down. That way we can hear everyones voice. We can explore ourselves and become fulfilled. But no criticisms of Diversity allowed. I speak for all Hippie Activists when I say that those darn Christians, Heteronormatives, and White people, are inimical to Diversity.

Just the other day I was musing at a promotions meeting about the horrible effect that Christians, Heteronormatives, and White people have on the promotion of Diverse candidates into academia. I call it Abilityism. This silly idea that ability is important, when it is really the Appearance of Diversity that is important. We are unable to find diversity candidates to fill our faculty roster. I, and my two good activist friends, will have to work a few more years until, somehow, we can overthrow the oppressive fascist police state that murders people and find a suitable Wheelchair Trans-sexual Black Vegetarian who has a Ph.D in Queer Mathematics. I would have liked to retire, but The Movement for Diversity is more important. I now draw my pension as well as a pay cheque. Lacking suitable junior professors, I have to go to conferences overseas. This is hard on my waistline, as my health care team tells me. Everytime I go on one of these conferences, I get some woman pregnant, but Thank God for Abortion for Birth Control. It is a tough life, but I am doing it for Team Diversity.

When I see people going to the dentist, it is better they go to a Diversity Dentist than they go to a Dentist with Ability. When people go to the Doctor, it is better they go to a Diversity Dentist, one who looks like they do (provided it is neither Christian, nor Heteronormative, nor White) and speaks as they do (as long as it is not English, but Ebonic, Patois, Slang, or any form of French) than they go to a Doctor with Ability. When I see a bus driver, I hope he got his position based on racial preference. If I see a woman performing some important task, I hope it is a drag queen or some form of employment equity promotion. Appearance is more important than Ability.

Diversity is better than Ability. Anyone who criticises Diversity is wrong.

I, Fenris Badwulf, brought you this snippet of Hippie Wisdom

Hippie Wisdom

Like most Hippies, I am a member of the Baby Boomer generation. I look back with pride at the all the great accomplishments my fellow travellers have wrought.

Abortion as Birth Control I strongly believe in a Woman's Right to Choose. This right to choose what she does with her body starts right around the time see becomes capable of becoming pregnant by some Hippie-Canadian. Viable children in the third trimester do not have the right to choose. If all those viable third trimester women were allowed to live, well, it would be inconvenient for us men who got the women pregnant, now would it not?

Black Rights Just look at the numbers and you can see how the downtrodden are protected by social workers, teachers, activists, and midnight basketball facilitators. All in all, legions of helpful caring Hippie-Canadians are helping and caring for the downtrodden. Blacks have not actually made any signifigant gains in the work force or academia or industry, but that is because those lazy taxpayers have not spent even more money hiring Hippie-Canadians to be social workers, teachers, activists, and midnight basketball facilitators. All in all it is a great time to be Black in Canada, with smiling social workers to give you welfare cheques, smiling teachers to recommend social promotion when you fail, activists to shake their fists at the fascist police when you go on trial for crimes you are incapable of committing, and the happy refuge of midnight basketball ... the only way to stop crime. Yup.

Community Standards Everytime I look out my window before I unlock my front door I think how much better our communities are since Hippie Wisdom began to flow. My Guns are Illegal community boasts a lower rate of gun crime than it did during the Youth Gang War last year at this time. Infact, any social problems are caused by Mike Harris, and all social improvements are caused by giving a high paying job to some Hippie-Canadian.

I could go on and on, but I have to go to a Wine and Cheese fundraiser for Public Urination Rights Activists.

I, Fenris Badwulf, brings you this snippet of Hippie Wisdom

Hippie Wisdom

On the surface, there does not seem very much in Radical Islam that would appeal to Feminists, Gays, and Blacks. I talked to my Hippie friends about this over a few pipes of finest Ballinifad bud.

Get past the obvious, do not pay attention to the facts, Fenris, they said. When you start to get involved with facts, well, that leads to error of ability. Instead, just accept the fact that Feminists, Gays, and Blacks want Racial Islam to win, that they want our country to embrace Sharia.

Way cool. Cosmic. So, instead of wasting your spirit energy wondering why these other people are supporting an ideology that is bent on having them slowly tortured and killed, ask yourself the definitive Hippie Wisdom question: What is in it for me?

Radical Islam has a lot to offer Straight White Males.

Property rights. Under Islam, you guys will no longer lose half of your lifetime income to the mother of your children if she decides to divorce you. Heck, under Islam, her best deal is to flee with the clothes on her back. Some jurisdictions require beatings or, get this, you get to chase her out of the house, your house, throwing stones at her head. I know this is a popular idea among any man who has a job.

Pedophile Teachers. Right now, those pedophile teachers just get a few days in the lock up before being given a new identity and sent to prey on someone else’s sons in another town. Under Canada’s Celebrating Child Sodomy laws, the buggery spree only stops when these sex criminals die of old age. Under Islam, you get to choose the size of the tent peg you pound down the fiends ass. And, you get a few rounds of applause at the mosque!

Slavery. Islamic countries still recognize that property rights extend to the person, so humans as property, debt prisons, and indentured servants all exist in their multi-cultural diversity embracing Global Village. This is great! I know anyone who has been a foreman has wanted to take a whip, club, or cudgel to certain of his lazy underlings. Those people who do not fight for their freedom, but whine and cry for the benefits, are certain to end up as slaves under a new progressive Islamic Canadian republic.

Blasphemy. Up to now, straight white males have had to eat shit and look the other way as elements of their culture where mocked and ridiculed. Cultural genocide was ok, provided the Main Stream Media said so, with the approving nods of the Feminists, Gays, and/or Blacks. But, under Islamic Blasphemy laws, well, you really cannot offend the straight white males any more. No more mockery of straight white cultural values like The Protestant Work Ethic. Other values like You Don’t Work, You Don’t Eat, and the landlords credo No Pay - No Stay will demand respect … or you will get beheaded!

What a deal! Where do I sign up! It is easy to support Islamic Reform in Canada. The Feminists, Gays, and Blacks already are behind this progressive movement. On the surface, it does not make sense. But these progressives are very wise, and you should too. There are a lot of advantages in Radical Islam for the average Straight White Male. Just vote with your feet with your eye to your wallet!

Climbing Vimy Ridge this weekend? Perhaps you are an American, pondering going ashore at Tarawa. An unnaturally large number of our military are straight white males. I say to those soldiers: why are you fighting your brothers in Islam? What do you fight for? You are fighting for predatory spouses to take half your life time income in divorce. You are fighting for the freedom of perverts to rape your children. You are fighting for the growth of the Tapeworm-Peoples to waste what you make and earn. You are fighting for the deserters and cowards who will spit on you when you return. They will mock you at your funeral if you die; and they will keep all the good jobs for themselves if you live. Why are you fighting for this? Come on over to Islamic Fundamentalism! The Hippies think it is a good idea. They support Radical Islam. Maybe, you should too. This is Hippie Wisdom!


I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Hippie Wisdom

This is the story about another of my hippie friends.

Professor Jack, I will call him. He teaches anthropology at a university in central Ontario. It is either Waterloo, Western, Guelph, or Wilfrid Laurier, but that is all I will tell you. He left the United States at the height of the Vietnam War to take up a teaching position here in Canada. Thats what some people say; others say he is a deserter from the United States Marine Corps.

Back then, you were a deserter if you just did not show up after being drafted. That is what Professor Jack did. His college deferment had expired when he got his Master's degree. You may wonder why Jack fled his country, his Mom and Dad, the family farm where four generations of his ancestors grew up. One night, when Jack and I were drinking and toking, he told me: He did not want to die. He shrugged and made a nervous laugh, I am not a coward, technically, he said, I just did not want to fight. That is not desertion. Besides, I was young. I had a car. I was getting laid, I sold dope and was very popular with the girls. He has four albums of yellowed pictures of his early girlfriends. Jack liked them to dress up like Jane Fonda in Barbarella.

Dad did not understand Jack's decision. A veteran of World War Two, he stopped talking to Jack. He never said a word in his presence, he looked away. The first Thanksgiving that Jack snuck down to the family farm from Canada, Dad walked out of the house. He stood up at the table when he saw Jack come into the house, and walked up to the picture of Grandpa (a veteran of World War One) and Jack's Uncle (wounded in Korea) and put them face down on the mantlepiece, then he left. He went to a bar and got drunk, actually. He did not come home till Tuesday, after Jack had left. Dad started drinking, he said that the sharpnel in his arm was aching.

Jack loved his new life in Canada. At first, he was uncomfortable with the radical politics, but his love life was one long sexual encounter, lubricated with wine, whiskey, and hashish. Jack soon became an outspoken member of the Socialist Professors clique on campus. Being a deserter, people assumed he had abandoned his country for political reasons. Jack laughs at this, I left because I was Yellow, but the hippie chicks thought I was a Red, he says. He was making good money, he had a new car, a new house, and abortion was legal. Thank God for Abortion! Jack would say, Thank God for Abortion as Birth Control! It was funny.

In California, Mom divorced Dad. The new alimony laws meant that she got to keep the farm that had been in Jack's family four generations. Dad moved to a small apartment in town, close to the plant where he worked. The alimony payments were pretty high, but Mom figured she deserved it. Mom became a radical too, now that she did not have to work. She rented out the land instead of working it herself. Around the time the Viet Cong were sending the Boat People out to drown in the South China Sea, Dad died. Mom sold the farm and moved to Canada. It was closer to Jack, and she could get free health care for her arthritis.

Good citizens of Canada, Jack and his Mom vote in every Federal and Provincial election. They are not citizens, but that should not stop them from voting, now should it? Everybody in the University loves Jack and his Mom. They care for people. Jack is an outspoken partisan for a Woman's Right to Choose. Mom goes to all the Feminist meetings and writes letters. She has lots of money from Dad's pension and the sale of the farm, but she keeps that in a bank in Buffalo. She uses that money for her travelling to Europe and the occassional new car she buys her Jack. Otherwise, she gets social assistance and the best pickings from the University food bank, where she has been the volunteer manager for a decade.

Jack and his Mom. I got to know them when I was in University. They are an important part of the University experience. I only hope that you get to know them better, like I do. It is worth the effort, and you will be a better person. Such is wisdom.


I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Hippie Wisdom

LONDON, Ontario. Here at the world renowned progressive Western University, I had the opportunity to talk to Professor Rainbow Smith at his retirement dinner. The Professor is leaving the Department of Gay Negro Biochemistry and there is no one to replace him. It is a bittersweet day.

Professor Smith came to the faculty of Science back in the wonderful Hippie decade. Back then you got your position based on political correctness, and not ability. The department was new, an attempt by the struggling political correctness movement to raise consciousness by offering science credits that did not humiliate students with ability based expectations. Students of color, of diverse gender identities, with personality disorders, learning disabilities, or incarcerated felons, were encouraged to take credits at progressive departments like Gay Negro Biochemistry. This would level the playing field and right past wrongs. Sadly, government funding was never adequate for the minimum demands of the department and it could never show the results demanded by The Man. Rainbow recalls that, at a bare minimum, he needed a teaching assistant, a research librarian, a personal assistant, two tutors, a peer counsellor, and a social worker to meet the needs of his diversity friendly utopia that celebrated all voices. The professor had to make do with only a personal assistant, usually a first year co-ed.

Tragedy has added to the burden of Professor Smith. His first wife, Star Child, died of a Heroin overdose on their two year sabbatical to northern Burma. Five years ago, his fiance, Earthmoon, died of a heroin overdose after a peace march protesting outrageous Liberal Party defence spending. Last year, his teaching assistant died of a heroin overdose while marking term papers. She was only eighteen years old. M'bongo M'binga M'bunga, his star pupil since the early seventies, was brutally arrested by police on a trumped up charge of living off the avails of prostitution based on unconstitutional video, telephone, financial and eyewitness evidence. M'bongo M'binga M'bunga was just about to complete his undergraduate degree after years of patient tutoring and private one on one sessions with the professor.

Patron of the Arts, Professor Smith contributed several winning essays in the Canada is a Racist Shithole category for the Canada Day celebrations on campus. Students always remember how he always carried a lighter and a can of lighter fluid for impromptu Canada Flag burnings, especially when he was drunk or stoned. Always thinking of those less fortunate, the Professor would let Art students look at his collection of European Masters, including several Picasso and Renoir sketches, and of course, his popular slide shows of his yearly Fall pilgramages to the museums of Europe as well as his annual spring time trips to Africa. Smith was a man of the people! He always told others about poverty, famine, corruption, and oppression in the third world and asked: what were they doing about it?

Champion of Free Speech, Rainbow quietly spearheaded the closing of the school newspaper and its replacement with a news release collective under control of the Radical Student Socialists Collective. He championed the exclusive hiring of diversity and multi-cultural candidates in research positions in Biochemistry until the big laboratory fire and subsequent biological contamination of the Bob Rae Laboratory Building. The big building is sealed to this day, a fitting tribute to the heroism of Professor Rainbow Smith, who, at great risk to his own life, pushed the one surviving wheelchair bound mongoloid diversity opportunities student from out of the reaches of the slimy tentacles of the mutant foot fungus in Room 113.

Politcally Impartial The Professor never interfered in the democratic process. He gave money to the Socialists every year and encouraged his students to do the same. During elections, he gave two hours for one lecture time credit for political volunteers with the Socialists, even though this was not in any way related to Biochemistry. Popular with students, who could rack up the requisite 36 hours of lecture time in only two days of leafleting or political telemarketing. Astute students could acquire full time status after two weeks of picketing, and then live well on the student loans and grants gravy train, all thanks to the progressive Professor Smith.

All politically correct village peoples are going to miss Professor Rainbow Smith. It is a sad sunset as I watch the Red Flag of the International Socialists lowered on the Campus Square by the Diversity Cadre with only the flickering flames of the burning Canadian Flags to light up the tears on their multi-cultural faces.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.