Meet the new boss...

The people have spoken and Fenris Badwulf is now the new Mayor of Mitchieville (soon to be renamed Fenrisville). Realizing way too late that I was backing the wrong horse I will now do what public servants do best - kiss ass.

Fenris Badwulf is a man of the people. His prune mush has nourished the less fortunate souls of Mitchieville (soon to be renamed Fenrisville). His devotion to Set, The Snake God, has provided a spiritual example for us all. He provides shelter and canned salmon to our homeless raccoon Canadians. Fenris cares. Most importantly of all:

Fenris Badwulf is mighty!

This post is offered as my tribute to the greatness that is Fenris Badwulf. All hail Fenrisville!

Minister of Munitions – A Victims Perspective

A disturbing trend is emerging on the pages of Mitchieville. Over the past two weeks Lisa Foggy of *BITCH* and her boot-lick dmorris have made hurtful references to my sexual orientation ( here and here ). I want to be clear so that these allegations made by the supporters of *BITCH* can be refuted by the supporters of the Campaign to Re-Elect Mayor Mitch: my name is Reg, I am the Minister of Munitions, and I am not gay.

Yes, it is true that my Executive Assistant Carl Woodcock is an attractive man. But “Hot Carl”, as he is affectionately referred to at City Hall, is as straight as any man I have ever known. It is also true that my able subordinates Andrew Savage and Dan Sullivan share an apartment but what is wrong with that? There are plenty of men out there who live with other men so that they can save up money for week long vacations in San Francisco and South Beach, Miami. Who among us doesn’t want to visit these places?

Before any allegations of sex discrimination at the Munitions Ministry can be laid, I want to note that we have a new intern on our Communication staff. I trust that all of Mitchieville will join me in welcoming Jezzika to the Munitions Ministry. Jezzika is here for the semester from London where she has been integral part of the progressive student relations program at the university there. Please join Carl, Dan, Andrew and I this Thursday night at Big Al’s for cocktails as we welcome Jezzika to Mitchieville.

What bothers me the most about this campaign of slander is the effect these allegations of homosexuality have on the important men who work in the Raw Materials Production Division for the Munitions Ministry – our miners. Every morning these men plunge into hot dark holes where they pound away the hours in groups of four our five until they pull out at the end of the day dirty, sweaty, and drained of all their energy. These rough and tumble rouges need to be confident that their minister has their back and that he is not distracted by the back door shenanigans of *BITCH* during the 2007 Mitchieville Election.

I hope that this message of tolerance and respect reaches the organizers of *BITCH* so that I can be free from this harassment and better do my job as Minister of Munitions. It is time for *BITCH* to take their homophobia out of the closet and expose themselves for all of Mitchieville to see, especially dmorris.

The Mayor’s victory on Election Day is a common goal we should all get behind and I for one will bend over backwards to see that he wins. Soon the election campaign will climax and The Mayor’s joy will be spread all over Mitchieville. I speak for everyone at the Munitions Ministry when I say we all look forward to when that day comes.

Sincerely yours,

Reginald ‘Reg’ Reginaldson
Minister of Munitions
Mitchieville

Fenris Badwulf, caring person, part 2

It is not often that I get to help my friends out, using the powers and resources of my elected office, but when these opportunities occur, I just have to seize them. After all, what builds a Global Village better than a spider's web of mutual obligation and grey-area morality?

My friend Rug (not his real name, if I used his real name you might recognize it, and some nosy meddling do-gooder might just start being nosy and meddling around which would interfere with my non-good agenda of total world domination) was, at the time, a middle level bureaucrat, in a tenured government position. When Rug came to me he was upset that his advancement from middle-class government bureaucrat to upper-middle-class government bureaucrat was not going to happen.

Now, conveniently, I happened to have in my desk a copy of Rug's promotion orders, so I knew that his fears were for naught. But as I listened to Rug describe his important job responsibilites in the Landfill Inspectorate of the Federal Government, I realized that it would be better for everyone involved, especially myself, that Rug and I develop a team approach to this problem. I agreed with myself not to tell Rug that his promotion was a done thing, and Rug agreed to allow me to continue my dumping of asbestos construction waste into road construction fill. It was a win-win situation. Rug was getting what he wanted, and I would get what I wanted. Situational ethics at its finest!

The only fly in the vegetarian omelet was two people, which I shall call Xenon-57, and Aztec-443. Rug shared his feelings with me that Xenon-57 and Aztec-443 were opposing his seniority based advancement. Xenon-57 was the desk-jockey using sneaky, underhanded tactics, and Aztec-443 was the employment equity candidate who had all the advantages of being under-represented, lacking ability, and having a criminal record for fraud. Rug could only offer ability, education, military service, competence, loyalty, and a work ethic, which is but a pair of twos in the on-line poker game of politically correct career advancement.

Xenon-57 was dealt with first. An anonymous gift of a weekend of feasting and frolic at The Pleasure Center, Toronto's foremost whorehouse, soon found its way into Xenon-57's grubby paws. Like a Bonobo going to his aunt's tree, he was off to Toronto like a shot. There he was drugged, shaved, and woke up in one of the personality readjustment pods of the Morbid Obesity Clinic of Kensington. The picture here is that of the beautiful Leslie, administrator of this facility. Here, looking rather emo, she is using her boot to push the head of some fatty into a vat of the house specialty, cold dishwater soup. Xenon-57 quickly changed his attitude towards whatever Leslie wanted him to change his attitude about, using traditional eastern medicine * . After that, a few hypnotic suggestions were implanted * , then a cleansing mind wipe * . Five pounds thinner, and prone to nightmares, Xenon-57 returned to work the next Monday.

The file on Aztec-443 that I showed Rug showed that his religious beliefs embraced a life after death, and the utility of suffering to burn off bad karma. He also had a rare blood type, which made him a high value organ donor. Rug and I agreed that, for the greatest good for the greatest number (Rug and I being two, and Aztec-443 being only one, which is less than two) that Aztec-443 should be recycled. I showed Rug the file of little girl who needed a liver transplant. We both cried with happiness: there would be three people helped with a little co-operation from Aztec-443.

Taking advantage of the Pride festival in Toronto (and Maximinus Thrax automotive skills), we disabled the seatbelt and door release mechanisms in Aztec-443 's car. He screamed and pounded on the windshield of his car from the moment we started to hitch it to a tow truck, to the moment we arrived at the abandoned pickle factory I use in Scarborough as a telemarketing call center. After a short ceremony, Aztec-443 was duct taped to a wheel chair and made to walk the plank, a ritual celebrating my Wrecker heritage * . Rug and I both laughed as Aztec-443 made his final AAAAaaaaahhh before he landed gently on the broken concrete five stories below with a squooshy sound like a watermelon being hit by a baseball bat. The assembled telemarketers learnt a good lesson too.

A waiting team from soon had Aztec-443 recycled into steaming fresh transplantable organs. A few weeks later Rug and I cashed the life insurance policy I had thoughfully placed. Over a bottle of Glencoe single malt whiskey, we agreed to donate a hundred dollars each to the Liberal party. Because, we care.

Perhaps, in your busy moments between now and the next election for Mayor of Mitchieville, you will pause to reflect on how I, Fenris Badwulf, have taken a leadership role in helping people. Perhaps I could help you become happier or achieve your goals. Everyone has their price. Would you be Rug, Aztec-443, or Xenon-57 in the weeks to come? Perhaps you just wish that nosy meddling do-gooders would mind their own business and stop using soup out of a can? With your votes and my dystopian vision, we can fill the world with laughter, your laughter. You want what you deserve. Let me help someone else to give it to you.

I, Fenris Badwulf, other-sacrificing devotee of Set, The Snake God, tireless servant of You, The People of Mitchieville, dictated this to my hard-working minion ikthis, who crawls in my presence.

Fenris Badwulf, caring person no.1

In the weeks and months in the time leading to the next election for Mayor of Mitchieville, I, Fenris Badwulf, would like to take a moment of your time, you, The People of Mitchieville, to share with you some of the things that I have done to make the world a better place. I think my record speaks for myself, just as the lack of record speaks for the other candidates who actually hate you. Me, I care.

My friend Walter was having a spot of bad luck. As a German-Canadian, his dreams of owning his own small engine repair business * to support his interest in things mechanical * * * had become bogged down in oppressive taxation, incomprehensible regulationism, and a lack of compassion on the part of Canadian Society. He was sad. He was unaccomodated.

Lucky for Walter, he has Fenris Badwulf for a friend. I suggested to Walter that he assume the identity of, well, lets just call him Xenon-18, a person who had just checked into the Morbid Obesity Clinic of Kensington * , a business I happen to own (the current head caregiver being the talented and resourceful Leslie * ).

I showed Walter the file on Xenon-18 ... a rich bourgeois with a weight problem, who also was a key cog in the London Roads department making over 100,000 a year. Because I care, I would allow Walter to have all of Xenon-18's identity papers, his credit cards, and the keys to his car and house. This would allow Walter to enjoy his income, his accumulation of debt, and the use and abuse of his house and car. Surely a few weeks of this bureaucrats lavish income would lift Walter out of debt and into the small engine repair shop of his dreams.

As an added bonus, that would help everybody, I suggested to Walter (as he sipped his tumbler of whiskey) that he could help me by using Xenon-12 's signing authority to purchase a few non-existant truckloads of road material, using a non-existant fleet of trucks, for some pothole filling that Xenon-12 was responsible for in his duties as Chef de Pothole for London, Ontario. In the science of Economics, this is called creating wealth. From the nothing of the non-existant road metal, the nothingness of the non-existant trucking firm, would come the hard reality of cheques, purchase orders, and union jobs. I would share 27.37 percent of the gross with Walter, with the understanding that Xenon-12 would pay any legal or financial penalty, if our little scheme came afoul of nosy meddling do-gooders * .

Well, several years have passed now. Everybody is happier, thanks to Fenris Badwulf.

Walter is happy. He has gained weight. He drives a fine German sedan. He has dinner at his Mom's house on Saturday. He supports liberal causes. He visits prostitutes for fetish sex every Thursday, and reads to the blind on Sunday.

Xenon-12 is happy. He has lost weight. He sleeps on a sheet of dirty cardboard every night. He has a stick to clobber rats with. He eats them raw, it makes him stronger. Leslie wants to let him become a telemarketer.

Leslie is happy. She has found feminist fulfilment in making others suffer for her emotionally based theories. She can watch them spend their lives in darkness, in sleepless nights fighting off hungry rats while still others pay for it. It makes her laugh and laugh.

Fenris is happy. I have other peoples money to spend, spend, spend. This way I can help more people, like I have helped Walter , Leslie, and Xenon-12.

The People of Mitchieville are happy. They know that the gaping potholes and road cratering way far away in London reduces the speed that cars travel at, which reduces green house gases, and makes the roads safe for tree growth. People in London are discouraged from using their polluting, poison gas spewing engines of death, allowing the People of Mitchieville to use theirs more.

I am Fenris Badwulf, I care.

Perhaps, in your busy moments between now and the next election for Mayor of Mitchieville, you will pause to reflect on how I, Fenris Badwulf, have taken a leadership role in helping people. Perhaps I could help you become happier or achieve your goals. Everyone has their price. Would you be Walter, or Xenon-12 in the weeks to come? Perhaps you just wish that nosy meddling do-gooders would mind their own business and just ignore a few potholes. Nobody wants a nosy meddling do-gooder in the office of Mayor of Mitchieville. With your votes and my dystopian vision, we can fill the world with laughter, your laughter. You want what you deserve. Let me help someone else to give it to you.

I, Fenris Badwulf, other-sacrificing devotee of Set, The Snake God, tireless servant of You, The People of Mitchieville, dictated this to my hard-working minion ikthis, who lives in fear.