Archives

All posts by MrServomechanism


 

 

Sitting in Bumpy’s Café recently with my computer, I chanced to glance up, surprised to notice a couple seated at a table nearby. I had thought I was alone in the café. The two were so visually unimpressive that I hadn’t even realized they were there. I studied the faces more closely and certain minutiae immediately stood out. I felt, once more, the all-too-familiar anger wash over me. There were many noticeable problems with the duo, but the main issue concerned the male (so-called.) Was it a man, or a woman or perhaps someone ‘transitioning’ to a new ‘gender identity’ (experiencing gender dysphoria)? Was it a homosexual? After a few minutes, I decided that it was probably a male, albeit an incredibly insipid and pathetic example of one.

The man was perhaps 18 years old. He wore a docile, defeated expression, out of place on someone in the prime of his life. His face seemed to express only boredom, nervousness and casual resignation, like a man in a nursing home staring at a fuzzy television screen from a wheelchair. Perhaps most noticeably, the man’s face was slack, hairless (if he shaved) and bore no telltale indicators of suffering, no lines that denoted any extreme past emotion or struggle. He struck me as completely gutless.

So too were his hands supple and washed; they had likely been manicured. His hands were entirely free of callouses, cuts or any dirt beneath the nails. This was a man who had seldom if ever been compelled to work hard, a man lacking the mettle of determination and a man who had certainly never been in a fight. He bore no masculine attributes whatsoever, and it occurred to me, sadly, that he was probably far closer to the post-post-modern male ideal of today than I.

The woman accompanying him was equally useless, with drab, loose-fitting clothing, a dull expression and an androgynous hairstyle. Her face was unadorned and she wore no jewellery. I asked myself if they were a couple, brother & sister, or perhaps even strangers sharing a table? There was absolutely no way to tell, as they seemed to have no affinity for each other, unless of course their frequent texting was actually between them (entirely possible, since this was all they seemed interested in.) When they did speak, they barely made eye contact and droned on in inflectionless tones. I could tell the conversation was awkward and worthless without even hearing the words. The discussion was obviously mere afterthought between these Millennials; they were clearly unused to using their voices to communicate.

The three words that sprung instantly to mind for me were bored, insipid and weak. These people, I thought, herald from a lost generation who will undeservingly inherit the Earth, briefly, before the West falters and plummets back into the shitabyss of the third world with a whimper and not a bang. Each time I see Millennials, clad in their skinny jeans, backpacks, hoodies and cheap shoes I can’t help feeling sad. Their passive postures and slumped shoulders give such a strong impression of weakness and apathy that I wonder how they manage to get out of bed at all on a daily basis.

My mind wanders back to a unique conversation I had on an LRT platform recently. I noticed a man carrying a strange heavy steel briefcase and asked what he was handling. He saw me staring at the case and explained that he was a private contractor, that his job was ‘hazing coyotes’.

“What’s that?” I asked him, for all that came to mind was the ‘hazing’ of juniors in high school or maybe a fraternity or sorority evaluating a new candidate.

“Essentially”, he explained, “coyotes have lately become a lot less fearful of humans. They’ve been venturing into public parks and there have been higher than average reports of coyotes attacking people’s pets. The coyotes are becoming uninhibited and are failing to maintain their distance from people and their children. There is some real worry of future human attacks, so that’s where I come in”, he said with a smile.

“So what do you do about ‘em?” I asked with interest. I suddenly imagined that the briefcase must contain firearms or perhaps traps and nets, that the man must be a hunter.

“Well basically”, he said, “I go out into parks with my case and a bait dog. The dog’s not in the case, he chuckled. A bait dog is a fluffy little thing that attracts coyotes. I walk around with the dog and watch for coyotes to venture out of the brush. When a coyote tries to attack, I first employ an air horn (the same kind boaters use) to stun the animal, then I take my paintball gun and fire a few tracer balls at it to give it the sensation of physical discomfort.”

“You… shoot the coyotes with paintballs?”, I asked dubiously. I had to stifle a smile, pretending to wipe my nose and coughing.

“It doesn’t hurt them”, he quickly added [obviously people had brought this up in the past], “it just stings a little. They remember the sensation and then are much less inclined to venture near in the future. I go out and do this several times a month and it helps keep the coyotes fearful of humans.”

I am thoroughly unimpressed by this time. ‘Unbelievable’, I think to myself. Coyotes are unafraid of humans now. Why would they be? The fat, slumped, undisciplined people herding in city parks are a frail substitute for the proud individuals humanity was once composed of. Coyotes were once terrified of people, who, they knew from experience, could be randomly cruel and lethal. But the shared collective fear faded with time, and coyotes are getting the upper hand… a predictable outcome.

 

 

I’m reminded of a t-shirt I saw recently that read “Bro, do you even lift?” The answer is no. People now require a man with an air horn, a doggie and a paintball gun to do their heavy lifting. They can’t protect themselves, their pets or their children from wild animals. They no longer carry boomsticks or knives and lack the will to use them even if they did. The legacy of our ancestors is starting to diminish as we ourselves weaken, fatten and dumb ourselves down with marijuana and liquor.

It occurs to me that the real, longer lasting solution to the Coyote problem might be to hire a horrible bastard of a man in a hand-stitched coyote skin trench coat to go out and inflict gibbitude on the coyote population with impunity. With an assortment of firearms and mechanisms of pain, the unwashed, bearded mountain man would be tasked with conveying horror through incredibly swift acts of violence. He would kill many and injure many more, leaving a wake of carcasses and maimed, terrified coyotes wherever he strolled. The ones left alive would have a sweat soaked rag mashed in their faces, or perhaps the man’s underarm. There would be an instant connection between the humiliation inflicted and the revolting human scent. The terrible experience would leave deep scars (real and figurative) and permanent aversion to people. In modern vernacular, he would leave the coyotes with a lifetime of ‘PTSD’.

But such a thing would today be considered “animal cruelty”, no matter how effective, would it not?. I jokingly told a female colleague from my work about the ‘hazing’ and how ridiculous it seemed to me. She instantly replied, “that’s so meean!”. When asked in what way it was mean, she replied, “I can’t believe they shoot them with paintballs, that’s so awful… those poor coyotes.”

When I told her my plan involving the horrible man in the coat she went pale and covered her mouth with both hands, as though she might be sick, closing her eyes. As if choreographed, she turned away, trying to distance herself from the distasteful thoughts, and walked away. As she stormed haughtily off it occured to me that closet altruists and animal rights activists have no capacity to hear anything resembling truth. In the immortal words of TJ Hooker: “What’s the definition of a conservative? A liberal who’s been mugged”. It always takes a violent incident involving one of their dogs (not children, of course) to strengthen the resolve of left wing dummies. They always have to endure a terrible experience or two to begin to get it.

It’s like the time I absentmindedly announced to colleagues while on a break that I longed for a violent death rather than old age and a wasting disease. Inconceivable. People haven’t the belly for such unsettling words nowadays, they don’t want to be exposed to such dark, uncomfortable thoughts. They have no frame of reference that prepares them for the words of damaged people. They haven’t experienced pain or hardship or extreme emotion of any kind. How could they understand?

Again the immortal words of Alice Cooper spring to mind:

The world needs guts
The world needs power
Show me some blood
Show me some cuts
Show me some scars
The world needs guts
The world needs us… [1]

The world needs guts. The world needs power. God, those lyrics cycle through my mind a lot lately. It occurs to me that humanity is on the downswing of entropy… it’s falling beneath the wheel of civilization so to speak. It occurs to me also that the further afield we move from the harsh unpleasantness of survival the faster we fade as a human tribe. As we dull our senses, stuff our faces and allow technology to take the driver’s seat in our lives the less we resemble real human beings at all.  The more we attempt to quell the ruthlessness required of us, as it was of our forefathers, the softer we become.

As the gender confused replace sexually confident men and women, as metrosexual socialists replace people of strong conviction and conservative ideals, the easier it becomes to see how it’s all going to end. A fallen world filled with self-entitled closet altruists, a world populated by AIDS-ridden LGBTQ2S freaks. Like a global Pripyat, coyotes and other wild animals will once more walk freely through the crumbling foundations of our cities, unencumbered by people with air horns, paintball guns, bait dogs… and guts too.

 


 

 

 

During the Canadian Federal election of 2015 I remember passing through an intersection in my car. As I glided past the stop sign I noticed that somebody had added a crooked sticker beneath the word ‘stop’. All the sticker said, in bold letters, was a single name: Harper. This mantra, “STOP HARPER” (and thru proxy his Conservatives), was the refrain that defined the election that year. I recall thinking later that the word was literally on the street, that it seemed inevitable that the Conservatives would lose, and lose big.

It therefore came as no surprise to me when the Liberals, under the leadership of Justin Trudeau, claimed 39.5% of the vote and “picked up 148 seats, easily the biggest numerical increase for a Canadian party since Confederation”. [1] Harper was effectively “STOPPED”, and his period in office, dating back to 2006, was suddenly finished. Youthful Trudeau had won the 42nd Canadian Federal Election and went on to become the new Prime Minister of Canada.

Many attempted to explain the upset, and every news agency postulated what had gone wrong for Harper. Some said it was because Harper was seen to be ‘against democracy’, with a steady stream of scandals (such as the ‘Robocalls’ incident), and actions that put into question their parties’ integrity.

Others said it was Harper’s disdain for the media, citing the fact that he seldom granted interviews or exposed himself to situations likely to grant news agencies the upper hand or make him look foolish. Perhaps he was right to avoid random, unscripted or ‘open’ question periods. I personally will always remember Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s early appearances on ‘This Hour Has 22 Minutes’, especially those featuring Marg Delahunty. Boy, did he ever look like a stuffed shirt most of the time. Harper thereby began giving interviews “on the condition that the questions were restricted to one topic, such as the historic importance of D-Day. This meant that he could get valuable media exposure without having to handle queries on such embarrassing topics as the Senate expenses scandal.” [2]

But I believe that the real reason was much simpler than those suggested by the pundits and the political theorists. The real reason (coupled with the fact that Harper came across as a bored, dispassionate and uncomfortable most of the time), was that the opposition brought in a celebrity just in time for the election. And, ignoring the fact that it was prostitution politics at its worst, they chose someone who behaved like a cosmopolitan metrosexual. Female voters breathed a collective sigh. Young voters finally had someone to whom they could relate.

The name Trudeau had immediate associations for most people, conjuring images of the plaid suit wearing, sharp-tongued, exceptionally intelligent Bolshevik, Pierre Trudeau. Regardless of the fact that Pierre had arguably done astonishingly bad things to Canada and her economy while acting as Prime Minister, the name had a flashy connotation and a certain celebrity mystique attached to it. Trudeau, most agree, was a shaker and a mover, a radical who got things done, for better or for worse.

And Justin Trudeau, with his coiffed hair and devilish good looks, played the role of a celebrity very nicely. Indeed, one could say that young Trudeau, “who taught math, French, humanities and (most importantly) drama between 1999 and 2001 at Vancouver’s West Point Grey Private School” [3] was the perfect choice.

 

I recall seeing a Justin Trudeau commercial during the election campaign entitled “Real Change Now”. It featured him speaking before thousands of people at Liberal rally, delivering a movingly passionate speech about uniting Canada and replacing fear (of others) with hope. This speech, I recall, more than anything else, made it clear to me that Justin Trudeau was destined to win. Despite having no political experience, something often criticized when describing Trump, he played the part with perfect dexterity and deftness. Click To Watch People swooned when he was elected, like teenage girls at a boy band concert.

And so, we got what we deserved: a performer, not a leader, an actor, not a Prime Minister. Since this is what so many people voted for, Canadians (mostly young and female) were quite happy to indulge in his flamboyance and pretend that his antics were like episodic installments of a favourite sitcom. The selfies, his soft and cozy socialism and over-the-top feminism, the showboating, the hugs for newly immigrated Syrians, the goofy print socks… all of it was not just tolerated, but applauded. We as a nation could smile and chuckle ad infinitum as he wandered into people’s campgrounds shirtless [4] for photo ops with wedding parties or paraded with the homosexuals wearing a pink shirt and temporary rainbow maple leaf tattoo on his face. [5]

As with actors, Canadians also seemed infinitely willing to tolerate and forget his endless stockpile of stupid gaffes. Comments about the “budget balancing itself” [6], statements about how ISIS fighters can be “an extraordinarily powerful voice” in Canada [7], the incident in which he forgot that Alberta was a province during a Canada 150 speech [8]. There was the time he said that he wanted Canadians to “Stay angry”, that “all must pay” for Omar Khadr being awarded $10.5 million in reparations for his terrible Guantanamo torment. [9]. And let’s not forget his pledge to “Grow the economy from the heart outwards”. [10] As a writer for RWN, I winced at each increasingly dumb exclamation. I have been constantly revolted by just how much nonsense the Canadian public can tolerate while still celebrating Trudeau.

Yet everyone hates a bad actor, and that’s just what Justin has become.  Trudeau’s most recent word usage gaffe has painfully illustrated to even the most ardent Trudeau enthusiast that the man is a politically correct turd. He hit bottom for many when he corrected a woman’s usage of the word ‘mankind’ during a Q & A session saying, “we like to say peoplekind, not necessarily mankind” in early February. [11] Although he later declared that this was spoken in jest, many people took the incident at face value for what it was, namely, a government representative mandating which politically correct pronouns a citizen should use in free speech. Some felt that this was creating a dangerous precedent, and began to glimpse the kind of statist ideals Trudeau was promoting.

And then came the infamous week-long trip to India, what came to be labelled as a ‘total disaster’, and a ‘cosplay-riddled embarrassment’ from February 17th – 23rd. An actor’s choices of attire can be oh-so important to his performance. Trudeau, our ever-chic Prime Minister and his family, donned traditional Indian costumes for the journey (as he had similarly many times in the past), despite the fact that nobody in India wears such gaudy attire anymore. Many regarded our fearless leader’s clothing choices as cultural appropriation, a cheap gimmick to help sway the Canadian Indian voter base, or, as playing dress-up on yet another tax paid vacation. Strutting and fretting (and sometimes even dancing) his time upon the stage, our Prime Minister’s actions were in fact, more farcical theatrics than leadership once more.

The Prime Minister made every blunder possible during this dubiously work-related family vacation, the worst involving Jaspal Atwal, “a Canadian national of Indian heritage, who in 1987 was sentenced to 20 years in a Canadian court for his part in the attempted murder of a visiting Indian state minister.” [12] An invitation was extended to the man, but then later withdrawn when the “error” came to light. To make matters worse, outlets then turned up photographs featuring Atwal standing with Sophie Trudeau, Justin’s wife, at a reception held in Mumbai. Our Prime Minister and his family, it seems, likes to keep with terrorists, dictators, and communist leaders: from Omar Khadr to Fidel Castro to Xi Jinping.

It’s time to face facts and admit that we as a Nation have elected a clown to lead us, a vacuous sock puppet controlled by socialist bureaucrat handlers. We have made a grave mistake, far graver than the American’s perceived ‘struggle’ with Donald Trump (as propagated and endorsed by CNN.) Let us pray that Canada’s love affair with Justin Trudeau is wearing off and that during the next election, in 2019, we as a nation can avoid the temptation to vote for a talking hairdo instead of a leader. I dearly hope to see ‘STOP TRUDEAU’ street signs appear (complete with a caricature of Trudeau’s face, looking suitably asinine beneath the word STOP.) For God’s sake Canada, we may not get a second chance to salvage our country’s pride, her economy and what is left of her dwindling sovereign inhabitants.

Do something.

 

 


 

 

Whenever I stumble across the mindless propaganda of cultural apathy, that is, politically correct nonsense championing limitless immigration, seemingly without restriction, I feel the familiar disgust that so often suffocates me, like a filthy plastic shopping bag stretched tight over my face. I feel an overwhelming rage course through me; I feel saturated by it, by the words of the ubiquitously arrogant, greedy people who subscribe to doublethink. On this particular day it’s to be found within the Sunday edition of the Calgary Sun. I am shocked to discover a nasty bit of Liberal political propaganda subverting my right-leaning copy. I refer, specifically, to an article written by a “Liberal Strategist” and former Dalton McGuinty drudge by the name of Jim Warren.

Warren, quite obviously a ‘progressive’ (and undoubtedly a Neo-Marxist), has penned a troubling article entitled ‘Liking the new immigration policy’ that nicely encapsulates the sickening Liberal tendency urging open borders in Canada. Seldom have I read such a concise and blatant endorsement for Canadian mass Immigration. Seldom have I seen a summation that so casually, yet purposely touches upon so many of the mentally ill statist proponent clichés masquerading as truth today.

Warren launches in with an explanation of the new “and bold” Liberal government initiative to increase the number of immigrants allowed into Canada over the next three years. “One Million new immigrants will be admitted during that time”, a breathtaking number almost beyond belief. Yet the CBC confirms it, with almost hysterical enthusiasm, as the news is released [1], so I know it must be real.

The cause of this, Warren goes on to say, is not the election of Justin Trudeau and his merry band of fool Liberals. Rather, the grounds for the necessity, he explains, is faltering Canadian demographics. He explains that in 2015 senior citizens (those aged 65+) outnumbered children (beneath 14 years old) in Canada. This population gap invariably necessitates a migrant increase in the decades to follow, according to StatsCan.

And this upsurge in the aged naturally portends fewer people entering the work force, fewer people paying staggeringly high income taxes, and still fewer people “generating income to support more retirees whose life expectancy is longer than ever before”. For Liberals it always comes down to the money (yours and mine, not theirs) that necessarily must be spent, the social programs and the wealth redistribution for the benefit of the have nots, in this case, the elderly. Elder Canadians have a standard of living that they have come to expect, and we daren’t disrupt their utopian fantasy, even if it is ultimately destructive to everyone. The elderly, of course, are not the real demographic requiring drastic financial support, only the most politically correct. Let us look to the Natives, the homeless and… recent immigrants… for the real beneficiaries of the welfare system’s benevolent hand.

Making matters even worse, Warren persists, the [unwise] people of Canada are inexplicably “choosing” to have fewer children. They are “tending to be older and waiting longer than ever to have children. That’s if they decide to have children, as fewer and fewer Canadians are choosing to have children”. Such a mysterious phenomenon; he gives no explanation as to why this could possibly have come to pass. It’s just a fact, he seems to be affirming, impossible to change, like the waxing and waning of deer populations in nature or, in Liberal terminology, the melting of the polar ice caps due to carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. He seems to imply that Canadians just aren’t fertile enough to have kids somehow.
Continue Reading