A Call to Action

I am to militancy what Kraft Dinner to haute cuisine. Having said that, my milquetoast blood is curdling of late.

The City of Vancouver's outside workers, including garbage-people, are on strike. On the 19th of July the lord said: Lo, let it grow sunny in this sodden town, and the trash grow ripe in the streets, while the City payeth for the Olympics, the RAV line, and highway expansion.

The RAV line is, for those who have seen it, a very long, very deep trench through the middle of the city. It will be perfect for transporting people in a straight line from A to B once it is complete and my grandchildren are paying for it. I guess it is more important to look good for strangers in 2010 than to ensure the working folks have competitive pay. For now, the RAV line looks like a perfect place to store trash while we wait out the strike.

To the fence, people! And bring your diapers.

PMO

Stepping Out

I'm the man.

This is not a rebel blog... no, wait. This is not a spinoff blog, this is the dumping site for my toxic brain pellets. The "not suitable for a family blog which is run under my wife's pseudonymous self"-type stuff which curdles the marrow of those whose marrow is ripe for curdling. Now you the discerning and (with any luck) non-existent reader can discover the deep thoughts and deep seated fears which make me tick, which define me as a person and which, of course, illustrate the fine and nuanced human being I have become. Like Lemmy, but without the beautiful voice.

Yeah, heavy stuff like: Why can't I find jeans with legs short enough, fucking jeans Nazis! Or: Why are they cutting down trees all the time? Fucking tree murdering Stasi! Or: My cat just shat in the beet patch! Fucking Khmer Rouge of the garden!

So sit back, close your eyes, and go to sleep.

p-man