You’ve seen the pictures.  You’ve seen the video clips.  You’ve read the propaganda.  You’ve heard the protests.  And it’s all bunk.  There is nothing wrong whatever with killing baby seals.

    Most of you have never actually seen a baby seal.  If you woke up in the middle of the night and found one beside your bed, you’d scream so loud you’d wake up the whole building.  You’d call the police.  You’d sue your landlord.  You sure as hell would not keep it as a pet.

    Out in Labrador, nobody likes seals very much unless they’re dead.  Then you can sell the skins or make soup out of the flippers.  But mainly the Labradorans have to fish to make a living because there’s no other economy.  Seals eat fish.  With fish stocks declining, the seals are an economic threat.  So you have to kill them.

    But there are other good reasons.  Baby seals stink, they spread diseases, and they attack people!   You didn’t read about that in the save-the-seals ads, did you?  Oh, no.  And the politically correct media don’t want to report it.  Baby seals have been known to kill and eat small children!  Ask the Eskimoes.  They’ll tell you so.  And so will anyone in Labrador.

    Why do baby seals get bashed in the head?  Why does it have to be so gruesome?  Because the Canadian government makes it too difficult and expensive to own guns, that’s why!  So you get a club or a pick axe, what else?

    Animal rights activists act like killing baby seals is the worst atrocity imaginable, but they don’t say boo about the Chinese eating cats and dogs!  (The word we are trying to think of begins with “h” and ends with “y.”)  Mustn’t attack the Chinese.  That would be racist.  They have their culture, after all.  And besides, no one ever sees the Chinese killing and eating cats and dogs.  The Labradorians, on the other hand, club those seals in broad daylight, as if they’re not the least bit ashamed of it!  (Now that’s real Canadian culture!  Tough white men! Violence! The outdoors! Books by Crad Kilodney!)

    If you think baby seals are cute and cuddly, adopt one.  That’s what animal rights activist Anne Ashley of California did.  And guess what happened to her.  The seal bit her on the leg, and the wound became so infected that her leg had to be amputated!  And she was given a $100 fine for having an illegal pet under a local ordinance.  Just deserts!

    Now are you convinced?  Baby seals are our enemies! 

    Copyright@ 2009 by Crad Kilodney, Toronto, Canada.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

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Ukrainian Chrome Hunger

August 5, 2008

    Ukrainians are hungry for chrome.  Do you know why?  No, not because they want to drive American cars from the Fifties.  They’re hungry for chromium complex supplements — those magical compounds that help metabolize sugar.  Ukrainians are world-famous for eating gooey pastries loaded with sugar.  They say it makes them happy.  Okay, fine with me.  You’d need something to be happy about if you were a Ukrainian.  These peasant slobs live in a loser country symbolized by Chernobyl.  They have no culture.  The Catholics are all bastards (Orthodox not so bad).  They have no identity, everyone hates them, and to the rest of the world their country is just a colored patch on the map with no geographical features.

    Recently I spoke to Dr. Yuri Gorbiuk of the Ukrainian Institute of Nutrition, who told me, “My people are a mess.  Their diet is awful.  So we need lots of chromium.  Some Ukrainians even suck on the metal.  How about sending us lots of free pills?  Come on, be a pal!”

    In their desire to save money on chromium pills, the Ukrainians ordered a shipload of cheap generics from China, which turned out to be bogus, and what do you think happened?  A thousand people died of poisoning.  That’s what happens when state-controlled booze is overpriced.  People try to save money on everything else.

    The government’s latest bright idea is to get our mining companies to explore for chromium in the Ukraine.  That way they can make their own pills. Sure, just go drill holes in the ground and find chromium.  As if it were that simple.  It so happens that there are no primary chromium producers anywhere in the world.  Chromium is a by-product of nickel mining.  They do have some nickel mining, but where is the chromium going?  It’s going into the pockets of corrupt government officials connected to organized crime, that’s where.  The average person always gets screwed.

    The only hope for Ukrainian women is to go to the West and work as strippers.  They look pretty good until they pass 30, then they morph into slabs of fat.  It’s in their genes.  You don’t see slim Ukrainian women over 35, except the girlfriends of gangsters.

    I tried some chromium complex pills for a while, but I couldn’t tell any difference.  The FDA and the Canadians say the stuff is unproven.  It’s merely believed to be an aid in sugar metabolism.  Well, so is hockey.  But you don’t see any Ukrainian hockey players in the NHL, so draw your own conclusions.

    There are some who say just enjoy life.  If you want to eat fattening Ukrainian pastries, go ahead if that’s what you like.  This is an inclusive society, and it’s politically incorrect to ridicule the obese, even if they are miserable sons of bitches.

    If you have some spare chrome from old cars and want to recycle it, just send it to any Ukrainian business in the Yellow Pages, and they will automatically pass it on to their church  to send to some chrome-collection charity in Kiev or Dnepropetrovsk or some other dismal place.  It’ll probably end up in the pocket of some gangster, but that’s not your fault.  You’re doing it because maybe some of that chrome will actually go into pills and help some girl get slim, and then maybe she’ll come over here and be a stripper, and maybe you’ll go see her show, and afterwards you might make a date and get laid.  (Or I might.)

    It’s what you might call a hope, if not a good plan.

    Copyright@ 2008 by Crad Kilodney, Toronto, Canada.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

    Practically everyone in the world is dying to know more and more and more about the one and only Polycarp, 2nd Century Christian martyr, bishop of Smyrna, author of the best-selling Letter to the Philippians, and, of course, the Man of Many Carps!  His is a story like no other, and it is soon to be brought to the big screen in a major Hollywood epic, starring Tom Cruise!

    As a young boy, Polycarp was sold as a slave to a wealthy woman named Calisto, who raised him like her own son.  Happy and carefree on the picturesque estate in the city of Smyrna (now Izmir, in Turkey), he liked nothing better than to fish for carp in the bay jutting in from the Aegean Sea.  He seemed to have a magical talent for attracting carp.  They would literally jump into his arms.  He would stroke them, play with them, and kiss them before dropping them back in the water.  He claimed to be able to communicate with them.

    There was one carp he took a special liking to, and he brought it home and took it to bed with him.  Calisto warned him that the poor fish would die out of water, but miraculously it did not!  Polycarp would put it in a large basin of water by day and sleep with it at night.  That carp is now believed to have been a divine channel, for during this period Polycarp began writing esoteric essays about God, which amazed the elders of the local church.

    Upon the death of Calisto, Polycarp inherited her estate and soon brought many other carps to live in the house with him.  Visitors were always surprised by the profusion of carps happily flapping about the grounds, needing only occasional immersions in the basins of water placed for their convenience.

    When the pastor of the local church died, Polycarp was invited to replace him.  He soon filled the church with exquisite carvings and paintings of carps.  He even designed a carp costume for himself, which he wore during his sermons.  The sermons were extraordinary: he would hold one or more carps to his ears and then translate their language for the congregation, expounding sublime thoughts and divine messages such as no one had ever heard before.  Devout Christians flocked from many miles away to hear the words of this holy man who received divine wisdom from his blessed carps.  Not surprisingly, Polycarp was soon elevated to the position of bishop.

    In his major work, the Letter to the Philippians (whose descendants now inhabit the Philippines, of course), Polycarp wrote joyously of man’s love for the carp, and vice-versa, and how man could  be brought closer to God by means of the carp.  He encouraged the Philippians (and Christians generally) to love the carp and to commune with it, both in the water and in the bedchamber.  This led to the Carpist Movement and the establishment of the highly secretive Order of Carpist Nuns, whose practice it was to sleep with carps.  (The only remaining convent of the Carpist Nuns is located in Lebanon, Kentucky, which, quite oddly, is not on any body of water!)

    At this time (the 2nd Century A.D.), the Roman Empire was ruled by the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, a persecutor of Christians.  The Emperor had long taken little notice of Christians in Asia Minor, but the exploits of Polycarp eventually came to his attention, and he ordered the bishop of Smyrna to be arrested for undermining the supremacy of the Roman gods and for alleged “unnatural relations” with his carps.

    Polycarp was threatened with burning at the stake unless he renounced his beliefs and confessed to fraud in his communication with his carps.  The bishop, now in his eighties, showed no fear of execution.  He proclaimed, “The carp is the true fish of God, and I am His chosen fisherman.”  He was then tied to the stake, and the kindling was lit.  The fire burned, but it touched him not, for a miraculous rain of carp fell from the sky, dousing the flames and spreading confusion among the crowd!  The captain of the guards, enraged by this humiliation, ordered his men to run Polycarp through with their swords, which they did, thereby giving the Christian world one of its most remarkable martyrs.

    Today the influence of Polycarp lives on.  In the centre of the city of Izmir can be seen a beautiful statue of St. Polycarp, dressed in his fish robe and hugging several carps.  And throughout Turkey, even with its predominant Muslim religion, the carp is regarded as a holy fish, never to be eaten.

    There are no less than ten churches named St. Polycarp throughout Asia Minor and Europe.  The St. Polycarp Girls’ School in Blackburn, England, is legendary for its boisterous — and some would say shocking — revelries on February 23rd, the feast day of St. Polycarp.  And the St. Polycarp Hospital in Bletchley, England, is world-famous for its treatment of nervous disorders.

    The name Polycarp has been adopted by enterprises both humble and grand, including Polycarp Donuts, Polycarp Sporting Goods, Polycarp Fire and Casualty Insurance, Polycarp Casino, Polycarp Oil & Gas, Polycarp Pizza, Polycarp Polymers, Polycarp Propane, Polycarp Pet Supplies, Polycarp Vocational Institute, Polycarp Defense Electronics, and Polycarp Menswear.

    Polycarp shall live forever, and so shall his many carp friends!  May they find their way to us, from out of the sea and into our hearts!

    Copyright@ 2008 by Crad Kilodney, Toronto, Canada.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

    I was at a party, and the hostess introduced me to another gentleman: “And this is Mr. Kent, who is an expert on dung beetles.”

    I was momentarily flustered but managed to recover my composure enough to shake hands and say something.  “Oh!…So you know all about dung beetles, eh?”

    “Sure do!” he replied.

    “Oh!…Well!…That’s wonderful!…So, if I should ever need help with dung beetles, you’re just the man to see, then!”

    “That’s right!” he said jovially.

    “Gee!…That’s swell!”   And I excused myself to search for ice.

    Now, I want you to understand that this fellow looked completely normal.  He was well-groomed, healthy-looking, and wore very nice clothes.  He certainly showed no evidence of starvation or poverty.  So the question that dogged me for weeks was this: how exactly does a dung beetle expert make a living?

    I have never seen a help wanted ad for someone who knows about dung beetles.  Neither have I ever seen an ad by a dung beetle expert soliciting customers.  Come to think of it, I’m quite sure I’ve never seen a dung beetle.  I didn’t think there were any in this country.  Nevertheless, this chap Kent was making a living somehow.

    I’ve given this matter a lot of thought, because there has to be an explanation.  Now, on the matter of no help wanted ads, I think I’ve got it.  A dung beetle expert must be self-employed.  No firm is going to hire one.  And as for advertising for customers (or should they be called “clients”?), why, it just isn’t done, you see.  It all happens by word of mouth.  You have to know people, like my hostess at the party.  I mean, if you are really first-rate at your craft, your reputation precedes you.  It’s the same with root canal specialists or prostitutes.  The only difference is that a dung beetle specialist would probably have a large geographical area all to himself, so he wouldn’t have to worry about competition driving his prices down.

    So far, so good.  But how much can someone in this line of work really make?  Can he make enough to support a family at a respectable standard of living?  I find that hard to believe.  But let’s suppose he is all on his own and doesn’t live too luxuriously.  That makes it easier.

    So there is Mr. Kent, or someone like him, sitting at home, waiting for the phone to ring.  More likely, he has an answering machine so he can be out and about, which he has to do in order to stay on top of the dung beetles.  To be a true expert, he would have to be able to study them at all times and in various places, otherwise his knowledge might become obsolete.  Very good.  So now and then he must get a call from a customer.  Maybe it’s an individual, or a company, or some government agency.  They are having some difficulty with dung beetles, so they call Mr. Kent, and he goes out to wherever the problem is, he sees what’s what, and he tells them exactly what to do, or he does it himself.

    Now, how much does he charge?  And does he charge by the hour, or is there a flat fee?  Does he send a bill?  Does he accept credit cards?  If this is the sort of gentleman’s profession I imagine it to be, I’m sure he sends a bill and receives a cheque.  What are his services worth?  A hundred dollars?   Five hundred?  A thousand?  Well, if I were a dung beetle expert, I don’t think I would venture out on a call for less than, say, two hundred.  For something really serious or complicated, I might charge five hundred, depending (on various factors).  Above that, I don’t think many people are going to be willing to pay for help with dung beetles.  They might prefer to suffer indefinitely.  And, of course, you want to stay reasonably affordable for poorer folks, because they are just as likely to have problems with dung beetles as the rich, if not more so.

    So let’s assume Mr. Kent is going to collect somewhere between $200 and $500 for an average call.  That’s still not a lot to live on, because how many calls is he going to get in a month?  I’m going to guess maybe two or three, if only because a greater frequency of dung beetle problems would have eventually come to the attention of the mass media by now, and I would have read something about it, but I haven’t.  But even at two or three calls a month, one would scarcely be able to survive in a modern city.

    The only answer I can think of is that a fellow in Mr. Kent’s profession has to have another source of income to supplement his dung beetle business.  But here is where it gets problematic.  You couldn’t have a salaried job or run a shop or do anything else that had fixed hours because, as I explained before, a fellow would have to be able to go out and study the dung beetles at all hours of the day or night in order to have a scientifically accurate and up-to-date knowledge of their habits.  And, of course, you’d have to make house calls at any hour.  It just wouldn’t do to tell a customer, “I get off work at the plant at five and can come around in the evening.”

    So where does that leave the dung beetle expert?  Clearly, he’s got to have a money-making sideline that doesn’t involve any specific hours or specific place.  There’s a real poser for you!  But I think I have the answer.  The one sideline that meets these requirements is writing poetry!  You can do it anytime, anywhere.

    Of course, if a fellow can’t write poetry, he might as well give up all thought of going into the dung beetle business, because he’ll never be able to make a living.  So we must assume that our expert does know how to write poetry.  (And Mr. Kent certainly looked to me like the sort of chap who could write a good poem if he put his mind to it.)  But is there enough money in poetry?

    Being a writer myself, I can claim to know a thing or two about poetry, although I have never actually been paid any money for a poem.  But then, I’ve written very few poems, so never mind.  Now, there are a few magazines out there that do pay money for poems — maybe not much, but something.  Of course, getting a poem published is not so easy, believe me.  Most poems sent to magazines are actually rejected!  But if our Mr. Kent writes a lot of them, the probabilities become more favorable, you see.  Those little cheques will add up.  And then there are also such things as prizes and awards, which are worth more, and perhaps our Mr. Kent manages to snag one or two a year.

    Of course, one could certainly not make a living just by writing poetry.  And one could certainly not make a living just by being a dung beetle expert either.  But I am fairly sure, now that I have thought it all out, that by combining the two trades — and assuming one knows how to economize — a fellow could probably get by.

    Copyright@ 2008, by Crad Kilodney, Toronto, Canada.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

    I have been compiling a list of the worst things for you, according to various scientific authorities:

    1. instant mashed potatoes

    2. tap water

    3. bottled water

    4. sugar

    5. salt

    6. artificial sweeteners

    7. pork

    8. deli meats

    9. sunlight

    10. soft plastics

    That’s it.  I would have thought that perhaps cyanide, hemlock, strychnine, nerve gas, or plutonium would be the worst thing for you, but evidently they don’t even make the top ten.  On the other hand, neither do tobacco or alcohol, so we can be grateful for that.

    Instant mashed potatoes are the biggest surprise.  I’m assured by a friend who is an expert computer programmer that instant mashed potatoes speed up the metabolism because of the sudden rush of carbohydrates.  You can’t keep it up, so your body gets confused and you die.  I have been tempted to warn people when I’m in my local supermarket, but I want to be able to shop there again.

    Tap water contains all sorts of nasty chemicals supposedly put in to make it safe to drink or to stop cavities, but if you want to see what you’re really drinking, look at the rust stains on your bathroom porcelain.  You can’t get rid of them.

    Bottled water is just tap water with a label on it.  I have this from numerous unimpeachable sources, including a Chinese grocer.

    Sugar gives you diabetes and heart disease, not to mention rotting your teeth.  There is also a 90% correlation between sugar addiction and violent behavior.  (See Journal of Food and Violence,  Sept., 2004.)

    Salt is bad for your heart and circulatory system.  It also kills your brain cells.  If you let your children eat salty snacks, you are a murderer.

    Artificial sweeteners cause horrible mutations in mice, as has been proven by laboratory experiments at the University of Ornskoldrik (Sweden), which specializes in such things.  The scientist who made this discovery has been nominated either for the Nobel Prize or some other one.

    Pork is virtually all fat, which clogs your arteries so you fall over dead without warning.  (The pigs themselves don’t fall over dead because they’re used to it.)

    Deli meats are full of preservatives — nitrates or nitrites, or some such thing.  Explosives are also made with nitro-stuff.  Anything with any form of nitrogen is deadly because — believe it or not — there is no antidote for nitrogen!

    Sunlight causes skin cancer, so you really shouldn’t go out in the day at all.  The moon reflects sunlight, so that’s just as bad.  And stars are the same as the sun, so their light is exactly the same.  Smothering your entire body with a sunscreen lotion with a PF or PH rating of at least 900 reduces the danger by approximately 15%, which is better than nothing.

    Soft plastics contain something called phthalates, which cause cancer in babies and destroy your kidneys.  Shower curtains radiate the stuff when the hot water hits them, and you can’t get it off you.  It just goes right through your skin.

    The good news is that alcohol is actually good for the heart, caffeine stimulates the brain, and nicotine is a mood-regulator.  The Mormons, however, avoid all three, which explains why their average life span is so short that they need to convert people to maintain their population.  (See Journal of Nutrition and Religious Studies, July, 1997.)

   

    Copyright@ Crad Kilodney, Toronto, Canada.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com