Yesterday I went a-wandering.

Last Friday I had the pleasure of celebrating the shabbos with my pal Rochelle. She lives in Jew Hill (affectionate nickname - not actual name of town), just north of the city limits.

After dinner, I attempted to help her clear the plates, and was bewildered by my predicament: She had only one trash can.

Why did that confuse me so? Well you see, I live in Toronto, where are mayor is so devoted to our rubbish, it is often to the exclusion of all else (including the actual collection of said rubbish). We have blue bins for recyclables, green bins for organic waste (apparently diapers and sanitary napkins are “organic” - go figure), brown bins for compostable yard debris and black bins for whatever’s left.

The sight of a solitary garbage bin at Rochelle’s left me feeling like a deer in the headlights. How ridiculous is it to have to ask someone where the stale bread and half-eaten matzoh balls should be disposed of, while standing in front of a trash can? You’d think the answer would be obvious, but to us Torontonians, who live every day under the watchful eye of garbage fascists, the answer isn’t always so clear.

Great headline:

Illegal immigrants plan to leave over Ariz. law

Um,  yeah, that’s kinda the point. However, this weepy AP story makes it all about the sad, starving Mexicans who entered the country illegally. It’s written like an Oprah magazine feature story. Cue the shmaltzy music…

Natalia Garcia, 35, from Mexico City, says she and her husband - a day laborer - will stay so their daughters - both born in the U.S. - can get a good education and learn English. The couple have been living in Arizona illegally for the last 10 years.

“Mexico doesn’t have a lot of opportunities,” she says. “Here, we work honestly, and we have a better life.”

Honestly? You work honestly? You mean for cash, as an illegal, without paying taxes or following the law, you work honestly? Natalia, you’ve been living in the US long enough to have two anchor babies, and you still don’t get the fact that you are a criminal? The very fact that the word “illegal” is part of the “illegal immigrant” moniker should have clued you in, despite the shitty education system you grew up under.

Jose Armenta, a 33-year-old illegal immigrant from Mexico’s western coast, is already planning to move to Utah within the next 20 days because of a combination of the economy and the new law.

“A lot of people drive by,” he says as he watched nearby cars speeding past, “and they yell, ‘Hey, go back to Mexico!’”

There’s an option - go back where you came from. Another alternative would be to present yourself to the US government and apply to reside legally. Believe me, as a Canadian, I know how difficult that can be. Which explains why I’m still in Canada, despite my best efforts. But here’s the thing: I love America too much to be forbidden from ever entering it again. I could have stayed there illegally and found something to do to make a little money, but I didn’t want to risk never being able to return.

Jose, you are sending all your money back to Mexico to your wife and kid. How does that benefit America, especially at a time of depressed economy? You are using America like a drunk girl at a party, with no intention of ever even giving her a ride home. Get the fuck out, Jose, and leave our drunk girl alone.

In 2012 and beyond, expect stories like this one to creep into American campaigning.

Mrs Stokes, a retired hairdresser, was left paralysed down the left side of her body by the stroke and unable to speak.

The only time they didn’t go and visit Mrs Stokes was when her ward was in isolation following a stomach bug outbreak and visiting hours were restricted.

But when they were finally allowed into the ward, they were left stunned by the conditions Mrs Stokes had been left in.

She added: ‘We finally walked in and my daughter said what is that under her arm? We lifted it up and she was covered in her own diarrhoea.

‘She was paralysed and couldn’t call for help. This was after 3pm in the afternoon and the last time she had been checked was at 9am.’

Just 24 hours later the family found a stricken Mrs Stokes’ foot trapped between bed posts caused by a faulty bed pump.

It was not known how long she was trapped and had to be freed by the matron.

Mrs Chambers added: ‘I think dogs are treated better than my mother was. She was left in a pond of her own filth. Worse than an animal.

‘The nurses were so overworked they haven’t the time to be compassionate.

‘It’s so sad she was in a terrible state. My mum was 84, she was a really lively woman and was well-loved.

‘They gave out food but left it out of reach of patients. You are lying there, hungry, you can’t move because you’ve had a stroke and there is food just out of reach.

‘We were warned not to feed them but you can’t just sit there and watch.

‘My daughter and I were endlessly helping out other patients.

‘I’ve grown up with the National Health Service I’m just praying I don’t get ill.’

A lovely picture of socialized health, painted in shit. Don’t feed the animals.

No, that’s not a line from the Koran. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for years, ever since the rise of Ritalin. Dr. Dawg has a series of posts this week on the drugging of children into obedience. While he may not necessarily agree with the language I use, Dawg is from a much earlier generation than I am, and will probably recognize a lot of what I’m saying here.

First, they came for the strap, and I did not speak out, because I myself had never been strapped. Teachers were no longer given any power to deal with unruly and sometimes violent behavior in the classroom.

Then they came for the mothers, and I did not speak out, for I have no mother. Child rearing became a second level priority behind making money. Mother had every right to be a man, if she so desired, so she worked long hours, came home tired, fed the kids pre-packaged meals and ignored them. She sat them in front of the television instead of reading to them or chatting about the day.

Then they came for the fathers, and I did not speak out, for I have no father. When mother became a working man, father went out to find a more feminine woman to share his bed with. Divorce became the rule, instead of the exception. Children were shuffled between homes, with parents each vying to be the best loved in their game of emotional tug of war. The rod was spared, and the child was spoiled.

Then they came for our innocence, and I did not speak out, for I was born in sin. It became dangerous to let our children out to play in the street, because of the specter of the pedophile. News reports and movies, after-school specials and magazine articles all served to enforce the idea that there was a pervert behind every tree. Our kids should stay cocooned in the house, playing video games, instead of expending natural childhood energy in the park or at the baseball diamond (after all, was the baseball coach not also a sex offender?).

Then they came for the belt, and I did not speak out, for I was never belted. Spanking became verboten. Parents who once told teachers to give up the strap - that discipline was a parents’ job - were now themselves handing that right over to a bureaucrat.

Finally, they came for the sanity, and I could not speak out, for I was mad. Children were diagnosed with disorders, and drugged until they became glassy-eyed, obedient, drooling retards. The pills now performed the duties that parents and exercise and school play once performed.

Update: As if to prove my point, here are two articles from the Daily Mail, just posted to their website:

Parents’ safety fears keeping children indoors

European human rights body calls on Britain to introduce total ban on smacking

And we all see how wonderful British children have turned out…

Shower Fresh Earthquakes

Further to this morning’s earth quaking fabulousness, I am reminded of one of my all-time favorite Mark Steyn articles: My Sharia Amour.

I glanced at my watch. “For crying out loud, when are they going to raise the curtain?”
“They have raised the curtain,” said David. “Those are the girls.” I peered closer at the shapeless line of cloth, and he was right: there they all were, from Miss Afghanistan to Miss Zionist Entity.

I sighed. “How long till the swimsuit round?”
“This is the swimsuit round,” said David.

Some woman-hating imam (was that redundant?) has decided that scantily clad women are the reason we’re having so many earthquakes. To that, I respond thus:

Three more pounds since last week!

I am very pleased with the strides I’m making, and in all honesty, I’m not strictly following the Diet Solution Program. Last weekend I had pizza and wine. I had a bowl of white rice with chicken the other day. But I would say at least 5 days a week I’m having lots of protein and dark greens (spinach, green beans, broccoli). It’s obviously working, and I’m not really suffering under the regimen.

The fact that Bug and I had a beach playdate this week that meant meandering many miles along the beach with Rachel no doubt helped, too.

My body is currently in such unfortunate shape that I’ll have to drop easily 30 lbs before it’s even really noticeable. To date, I’ve dropped 13. I’m really pleased with that!

I’ve done a lot of diets over the years - from cleanses to Atkins to Dr. Bernstein - and this is the first time I don’t feel like I’m actually dieting.

Check it out here if you would like to join me.

Let’s start with the caveat, for those who are mentally inhibited:

THIS IS NOT AN ISSUE OF FREE SPEECH. THE ISSUE IS MATERIAL SUPPORT FOR TERROR GROUPS AND GEORGE GALLOWAY PROVIDES MATERIAL SUPPORT FOR TERROR GROUPS .

There, now that we have that out of the way, onto the actual information.

Further to my podcast last week, which began as an argument with fellow blogger Skippy Stalin, the Islamic rape of boys and girls is a standard cultural practice. Our Catholic church has a problem with repressed homosexual clergy engaging in sex with boys despite this being culturally and legally verboten. Whereas in Islam, it’s all good.

The argument I had with Skippy was that apparently, I wasn’t screaming enough about the rape of kids in the Church, even though I repeatedly pointed out the rape of kids in Islam, therefore making me a hypocrite. Or something. My argument was that in our Judeo-Christian culture, kidfucking=bad, but it Islam, kidfucking=business-as-usual. And that I therefore had every right to decry such a culture.

From Gates of Vienna

In The Dancing Boys of Afghanistan, Afghan journalist Najibullah Quraishi (Behind Taliban Lines) returns to his native land to expose an ancient practice that has been brought back by powerful warlords, former military commanders and wealthy businessmen. Known as “bacha bazi” (literal translation: “boy play”), this illegal practice exploits street orphans and poor boys, some as young as 11, whose parents are paid to give over their sons to their new “masters.” The men dress the boys in women’s clothes and train them to sing and dance for the entertainment of themselves and their friends. According to experts, the dancing boys are used sexually by these powerful men.

In detailed conversations with several bacha bazi masters in northern Afghanistan and with the dancing boys they own, reporter Quraishi reveals a culture where wealthy Afghan men openly exploit some of the poorest, most vulnerable members of their society.

“What was so unnerving about the men I had met was not just their lack of concern for the damage their abuse was doing to the boys,” Quraishi says. “It was also their casualness with which they operated and the pride with which they showed me their boys, their friends, their world. They clearly believed that nothing they were doing was wrong.”

Because nothing they’re doing IS wrong, in their culture. Which therefore makes the entire culture corrupt.

Dear Andrew Sullivan… You don’t have a uterus.

It seems that the shrieking queen of the left (not Nancy, but nancy-boy) still insists on seeing the inside of Palin’s snapper. Which might lead one to think Sullivan (not me, him) is a closet heterosexual.

Palin managed to sail through the campaign without any real scrutiny on a crucial matter of credibility, when proving her case would have been as easy as a simple fax of a readily available extract from what must have been voluminous medical records. But not even the McCain campaign asked for such evidence. And the press utterly bailed. Now, she is able to use one powerful propaganda outlet, press-restricted buck-raking speeches, and a book of magical realism to continue this creepy, unaccountable celebrified campaign.

What case? There was no “case”! Only Andyboy even believed such a nutty idea. The press “bailed” because they didn’t want to wind up looking as foolish and deluded as this tinfoil soldier.

Sullivan (not me, him) has probably reached that age where all women’s biological clocks start ticking, making them obsessed with babies and childbirth. He has uterine envy, and it is manifesting in an obsession with the hottest pussy in politics.

Yet those who rally in favor of legalizing marijuana insist it doesn’t lead to brain damage or paranoia. Pfft.

While I was out getting sunburned at the beach yesterday, Binks was posting a massive roundup of the best of free speechiness on the web.

I have some work to get done just now, including posting an In Bed With RightGirl video, so go catch up on all the news with Binks.

I don’t tend to be the overly religious sort, but this kinda caught my eye during a little pre-snooze Bible reading last night:

And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood;

And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind

And the heaven departed as a scrole when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were moved out of their places.

No Mayans could be reached for comment.

I`m sitting in a cafe on the beach using my friend`s teeny tiny netbook. I sit here with my teeny tiny chihuahua. I feel like the tallest person n the world, with the biggest hands. You hav to understand, my Dell is a 17“. This netbook is like, 8 or something.

Anyway, beach pics. Bug and Rachel, respectively.

Rachel and I were roommates in `that place`. We shared our room with her 10 year old daughter. Together we hoarded food, bought each other crappy coffee, hung out at the library to scape the drama of crackheads and drag queens in the house… I`m sure 99% of you have no idea what living in that kind of hell is like. But bonds are formed. You need each other just to survive. In the real world outside, Rachel and I never would have found each other. There`s very little commonality between us. But in the shit, we helped each other get through.

But man, she has tiny hands if she survives on this damn netbook!

Heading down to the beach with Bug today to meet up with one of my shelter sisters. We’re like war vets - we’ve been through the shit together, and despite our differences, we’re bound together for life.

I’ll have the camera with me, as Bug is likely to provide hilarity that can be posted on In Bed With RightGirl.

In the meantime, for all you bloggers, writers and aspiring zillionaires, I posted some resources over at Girl on the Write. Some are free, others not - all are helpful.

Have a good day - try to get out and enjoy the sunshine.

Quite some time ago I wrote this post and this one about a long lost old friend. Steve Baran, from the post-mom, pre-dad part of my life.

I never updated you, because there was nothing to tell. I sent message after message to his brother Mike, before giving up out of frustration in the face of a deafening silence.

Yet still every six months like clockwork, I search. It isn’t something I have scheduled into my planner. It’s instead etched into my DNA. Every six months since 2002, I search. I wake up and simply know it’s time.

He’s out there, somewhere. I don’t even know what drives me to search time and again. Part of it is recurring dreams, part of it is unfinished business. So much unfinished business. A stack of letters, written dutifully year after year, that I have no place to send.

Steve, I haven’t seen you in nearly a decade. I miss you. There isn’t a day goes by that you’re not on my mind; I dream of you at least once a month. More lately. In the past year I’ve had a dozen variations of the same dream: I find your mother. I see her; get a location or a number for you. I find you, I speak to you. And then someone pulls you away - a girl, though sometimes Liz. I call you. We’re on the phone, I can see you, but they’re angry and trying to get you to hang up. We make a plan to speak later - just like we did in 2000 - and I never see you again. This dream has taken place in myriad locations, from The Cottage to a rattlesnake ranch and curio shop I once passed by in the New Mexico desert, to a snowbound sports shop. Sometimes it takes place on the good old West Island, in a condo on Pierrefonds Blvd. But the plot is always the same: Girl finds Steve, girl talks to Steve, girl loses Steve. Again. In a thousand dreams I’ve chased you down at Harvey’s, or walked through snow drifts to the house you used to live in with your mother. In a thousand dreams I’ve come so close to you, only to lose you again.

If I could, I would drive to that spot at Lake MacDonald, and wait for you at the crossroads, like we used to do. I haven’t been back. Have you? Have you waited there for me in vain? No, I don’t think you have. At least, I hope you haven’t, or I would feel all the worse. But I would go now and wait there for you. Wait for you to arrive, so we could go for dinner at Whiskey Jack’s. Lay with you on the beach, looking up at the stars and satellites populating the blackness above us.

Ours was never a romance. But there was a certain connection that I know could last the miles and decade that snuck between us. There is no doubt in my mind that if I bumped into Steve on the street, we’d pick up exactly where we left off, without ever missing a beat.It would be as if our last meeting was last Thursday, instead of ten years ago.

My latest sleuthiness has led me to his stepmother. An email has been sent. If I don’t hear back within the week, a call will be placed. I’m going to do it this time. I’m going to find the long lost boy, who is now a man. Wherever he may be.

No one was arrested. There were no riots.

Isn’t it funny how a bunch of peaceful constitutionalists can come together, with guns… and nothing happens?

Dozens of Second Amendment rights activists holstered their handguns and slung unloaded rifles over their shoulders Monday at a gun rights rally in northern Virginia, while hundreds of like-minded but unarmed counterparts converged in the nation’s capital.

The gun-toting protesters kept their rifles unloaded - as required by Virginia law - though they could carry loaded handguns. Those in Washington, D.C., chose not to carry any firearms in compliance with the district’s strict gun laws, even though many believe the rules are unconstitutional.

Signs reading “Which part of ’shall not be infringed’ confuses you?” and bright orange stickers saying “Guns save lives” dotted the crowd at the Washington Monument. Across the Potomac River in Alexandria, former Alabama Minutemen leader Mike Vanderboegh told the crowd armed confrontation should be reserved only for instances of the government threatening people’s lives.

However, he said it might be justified if people face arrest for refusing to buy insurance under the health care reform package recently passed by Congress.

Let’s take a moment to look at the reverse: “peace” activists who run toward gun control…

The epithet that wasn’t:

Rep. Heath Shuler is denying a report that he heard racial slurs yelled from a crowd of angry health care protesters outside the U.S. Capitol.

On March 20, black Democratic congressmen John Lewis, Andre Carson and Emanuel Cleaver said they heard the N-word as they walked to the Capitol to vote on health care. Rep. Barney Frank, D-Mass., who is gay, said he was called an anti-homosexual slur.

On March 23, the Hendersonville (N.C.) News-Times published an interview with Shuler, D-N.C. The story said Shuler was walking with Cleaver and heard racial epithets. The Associated Press, after Shuler’s office did not return phone calls or e-mails, quoted the News-Times report Wednesday in a story on the controversy over whether racial slurs had been shouted.

On Wednesday, Shuler told the AP that he heard slurs against Frank, but not Cleaver.

Chances of CNN or MSNBC spending three days covering the retraction, the way the covered the accusation? Nil.

Belgian weekly Le Vif/L’Express talks demographics in Europe, and says pretty much what Mark Steyn told us years ago - a Muslim majority is imminent.

Today, families with children - ‘Whites’ and of the middle class - are leaving the 19 municipalities of the Brussels Region, attracted by the convenience and low prices of the Walloon Brabant, Flemish Brabant and Hainaut provinces. The birth rates of immigrants, which is slightly higher than that of natives, and the international immigration (mainly through family reunification), compensate for this exodus and reinforces it. In reality, Brussels is experiencing what French demographer Michèle Tribalat calls a “process of demographic substitution”. One population replaces another.

Juxtapose Steyn (yes, that’s a fantasy of mine - shut up)

Europe, like Japan, has catastrophic birth rates and a swollen pampered elderly class determined to live in defiance of economic reality. But the difference is that on the Continent the successor population is already in place and the only question is how bloody the transfer of real estate will be.

If America’s “allies” failed to grasp the significance of 9/11, it’s because Europe’s home-grown terrorism problems had all taken place among notably static populations, such as Ulster and the Basque country. One could make generally safe extrapolations about the likelihood of holding Northern Ireland to what cynical strategists in Her Majesty’s Government used to call an “acceptable level of violence.” But in the same three decades as Ulster’s “Troubles,” the hitherto moderate Muslim populations of south Asia were radicalized by a politicized form of Islam; previously formally un-Islamic societies such as Nigeria became semi-Islamist; and large Muslim populations settled in parts of Europe that had little or no experience of mass immigration.

As if Churchill didn’t have enough depression to deal with, his Black Dog would be attacking him full force if he saw the state of his beloved country today.

A Pakistani paedophile who abducted and sexually abused two young girls cannot be deported back to his native country because it would breach his human rights, it emerged today.

Zulfar Hussain, 48, was due to be sent home when he is released from prison halfway through his sentence for plying two vulnerable girls with drugs and alcohol before having sex with them.

My eager readers may be interested in last week’s In Bed With RightGirl podcast, where I describe the Muslim way of life that says it’s perfectly ok to fuck children. Which is not to say that only Muslims are pedophiles or vice versa - not at all.

Anyway, turns out the pedo in question has a wife and kid in the UK, hence the breaching of his human rights if they kick his hairy ass out. Gross. First thing I’d do is take the kid away, if I were the judge. Child rapists don’t get to have kids, period.

In other “Muslims are sick bastards” news…

A British woman risks being charged for breaching Dubai’s strict decency laws after claiming she was raped after a drunken night out.

The 24-year-old claims an Arab man raped her after driving her into the desert.

Winston, please come back. Britain needs you.