CSIS Strategic Brief: The New Meaning of T in Toronto

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY
Selective criteria and agent input was consolidated via proper analysis within the set of non-outlier data pools, cross-analysis through deep data and pulled with cabled intel cumulatively with stats to yield that T even in "U of T” (University of Toronto) stands for Terrorism and not truly the spirit of our beloved national capital of commerce.  Issuance of warnings to all to stay clear of this campus and any graduating from it due to the inherent nature of “brainwashing” apparent in the sociopolitical games played by factions within it’s public and thus accessible areas not adequately policed by appropriate forces.

Why I Never Dated My High School Crush

Not many people when given the opportunity would refuse of their own free will to date their high school crush.  For me, that was Magda Scoles.  And considering her and I were quite friendly towards each other and ran in the same social circles, and hung out at times after school, you would think that we would have had developed a romance or a little something something.  But I never made a move on her, despite looking at her longingly and even day dreaming of her on far too many forgetful nights instead of doing homework.  Granted I was a high school drop out, so perhaps it is to her benefit that I never showed even a single romantic interest, but still, in retrospect, only a fool would ignore such an amazing woman.  These days she is a big name in her field and has the kind of job I thought I would have had for I skipped school to get a head start in that very field.  But wouldn’t you know it, school, especially professional associations developed through rigorous learning and socializing are what is required to achieve success in almost any profession.  Even street beggars know the ins and outs of whom has control of what pocket of change the city yields in what area and on what dates of the year.  You didn’t know in Toronto when there is a Blue Jays game Canadians are far more pleasant to the wretched homeless than on other occasions?  Or did you believe us cannucks are always friendly and neighbourly and thus we conquered this simple problem of any society?  Seeing as we are the world peacekeepers, we must have cleaned house before bringing our Mr. Clean to your place, right?  Wrong, we not only did not clean house, but in fact, we do not even know how to ask a woman as stellar as Magda out on a date.  At least I did not know how, and I think in large part, now I will proceed to gloat how I am hollier than thou and I simply was above that childish like romancing between people.

The Manifesto (v0.d) by a disabled man

The Manifesto (v0.d)
by a disabled man

Disabled were paraded and laughed at in circuses.
Even Nazis killed or tortured the disabled people.
Modern methods of harm are excluding during best years.
Complaints are met with bullying in best of cases.
A type of fun that is always free in every sense is dating.
It is the most inclusive of activities and demands nothing.
I am forty years old now and lost even my hair.
But never has any woman ever given me her phone number.
Nor has a woman ever asked for my email or of my hobbies.
But I have made a hundred women laugh on some days.
And have taught many Shaolin Kung Fu at the temple.
Invited countless men and women to fudbal and such.
And above all else, helped raise my own two sisters.
But somehow having been born in 1978 and disabled,
somehow I am simply worthless in terms of love and sex.
Feminism is about equality?  I am an exception?  Really?
At the age of seven, three girls savagely beat me up.
Women lied and had me jailed in Toronto and in the USA.
I am an outlier?  I am lying?  I am a mental patient?
Females accused me of theft, stiffing them, and rape.
But I am still loved and hugged daily by my grandmother.
She bakes me bread when all Canadian women left me to die.
I was homeless, tortured, and date raped.  I was blind.
But you own the colour pink?  Governments owe you?  Yeah?
Genetics hated me since I was in that female life cavity.
My love mojo is described as a tiny carrot.  My eyes evil?
But angels are smooth skinned, shinny, with perfect smiles?
Yeah.  I am a disabled man, and this is my manifesto.
I write it before masterbating to your perfect bodies.
I am thankful you all took the time to show me perfection.
Hereby I confess that you all are superior to me.
You all did not waste your youngest years like me.
You all shamelessly partied, romanced, and traveled.
So this is my shame and forever will be.
Because I chose to sit alone and play with my self.
And I am eternally thankful I can at least see your smiles.
Thank you for letting me participate even this much.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
For not murdering me, not torturing me.
Thank you for having evolved beyond clapping at my misery.
Thank you for not keeping me in a cage all my life.
Thank you for giving me the right to see you even moan.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
For my ancestors must have been even more crazy than I am.
Thank you.

by a disabled man

Influx of Drug-Laced Jell-O into Toronto: Bill Cosby and Feminism

Imagine for a moment you were a ten year old little girl.  Your mind is full of silly things from television and somehow you bump into an old episode of The Bill Cosby show and you laugh and have a fun time and you sing along and dance and it’s a great fun adventure.  Along comes your big sister, and she’s hot as hell, guys love her, they’re always hanging around your porch with their sleek cars, some of them quite fancy, some are even called odd names like Lambo, though unrelated to lamb chops.  So your big sis sees you watching The Bill Cosby show and makes a comment that never leaves your mind.  She says “Don’t watch that rapist!  Turn it off or I will kill you!”.  Like a good little girl, you turn it off, apologize and wonder why she is so angry.  Your big sis likes to toss the word “rapist” around like it is salt’n’ pepper at the dinner table.  So you do not think too much of it.

How The Grinch Stole Christmas

When I was a teenager in North York (Toronto, Ontario) I lay down on my bed happy one particularly warm night with a smile the size of the sun.  I just looked at my ceiling in the physical sense, but I was floating in another magical realm.  I was not on drugs as many of Canada's youth and adults might have thought because unlike you my family values are a bit different.  Now that Canadians are legalizing marijuana, people like me have more to complain about than lack of fresh air when passing by smokers.  Clearly I am cut from a different cloth, in fact I am that teenager who moved out of his mama's house because she was smoking.  So all that aside, I was dreaming of myself at the age of forty, celebrating Christmas just the way I recall my family did, except in my fantasy, I was the head of the family, my children were opening their presents, and my wife, well, she was nowhere to be found, because as is the case with much of my thinking, she was preparing warm eggnog.  To her a smell and a memory was just as important as the faces and sounds were to me.

Landlords, Police, and Toronto's Haters Culture

For a while now I was blessed by the city of Toronto with an apartment.  It is cheap, clean, and comfortable, with A/C and heating, and a perfect location right in the middle of the downtown core, next to the St. Lawrence market.  The kind people of Canada always know how to make things great and peaceful, except when it comes to my little life and my little happiness.  Except in the cases of us disabled men, and as I was born kinda sorta blind I seem to fit this criteria, except in our cases, the wonderfully hospitable people of Canada, especially Toronto, certainly know how to make all from the world feel right at home.  And when it comes to my complaints and those like me who were disabled since birth or after some unfortunate incident, we are simply never happy and never satisfied as we are less than your equals.  This is at least the bully-like attitude of this nation's citizenry.  But this blog post is not about that but about refrigerators, or is it?

Government Supression, Tiananmen and Canada's Equivalent

Here in the good ol' city of Toronto we have freedoms that most of you folks out there can only ever dream of once in your life times as far as the O3B nations are concerned.  We even mock you all for fun with posters on our city corners whereby a weirded out little child with dark pigment of skin is holding his arm in a question-like pose as if someone told him there is no Santa Clause and the title reads "CLEAN WATER?  WE POOP INTO IT!"  Are we laughing at Africans whom can not put two and two together to make water channels for their cities, farms?  Or are we advertising our services as peacekeepers whom can provide water services for next to nothing?  What exactly are we stating with this poster?  We know how it's done, boss?  Or we don't give a ….. about y'alls?  Are we laughing at your nation or are we offering such tremendous expertise that even clean purified sanitary water looks like a joke to us that anyone is doing without it?  Because to me, as I train in soccer daily at the magically inspiring U of T campus, I frequently dump even Gatorade in a fun pattern around me just for amusement.  It's only two dollars and fifty cents, and for even a poor disabled man like me that is nothing, right?  So why do you all have trouble with water, warfare, mistreatment of women, children, and even homosexual rights or their lack of?/  If we can poop into clean water and even drink from our toilets (I've done far worse, believe me) then why do Children's Christian Funds beg us in Toronto to help your children over there across the deep blue divide called the ocean?  Then again why do we in Canada believe government suppression of information, events, and even people and their families exists only in terrible, terrible, oh-so-terrible places like China?  Every man, woman, and child that I ever had the pleasure to meet from any Asian nation was always super friendly and courteous, although some were curt and short but never small.  In fact, one of my first friends ever was Korean, and I know this for a fact that as an immigrant in the '90s I never even knew Korea existed, let alone where on the map China was.  Who knew it was near Russia, another red giant, eh?  And now I learned that Canada's flag was all red, too?  As a child I didn't even know what our flag looked like.  Our national broadcaster is called CBC and it's colours are also exclusively red, too.  And some say Canada's maple leaf is red on the flag because the native's blood that the white settlers spilled soiled it.  And yet this I learned only a decade after immigrating as if it was some terrible secret - just like in China the incidents at Tiananmen square never happened, and the great firewall along with fake Facebook and fake Google and fake Twitter in China also keep people from speaking to whom they wish to.  In fact, I'm told China is so oppressive, that in certain online forums the word democracy is not even allowed or is it the word freedom?  And yet here in Toronto, Freedom is a cell company.  Are we again laughing at the suffering in China?  Or are we saying look we can help you people so much?  Duality is a sign of a complex world, or of an abusive government bending over backwards to hide its own even worse crimes.  What of those two it is in Canada, is not clear to me precisely because I am now a victim of the abusive acts of the Canadian government.