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