Horoscope for the week of July 6, 2014

Avoid crowds on Sunday, especially at places of public amusement.  Electricity, of some form, will be involved, so standing around in puddles of water, or expecting computer devices to function correctly will not be a good idea.  On Monday, the Sunday crisis is carried over to the capable hands of soldiers and surgeons.  On Wednesday, it happens again, but different.  This time, the sluggish bureaucracy is prepared and intervenes, so expect fewer casualties.  On Thursday, the bureaucracy is firmly in control, and the corrupt electorate is bought, massaged, and given lollipops.  By Saturday, the powers behind the throne are turning crisis into opportunity.  This should be an exciting week, and the responses of the higher social powers will give you much insight into their secret agendas.  

Aries:  The flow of life is going at cross purposes to your personal agenda this week, Aries.  Be cautious making left turns, or around people making left turns.  Distrust all car signals.  Those signalling right might be turning left.  The fewer people around you the better.

Taurus:  Your Sunday dinner is in danger of ruin.  Distractions will lead to recipe failure.  Gird your loins and assert your mastery over the kitchen staff.  You can easily do two things at once, but three will be pushing the eject button of disaster.

Gemini:  Everything is going according to plan.  Your mastery of chaos proves champion as you juggle the incompetent, lazy, and hot tempered minions under your command.  As for the plan, best to write it down after the fact and burnish your image.

Cancer:  Expect a surprise Wednesday.  The fire suppression system is fully capable of handling the electrical fire.  Avoid going under ground for sexual liaisons as you will be discovered by an outraged spouse.  Pay attention to the fortune cookie left behind.

Leo:  Between Thursday and Saturday is a good time to realize what a wonderful person you really are.  Things have been a little grim lately, and will be until then.  Remember the cleansing power of fire, especially with insect pests.

Virgo:  You will be impressed by the professionalism of the staff of the company that has the maintenance contract for your private disintegration chamber.  Some routine upkeep is required for your shoe collection.

Libra:  You will pass off a disagreeable project to a disagreeable person on Monday.  James Bond does not drink wine from the bottle.  Someone else knows about your hidden camera.

Scorpio:  Always be prepared to attend an orgy.  Battery powered toys are safe, but ones powered by cords could malfunction.  You are sexually irresistible on Wednesday.

Sagittarius:  You are the agent of the forces of Justice on Thursday.  You are the hero, the person who saves the day, protects the weak, and is incorruptible. You will win the lottery.

Capricorn:  Your mail order guide to Spontaneous Human Combustion will arrive later than you expected.  A small opportunity is lost, but a far greater one gained. 

Aquarius:  If an electrical device is broken, do not attempt to repair it.  Let someone else do it.  Your fingers are best attached to your hand. 

Pisces:  You will pass a neighbors car that has a person locked in the trunk.  There is a mystery here which will unravel over the next three weeks.

I, Sargon the Magnificent, wrote this.

Horoscope for the week of June 29, 2014

Something is bubbling in the collective unconscious.  On Monday, the issue rises to the conscious level.  On Wednesday, a consensus forms.  And on Saturday, the issue becomes subordinated to the usual suspicious factions of self interest.  Ah yes, the long term insidious effects of Pluto in Capricorn, where voters vote against their own interests, politicians campaign on issues and then, elected, work against them.  This is all part of the destruction construction process of Pluto in the newly minted Age of Aquarius.  Be observant in your own life for the issue that bubbles up Monday, finds definition Wednesday, and becomes subverted by Saturday.

Aries:  The accident you suffered last week is now into healing mode.  You are distracted by short term and small issue needs of the shallow, appearances only crowd.  Buck up, Aries.  You have had a profound experience which will find correct expression, but not this week.  Ruminate until the 27th of July, at which point you will be unleashed.

Taurus:  This week will be a challenge for your ability to do two things at one time, to think one way, and act another.  Older people are the agents of your oppression.  You are well aware that your long term strategic goals hinge upon short term tactical efforts.  To wit: feign retreat to lure the foe into ambush.

Gemini:  Be warned, you will be handed a hot potato on Wednesday.  This will be one of those unsolvable problems that you have not the mandate, resources, nor agenda to solve.  Use your bureaucratic skills of obfuscation to delay until Saturday, when a more deserving sacrificial lamb steps forward.  Think referral fees.

Cancer:  Let the big fish deal with the big picture.  You are doing just fine.  Resources become available in a step wise fashion: they arrive Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday.  Your project of expansion is aided by your continuing streak of good luck, good choices, and good friends.

Leo:  Take your clothes off and run around naked every day this week.  This is a clever way of saying that the problems of other people belong to other people, not you.  The peasants should not be crawling to you with all their problems all the time, O King of the Zodiac.

Virgo:  You will be handed all most all of the resources you need to solve two strategic problems in your life on Wednesday.  So what?  Evolution has not caught up to your advanced state, which is a pity.  Download occurs on Saturday.

Libra:  You will have the opportunity for a new romance Saturday, even if the paper pushing requirements of life keep you distracted until then.  Be prepared to party.  You have a secret admirer, of course.  Look around to see who is pining for your caress.

Scorpio:  Invention and industry are at your command.  Unfortunately, you are under the command of fickle fashion and shallow tastes.  Renew your allegiance to your secret agenda.  This is the time to put aside resources and information for your future campaigns of self interest.

Sagittarius:  Good thing you are good at thinking on your feet.  You are beholden to the agenda of others this week, and the others keep changing.  Think of yourself as a Roman Army commander.  The emperor keeps changing.  Your mission is to keep your troops loyal ... to you.

Capricorn:  Everything is going according to plan.  The plan is patience, endurance, and those stubborn skills you have in spades.  Which is good, but somewhat frustrating.  Listen to good advice, learn from invention, and break down and have some fun.

Aquarius:  You are the servant of the War God this week.  In an indirect way, your musings and judgements are of value to those who push pawns around the chess board of life.  Capture and share your thoughts for the appreciation of others.  You have powerful friends.

Pisces:  Ships may sink under you this week, but you will be found dry and content aboard a lifeboat.  Have confidence that you are going the right way, even as the herd heads towards their doom.  It would be in your best interests to re read Freud's Interpretation of Dreams.

I, Sargon the Magnificent, wrote this.

The Shepherd, the sheep, and the wolves

What a great day.  Finally, Ontario has put to rest the racist, sexist, homophobic past and elected a woman, a gay woman.  What a relief.  The sun is shining. 

Voters in Ontario have said yes to pension security, employment justice, and vacation rights.  I am willing to bet your pension, livelihood, and happiness on that.  You can quote me on that too.

The gloomy hyperbole about economic collapse is dispersing like snow in a Global Warming winter.  Remember last winter?  Remember the children asking 'Will I ever see snow again?'.  Yup.

I was sitting on the subway and I let off a long, silent fart of happiness.  The train was stopped because of delays.  I wanted to share my joy.  Later, while waiting in traffic to make a left turn (only one block before some traffic lights) I was savoring the waving fists of happiness and the honking horns of consensus.  All is good.  You can let your dog take a crap in the park knowing that someone else is responsible.  The children have spoken.

There will be no layoffs in the civil service.  There will be more regulations to protect the earth.   Health care will be better and faster.  My white guilt is gone like jism down the throat of a sex trade worker. 

Share in the happiness.  Join me.  Fart on the subway.  Make left turns in rush hour.  Embrace the black market economy and keep your money for yourself.  You will have to provide the services the government promises and taxes for, so keep your money for that purpose.  The wolf will lay down after filling his belly with lamb and sleep the contented sleep that only a wolf in a land of doltish shepherds can.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.  I care.

The next Russian mobilization

Well, the simple minded green folk of the ruling class are breathing a sigh of relief over the passing of the nightmare of European Ground War.  Those suckers of the jism of white guilt that are our progressive betters can now go back to their stalking and bullying of Mayor Ford.  Not you, though.  The next time the Russians mobilize along their borders they will have more troops.  This concerns you.  The next cruise missile that hits the Gardiner Expressway could well be theirs.



 As we speak, bridges are being built.  The twinkle intellects of the left think bridges are for dialogue, not rail cars loaded with tanks.  Airfields are being expanded and hardened.  NCO's are being trained, and a new crop of junior officers.  The colonels have been studying secret studies of your weaknesses.  How to exploit them.  Ministers, deputies, directors of department are realigning the economy into the Total War Economy.  And, what have you been doing?  Drinking beer and getting fat.  Gloating over your plus prime pension.  The War God, Mars, has plans for you, lard ass. So, tell me ... what economic mobilization have you done?



Of course, nothing.  Same brilliant economic strategy as 1933 to 1939.  That is six years.  How big will the Russian Mobilization be in 2020?  How outnumbered can you count?



I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.  I care.




Since Star Fleet has disabled comments on Mitchieville, you can comment here.

Victory Coffee

Thinking of hedging your bets? A little sick feeling at the thought of the leftist bunglers in the White House in taking on a determined foe that does not embrace incompetence?

The Ballad of Mister Cucumber

My two nephews, Gluten and Spud, often bring home books from the school library to further their studies.  This rainy Saturday the boys are getting their homework done so that in the afternoon we can head out into the woods and hunt hitchhikers along the nature trail that stretches from Erin to Hillsburgh.  This weekend they are doing a project on Diversity, for mathematics class.  To help them, they have stolen a number of picture filled books (from the 'early readers' section) for a source of pictures to be cut out and then pasted into their Diversity project.  I care about their education, so I, Fenris Badwulf, am helping them.  One of the sacrificed books is titled The Ballad of Mister Cucumber.  It is a politically correct book.  I am going to share it with you before I take the straight razor to it.

This is the Ballad of  Mister Cucumber.

Your first clue that Mister Cucumber is politically correct is that Mister Cucumber is not a cucumber green, he is pink.  There is only one line of print per page (in a large, low literacy friendly font, to be expected for books for low literacy readers passed on to an Ontario high school).  Mister Cucumber is pink, and is surrounded by happy, smiling vegetation only found on acid trips to gay bars on drag night.

I am lonely

The next page features the pink Mister Cucumber addressing the reader.  All of the other plants, snails, slugs, worms and other life forms of the acid consciousness of the illustrator are all sad.  There are tears at the eye of Mister Cucumber.

Will you be my friend?

Page three of the narrative and the socialist theme is moving in on my wallet and property rights with all the silence of a constrictor snake towards a sleeping baby.  Why develop discernment?  Who is this pink cucumber that wants my friendship?  I am filled with questions, but the politically correct brainwashing document wants me to just deed the gift of friendship to any who merely ask.  How about the author of this tome, the illustrator, the publisher?  Have they made friends with the pink cucumber?

My neck is sore

Page four.  I do not know how to interpret this.  As an experiment, I used my falsetto voice and quoted these four lines to Mrs. Badwulf.  She punched me in the kidney.  I asked her why, and she said you know why.  Well, I do not know why.  And there are no more pages to the Ballad, as some mischief maker has torn those pages from the book.  This is the mystery of the lonely pink cucumber with a sore neck, as found in the abandoned reading section for high school students who perform far sub-par to high school reading level.

Somewhere, out there, one of you has page five and the answers we seek.

I Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.  I care.

Ruining Christmas for the Happy Holidays

Like most caring Canadians, Mrs. Badwulf and I give generously to charity. We give our time, without reservation. Mrs. Badwulf is an accounting professional, so owning and running and profiting from running a non-profit is a snap to her flying fingers. Also, we accept wages, bonuses, commissions, and expenses as meager recompense for our leadership role in this caring crusade. It is amazing the funding from state sources that can be tapped ... unleashed with a few simple misdirections on paper, some staged photographs, and trivial examples of wishful thinking.

Charles C. Charlatan the Third is our fictitious leader. He symbolizes the important work done by the organization. All of our volunteers receive recommendations signed in his name. A hushed cult of the personality exists around his shadowy non-existence. His voice mail is always active, and Charles responds to emails, writes correspondence, and occasionally leaves voice messages. His influence on the charity is everywhere, as if to make up for his never existing. His signature appears on grant applications, appeals for donations, and requests for funding. He even leaves fingerprints, if it comes down to a forensic audit.

 William Monkey, Chartered Accountant. Billy, as he is known to the staff, is the second key fictitious member of the management team. His signature appears on every document, a veritable bread crumb along the audit trail. He has an office, a business card, and an email address. His invisible shoulders bear the heavy responsibility of being responsible in the event of tax audit or police investigation. Impeachable documents exist proving his timely exit from Toronto to places overseas. Everybody loves Billy, and nobody would suspect him of fraud, larceny, or bunko. As Mrs. Badwulf and I clink our champagne glasses together, we share a smile and practice our response: Where did the money go, detectives?

Christmas is a time of giving, and give they will. Give it up, those confiscated tens of dollars; give it up into our clutches! These progressives are engaged in a value for value exchange: they get their white guilt stroked. Oh, the touching images of waifs, of tears on childrens' cheeks, and gnarly lap dogs sad without a bone. There are keepsakes for the elite guardians of other peoples money: a touching letter written in pidgin English saying Thank You, a knotted doll made by a blind girl, or a paw print on a bit of kraft paper. How the tears flow; and then the zeros on the check. They give, I spend, and you pay.

 Down in the basement of Fenris Badwulf live the people who do the actual work. Volunteers have spotty effort levels. Volunteers are just looking for volunteer hours for various statist requirements: high school graduation, corporate ballsack licking, or parole requirements. Nobody is a volunteer down in the basement. Over time, their skin grows pale: like winter in Toronto, there is no sunlight down there. Their hair is patchy; maybe they should wash ... but tap water contributes to Global Warming, so it is better, Gaia-wise, to let them scratch and stink. They make great telemarketers these basement citizens. They will close a donation to get a commission of a cup of rice, a spoon of beans, or a square of cardboard to sleep upon. The most depraved degradations are their familiar companions. How else to further the agenda of raising money to fight the demons of the age: Global Warming, Fracking, or Fag Awareness? These former people never celebrated Christmas, so taking the Christ of Christmas and making them agents of the Happy Holidays only seemed right, er, left.

 I know you care. You care about the Thrall-Canadians in my basement. Send me your money. You will get a tax receipt. Ask for the brochure about pro-rating your giving to be in friendly proportion to your tax receipting. Tell me what favors and gifts should be showered upon the basement dwellers. I know you care.

 I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.