Waiting for Santa

You meet lots of good people when you go to the rituals of Set, the Snake God. Even if they are wearing masks, the room dark, and the air is thick with the scent of incense, you get an accurate idea of character. Afterwards, at the orgy, at the food tables, or just in the meeting rooms where interest rates are set, you just say to yourself, I like these people.

My good friend, Maximinus Thrax, wants to do something about crime. Sure he pays his taxes, on his income, on goods and services, and on fees, registrations, and tolls. He pays and pays. And crime, it is still worse and worser. There is urine sloshing around on public transit, gum stuck in the banking machine slot, and after dark the darkies come to slash his tires, carve his paint, and put broken glass under his tires. The Red Star crows about how crime is down, racism is up, and how we need to pay more taxes, more taxes more often. Max has decided to do the job his taxes pay for, but the socialists cannot seem to provide against their loyal voters. Maximinus Thrax is a community activist of Set, the Snake God.

We had a good laugh in the Constrictor room of the Etobicoke sanctuary of the chapter of Set, the Snake God when Max described his plans. Like all good citizens in a state that does not have free speech, we only talk to people we trust. We plan, we prepare, we act in darkness. It works: the ability challenged activists are just that: dumb as frozen dog turd. Our crime fighting campaign has been thriving for the last lunar year, and none of the illiterates of the left have clued in. And, our little plan is making money, thanks to the Pentagram Strategy *. Which is to say, we sell the organs of those criminals that come into our clutches, and the profits from those sales serves to offset the taxes for services not delivered, and provides the service not delivered. Everyone has a smile on their face, even the pimp whose head is preserved in a jar of formaldehyde.

Maximinus Thrax has spent the last year telling all his progressive co-workers about his coin collection, vacation plans, and weepy concerns about Global Warming. He puts the boxes his expensive computer, expensive stereo, and expensive flat screen came in out in the trash. At his place of work, he is a white guilty male, sufficiently so that the office queers make passes at him at his desk, fondle his shoes in the shitter, and otherwise sexually harass him in a way that is acceptable to the two tiered justice system. He smiles his best shit eating grin when the office chatter turns to directing hatred towards Christians, white people, Canadian culture, or people with jobs. He scowls when the anecdotes about the latest racist incident, circa 1992, comes up once a month, regular as an unserviced feminists period. Those bad people: they should pay taxes for more brochures, more rules, and more rules about brochures! Yes, Maximinus Thrax is a viper in the bosom of political correctness: which is as it should be, given his politically correct belief in the non Christian cult of Set, the Snake God.

Maximinus Thrax has prepared a house to enact his beliefs about social change. He has a ceiling mounted bear trap mounted in a drop down arrangement above his front door. This is not the house he lives in; he just tells all his progressive co-workers that. This house has a basement dungeon, furnished with the latest sado-masochist equipment from the queer sado-masochist suppliers in Toronto. It is wired with cameras, and all the lights and receptacles can be controlled from his control room, built below the basement, just like the religion of peace peoples do in town. This Christmas, er, Holiday, after he put out the garbage, he drove his car to another location, stopped his Red Star subscription, went to his real residence, changed into his black combats, and stealthily re-entered the house, and retired to the control room. Who would be the first burglar?

I joined Maximinus Thrax in the control room for a weekend of social engineering. It takes the Observe and Respect * * * constabulary somewhere between two hours and never to respond to a home invasion. Plenty of time for the wife and kids to be butchered by some member of the leftist voting victims of colonialism in Africa. Assuming of course that a call is made. And in the event the burglar wants to make a call, having bumped his toe, or tripped in the shower, I suspect the constabulary would be there much quicker to protect the human rights of the victimized left wing voter. Maximinus Thrax has thought of that, and has made his house safe for criminals, so they will never, ever have to call for help, even as they are about their business of helping themselves to his property. Maximinus Thrax cares.

We sat at the monitors and sipped coffee. Jamaican coffee is about as close to Cuba as Maximinus Thrax gets. Everyone at his work, every no talent hire, every fairy cake eater, every your taxes and useless spender enthusiast knows that Max is off to Cuba for Holiday; they are ability challenged, yes? The real Maximinus Thrax is in his dark basement, behind the secret door, behind the secret door in the room of the freezers, watching his monitoring equipment, thinking about the schedule of payments from reputable human organ broker organization, thinking about taxes paid and services undelivered, thinking about having un Christian fun.

There is no need for details, is there? Christmas, er, Holiday, is the best time for break and enter crimes. Did you not get the brochure from the police station when you were in there to report your car getting keyed? They never come when you are the victim, only when the victim class is in danger of being oppressed by you, the racist. Sure as racism follows immigration, a stealthy figure appeared, seeking entry into the home of Maximinus Thrax, seeking out the coin collection, the expensive computer, the expensive flat screen, the expensive stereo. We saw him on the cameras, and he came alone. After that, well, is best left to your imagination. In a country without freedom of speech, I have to be careful who I am honest with. As long as my actions are in darkness, unseen (and my ears protected with ear plugs against the long screams), everything is white guilty goodness. Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm.

Maximinus Thrax, he cares; he works for social justice.