I used to think the worst part of getting to the public library was taking public transit. You know the public transit situation here in Toronto: it is a warm place in winter, air conditioned in summer, and dry all year long: so the insane that roam the streets between welfare check binges make it their place to work through the voices in their head. After the insane, you have the criminals. Sure, a person with a diversity of personalities will push you onto the tracks, but at least they have a bad smell and wardrobe that can alert the urban jungle dweller that there is a problem. The criminals come in packs. A new crop every spring (only the cold weather seems to thin out their ranks). A discerning reader of the state media knows they are a problem: every transit rider can tell you of incidents of violence experienced or witnessed. Yet there are never arrests for such pedestrian crimes. The bright elite lights of progressive Toronto, when their progressive voters are snuffed out and eulogized by the progressive media, are known personally for public urination, spitting, and cell phone jacking. The elites weep on their country estates under the watchful gaze of Lenin, Che, and Trudeau. The working class is relieved: that dirty N-person who pissed on the Bloor line last August has gone to the great hip hop subway station in hell. Such is transit. You endure until you get to the library. Now, it seems, the progressive voter has found their way into the book stacks.
Some people you expect to see in the library. People who read books, for example. People who peck away at laptops, for example. But there are the warning signs that progressive socialism has found its way into the library: there are signs everywhere to watch your possessions. A guard patrols on the hour. And the liberal voters, distinguished by smell and wardrobe, wander around. The psychotics alone, and the criminals in packs. My sources within the socialist social services sector tell me that crime and disturbances in the public library system are epidemic. The six figure salary white leaders of diversity are in a panic in their furnished offices. The creatures of the urban jungle have come into the plantation. Even the taste of a fresh slurp of white guilt is not enough. So my sources tell me.
The media is blessedly silent. Thank any god but Christ that they do not report the rapes, thefts, and the pissing on the library carpets. That they are done by progressive voters cannot be argued. You can white wash the mud in the media for the killers gunned down (he was turning his life around, he loved his bastard children, he was looking forward to a career in noise making ...) but for the lesser stains of those who masturbate in the magazine stacks, steal your shoe, or carve up books with razors there is the diversity of silence. The media is blessedly silent. But take your sorry white racist ass down to a public library in Toronto. Check out the security, the patrols, and the body language of the regular patrons. The regulars have all the body language of prison inmates: wary glances, eyes averted, and never anything valuable on display. The scum, er, oppressed, er, under funded welfare, er, kings and queens of never Canada, the eyes of the regulars follow them like a grocery clerk does a thief. This is a library? Your winter coat will be stolen; you can watch later on the security camera tapes. Yup, that is Old Goober, he steals coats the surveillance library officer, second class, will mutter laconically. His job is to sit on his ass and watch crimes in progress; write a report later. Cash his pay check. Accrue pensionable hours. You lose your coat, your cell, your laptop. Who cares? Not the media, not the aristocrats whose position is dependent upon the tribes of bandits who vote for the entitlement slices of your tax dollars.
Why is there blood on the wad of toilet paper in the shitter? This is a dumb question. The wad is beside a used needle bin. Who puts used needle bins in a library shitter? Sure, some junkie feels welcome, and even if there has never been a report of a junkie turning aside from dope and crime because he, she, it, felt welcome because there was a safe needle disposal bin in the library does not mean that hundreds of thousands of dollars should not be set on the acquisition, maintenance, and service of the tens of hundreds of needle deposit bins in libraries. Some white guilty leftist has a full slurp of white guilt. That is what is important. It might not be blood spew from some junkie jagging dope: heck no. The junkies take the dirty needles out of the needle bins. But do not worry your white racists tax paying arse about that. The Bolshevik press does not mention anything. Must be ok. But, you might be concerned about the tuberculosis, or those other tropical diseases.
Keep your mouth shut and shuffle on, tax payer. The third world is coming is coming, is already here. It has arrived in the Toronto Library system. Listen to the silence of the media.
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.