Saturday, December 31, 2022

Random Thoughts

The other day, a friend sent me a link to a music video on YouTube.

I was a little high, with a couple of beers to take the edge off of the pot anxiety. So, I clicked on the link and was blown away.

I downloaded 55 of this guy's songs and have been playing them in my car. When in a less enhanced frame of mind, not all of the songs hit me the same way as they did the other night.

So, after my guest left this morning, Happy New Year, I heard this musical routine going around my head. I KNEW it was Harry Manx, but had no idea what it was called, or where to find it.

Since I had downloaded about fifty-five of his songs, as a last ditch effort, I decided to play through them in the hopes of finding the ONE that was tickling my mind.

Don't you just love it when a song or a riff grabs hold of a part of your brain, and starts playing over and over? It's been with me since I was at least four years old.

So this thing was playing in my mind. I went to the directory where I stored all of the Harry Manx downloads, and clicked on "play all."

My plan was to listen to the first 20 or 30 seconds, and if it wasn't the song I was listening to, I would fast-forward to the next song.

As luck would have it, it was the fourth song. It took less than 3 seconds to know I had hit it.

Give it a listen.

At least for four seconds.

I could have sworn the sky was blue.

Friday, December 30, 2022

Ottawa Taxi Lawsuit: Make the Guilty Pay

People invested their lives in the regulated taxi industry. The regulations pre-existed their entry into the business. If they wanted to own or drive taxicabs, they had to obey the bylaws. There was no alternative. Unless they were Uber.

Re: Taxi industry's $215M lawsuit against city finally about to be heard

One of the very few positives that came out as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic, was the way in which the political response opened the eyes of millions of Canadians. Political leaders across the country showed their cards. They revealed their true nature, and the nature of their “principles.” It wasn’t flattering. Only the most addled Junk News consumers remained blind to the politician's self-exposure as dishonest, cowardly hypocrites.

We saw how easy it was for most of them to shed their previously held “principles” in response to panicked political pressure.

The Uber phenomenon in Ottawa, across Ontario, and the world was a dress rehearsal for what happened in the wake of COVID-19. The COVID-19 response wiped small businesses off the map as giant corporations, like Amazon and Walmart, exempt from lockdowns, raked in obscene profits. This crime was not caused by the free market, it was caused by government-imposed lockdowns.

To this day, pundits in the Junk News media dishonestly blame the damage on a virus. People immune to gaslighting know the virus didn’t cause this damage. Politicians did.

Lockdowns are not the only item in the politician’s toolbox when it comes to tilting the playing field. Rare is the business or enterprise that does not intersect with the various levels of government.

Some Background

The first definition of “ridesharing” that comes up on Google is,

“Ridesharing is a service that arranges one-way transportation on short notice.”

Exactly. That’s what taxis do.

I started in the ridesharing business back in 1977, at the age of 23. It didn’t take long before I learned that the local government controlled the number of taxis operating in the city, by restricting the number of taxicab licenses. As a radical young libertarian at the time, my response was, “That’s wrong. In a free country, anyone should be allowed to enter the business, to sink or swim based on their own efforts.”

When I stated my opinion, other drivers would laugh. “Just try running your own cab without a city license. You’ll find out.” It just wasn’t allowed, and if you tried operating an unlicensed taxi in Hamilton, the government would come down on you like a ton of bricks.

I also learned that these taxi licenses could be bought and sold. They had market value as a result of entry restrictions, and the city's permission to trade them.

That was how it was in 1977. That was how it was for decades before I came into the business. And that is how it was for the next thirty-eight years.

People invested their lives in the ridesharing business in accordance with the regulatory structure installed by the government. Local restricted entry regulation established the skeleton around which many invested their lives.

Then, along came Uber. It claimed it was not in the taxi business. It said it was in the "ridesharing" business. Politicians pretended they saw a difference, just like people pretended to see the emperor's new clothes. It was a supreme exercise in gaslighting. And it worked.

In one fell swoop, the regulatory apple cart was tipped over, and thousands of lives were ruined. Not every politician understood the nature of the con, they're generally not that bright, but some certainly did. The mayor of Toronto certainly knew.

As with covid lockdowns, many small businesses were destroyed and replaced by a mega corporation. It was an example of wealth flowing upwards. Not as a result of better mousetraps, but the result of better political pull.

According to the CBC report,

“The city's initial statement of defence argued that it had no responsibility to protect the taxi industry from any financial losses that might have arisen from the regulatory changes.”

Perhaps not. But the city cannot argue that it did not know what kind of devastation its regulatory changes would cause. Nor can the city argue that it was unaware of the disparate impact their regulatory changes would have on, what had evolved into, an immigrant dominated industry. But that did not deter them for a millisecond.

Were the city’s regulatory changes legal? That’s for the court to decide. Were they morally, and utterly reprehensible? Of course they were. They were downright criminal.

Also, from the CBC report,

“What's more, buying and selling taxi plates "created a speculative and artificial secondary market" that the city had nothing to do with other than register the plate transfer, according to the statement.”

That is nothing but a sociopathic lie. Just as the devastation caused by lockdowns for covid was caused by political decisions, the “speculative and artificial secondary market,” was created by the city’s very own regulations. It didn’t just float up from a crack in the earth.

The same politicians who continually piss and moan about their devotion to the marginalized members of society, didn’t give a second thought to bulldozing the marginalized members of the taxi industry.

I hope the taxi industry's $215M lawsuit against the city of Ottawa is successful, but I don’t think Ottawa taxpayers should be on the hook for restitution. The first people to pay should be the politicians, and their hirelings, and the deep-pocketed predators who committed this massive crime, even if it leaves them in the same position as the dispossessed taxi license holders. In addition to restitution, all of those who played any key decision-making role in this abomination should be sentenced to a minimum of five years as a taxi or Uber driver. The Ottawa mayor’s term should be life.

That would be true justice.

Monday, December 26, 2022

Christmas: 1979

9560 26th Avenue N.E.

I forget which unit.

Ed and I had rented a two bedroom townhouse. It was a nice place. Almost brand new. The rent, as I recall, was cheap, especially for a couple of rig workers, about $250 a month or so.

We were on separate crews, so when Ed got his week off, I was working, and vice-versa. Therefore, I had the whole place to myself on long change.

And the place was spacious, augmented by the fact that there was absolutely no furniture, other than the Philco colour TV I had bought, and which, in a rare moment of pot/alcohol-induced lucidity, I sold to a neighbour for a vial of oil and $20.

That was okay with me, though. Like Einstein said, "Every possession I have is a stone tied around my leg." And I had absolutely no intention of putting down roots in Calgary.

In my bedroom, I had a sleeping bag on the floor. Not even a pillow. That wasn't a problem, though, because the whole unit came with carpeting. Ed's room had the same arrangement.

One day, on my way home from the rig, Loffland 89, near Cochrane, in the 1979 Pontiac Parisienne I bought from Sharon Roshko for $350, I pulled over to the side of the road.

Up and down the winding, gravel rig access road there were these little piles of wood. Each pile contained freshly cut logs of about 12 inches in diameter, and two or three feet in length. At the time, it didn't occur to me that these logs might be someone's property. I just figured that someone who was clearing the forest had left them there for any passers-by to take.

So, I grabbed about four of these logs and put them in my trunk.

"Finally," I thought, "I will have something to sit on while watching TV, and a couple of extras, in case we have guests."

This story about the logs reminds me of something I read in one of Ayn Rand's books - about the Woodstock festival.

She quoted an interview with a Woodstock attendee that went something like this:

Junk News reporter: so how have you been able to get food?

Respondent: I dunno. I was just sitting there and a box of corn flakes hit me in the forehead. I heard some guy say, "grab a handfull, and pass it on."

As still a bit of a Woodstock worshipper at the time, I figured the freshly cut logs were the same as a box of corn flakes flying through the air. They were just ... there.

At around the same time, instead of staying in the townhouse, I flew back to Hamilton on my week off. While there, I told my friend, Brian Johnston, about how great rig work was. Not only that, but one of the crews was short a roughneck, and I told him, if he wanted to fly back with me, he was guaranteed a job on Rig 89.

He packed up his shit and flew back with me. In Calgary, I took him to our townhouse. When he saw how the living room was laid out, with the Philco colour TV and the logs, he snickered and asked, "What's this? Early Pioneer?"

When we got to the rig, it turned out they had already filled the vacancy. I felt pretty stupid, but Johnston wasn't one to give up easily. He went to the toolpusher's shack and talked Howard into hiring him anyway, even though they didn't need anyone. That was a relief.

And it has fuck all to do with my story.

Back to the Parisienne. That summer, I drove it all over the south-eastern United States. For part of that journey, I had three passengers—Ed, and two guys from Detroit. I had all of my earthly possessions in the trunk, including my Webcor Stereo, about 100 lbs. worth of vinyl albums, and my sheet metal tools. Come to think of it, that stereo, and those albums would have been part of the "Early Pioneer" theme of my Calgary townhouse. No amount of lucidity would have made me sell them.

With the added weight of my fellow traveller's luggage in my trunk, the car was at about a 30-degree angle. Every time I drove up, or down, a parking ramp, I could hear something in the back scraping on the road surface.

By the time I got back to Calgary, the gas tank had developed a leak. It took me another decade before I made the connection between the road trip and the leaky gas tank.

It wasn't a problem, though. I am nothing, if not resourceful. I adapted.

I started estimating how much gas I would need for a trip from A to B, and that is how much gas I would pump into the tank before embarking on a trip, or going to the supermarket. In the event that my calculations fell short, I had a backup plan. ALWAYS, have a backup plan.

I bought a plastic, one gallon gas can, filled it up with gas, and kept in my trunk for emergencies, of which, there were several.

The climate was changing. As luck would have it, when the temperature started to drop, my car heater stopped working. And the car stalled a lot. Ice would form on the inside of my windshield.

It didn't take me long to think of a solution that didn't involve taking the car to a repair shop. I started wearing the ski-doo suit I had bought for work whenever I went for a drive. And the problem of ice forming on the inside of my windshield was easily solved by carrying an ice scraper with me at all times. It allowed me to see the faint shapes of other vehicles, and pedestrians, on the roads whenever I drove anywhere.

Now, I know that no one reading this account will find anything particularly brilliant, or out of place with the problem-solving approach I used to employ in those days.

Here is where it gets really crazy, though.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, 1979, I think Air Canada had a seat-sale going on. A ticket back to Toronto cost $97.00. I pondered going home for Christmas, but decided to sit this one out.

A few days before Christmas, I started having second thoughts, but the only option, by then, was a Greyhound bus, for about the same price as a fucking Air Canada ticket would have cost me. I once spent five days on a Greyhound bus, from North Carolina to Taber, Alberta. NEVER AGAIN. And in those days, you could still smoke on the bus, except for in Utah.

So there I was, sitting on a log in my living room, on Christmas Eve, 1979, probably drinking rum, and having fond thoughts of home.

Booze can, on rare occasions, invoke a state of neurodiversity—people experiencing things differently.

I found myself in such a state.

In my mind's eye, I could see my Parisienne sitting out there in the parking lot, with the gas dripping onto, and eating, the landlord's asphalt.

I made a decision. I would drive home. After all, it was only a 3,354 Km. drive. It would take some time. I knew that. But I didn't have time to calculate it. Reviewing the matter, years later, I figured that, at 110 Km per hour, through an icy blizzard, the whole journey could have been accomplished in a little over 30.5 hours. Sure, I would miss Christmas day, but there would still be time to visit family and friends.

My mind's eye drifted back to the Parisienne. The stalling. The leaky gas tank. The ice scraper.

I started to have some doubts. What if, just what if, something should happen on some barren stretch of highway in Saskatchewan? For example, something unexpected, like car problems. In the middle of a blizzard. They do happen.

A sudden inspiration struck me. "I know!" I thought, "I'll take my sleeping bag."

In the end, and thank goodness, reinforced by all of the recent global warming reports about people freezing to death in their cars, it occurred to me, that driving home for Christmas, that night back in 1979, was a pretty fucking stupid idea.

And that was before anyone noticed that the climate had started changing.

I finally did get around to driving that car back to Hamilton the following May. The drive shaft fell off in Duluth, Minnessota.

Thursday, December 22, 2022

1971

Brand new to me.

Harry Manx.

All Fall Down

The first thing I thought of when I heard that harmonica, was the Mckenna Mendelson Mainline performance at the Rock Hill rock festival back in 1971.

Second song is playing now. Awesome. Not Mainline stuff. Just mesmerizing. Then again, I've had a couple of pipeloads. Man, I love this stuff.

So, it was 1971. I was in Grade 11 at Westmount. How can I be so certain? Because, every grade I completed ended the same year I completed it.

  • Grade 1 - 1961
  • Grade 2 - 1962
  • Grade 8 - 1968
  • Grade 11 - 1971
So, I really wanted to go to this rock festival near Orangeville. I was still at that age where I believed Woodstock was a very kewl and meaningful event, not the mud infested pre-woke shithole fest it actually was. I really felt like I had missed out on something.

"A love supreme," is playing now. I recognize the tune. John McLaughlin/ Santana. No wonder I like this stuff.

I ended up hitchhiking up to the event with the late Jim Anderson.

We didn't have any tickets or campsite reservations. Who thought of such trivialities back in 1971?

Nope. All we had was a pup tent, a can of fruit, and a two-four of Carlsberg Beer. No one can say we were not prepared.

So we get to the campground, only to discover there were entrance requirements. That was something we hadn't thought of prior to embarkation.

Anyway, and I can't remember how or why, we ended up in a yellow Cadillac convertible with some guy who looked just like Cat Stevens. I vaguely remember leopard skins playing a role, though I can't remember whether he was wearing them, or whether they were draped over his hood. Does it really matter?

He had a plan. With his appearance and Caddy, he figured we could get through the back entrance, reserved for band members and roadies.

We got through like a hot knife through butter.

Now to the next part of my story.

It wasn't long before Jim and I hooked up with our peers from Westmount.

I will list their names here, because I don't believe releasing this information fifty years after the event will cause harm, or embarrassment, to any of them, and because I believe that even though those who were not there, but knew these people, will enjoy a little bit of nostalgia.

  • Myself - Hans Wienhold
  • Jim Anderson
  • Kim Zivanovich
  • Dino Camposilvan
  • Dave McKenzie
  • Mike Rea

There were more, but my mind fogs up at that point.

I welcome any corrections to my version of events, but this is how I remember it.

Okay, like I sort of remember it.

Like the legendary Woodstock mudfest, drugs were freely available. I recall a pathway in the park, where drug vendors had set up their tables. There were cops there, but they didn't intervene.

So I ended up buying a blotter of acid. I was always cautious with acid, even in those days, so I might have only taken half. It was tattooed with either "Love Saves," or "Frog."

Needless to say, whatever dose I took turned out to be a mind blower.

I could feel myself getting a little queasy, as I often did on LSD, but I gave myself a stern warning. "YOU WILL NOT FREAK OUT TONIGHT."

One of the reasons, I think, that I followed my own advice, was the beams of light that were circling the park, at night, for the whole weekend. It was like something out of Apocalypse Now.

It was the ambulances that were filing into the park to pick up the victims of the insanity that had engulfed almost all of the attendees. I told myself, "no matter what happens tonight, I will not end up there.

Dino took me on a magical mystery tour. We walked around the park while he explained to me what was actually going on. I wasn't really listening to much of his story. I was just too busy trying to control the chemically-induced psychosis I was experiencing.

The stars were bright that night and I think the Milky Way was very prominent. I looked at the sky as each star exploded, and melted down the dome. I said to myself, "It's just a hallucination caused by the LSD. It's not real." But it was a fucking hell of a show.

In the end, I managed to get through it all. Amazing.

I remember, at one point, Jim Anderson, Dave McKenzie, and I crawled into our pup tent to smoke some hash. All of a sudden, Dave shook his head, as if waking up from a dream, and blurted out, "I didn't even realize I was here!"

If you weren't there at that moment, Dave's response would make no sense to you. But it made perfect sense to me. And I am confident that if you grew up in that era, you understand it too.

Even to this day, I have the occasional episode where I exclaim, "I didn't even know I was here!"

"I didn't even know I was here!". Nope. You won't.

And soon enough, all of the people in my age bracket will have the same realization, implicitly.

So what else can I remember?

Oh yes, it was the Mainline performance.

Despite all of us being in various stages of neurodiversity, we found some common ground.

We were all fucked up, but somehow we all agreed, that we were going to get as close to the Mainline performance as possible.

So we all held hands, so no one would get lost, despite our homophobia, as we wandered into the dust bowl in front of the stage. They were playing that song, "My baby's long and Tall, Weeps Like a Willow Tree." We let go of each other's hands and started dancing, clapping, and playing air guitar in front of the stage. It was one of those moments I will never forget.

Oh, the dust bowl?

I figured that out during one of the daytime performances. The dirt in front of the grandstand had been trampled into a fine dust. A giant cloud of dust rose into the sky adjacent to the bandstand.

And that dust was why the beams from the ambulances streaming in to the first-aid tent over the weekend gave the whole event that "Apocalypse Now" aura.

That's what I remember of the Rock Hill rock festival of 1971.

I could go on, but I ran out of rum.

Wednesday, December 21, 2022

She Called Me the Fraudster

I signed the list back in 2019 because I suspected they were just fishing for big numbers, like the bogus "97% of all scientists agree global warming is caused by man" claim. Once they had achieved a nice fat number, they would call a press conference, and the so-called "journalists" from all the mainstream Junk News outlets would gobble it all up and splash their headlines far and wide. And that is, of course, exactly what they did. Only this time, a few people were paying attention.

They should have, would have just kept the discovery of the jokester names quiet, but Ezra Levant beat them to the punch and the cat was out of the bag.

I woke up one November morning and checked Facebook. I had a deluge of notifications. "You're famous!" some of them said. When I checked my voicemail, a reporter from the Hamilton Spectator had left a message asking me to confirm whether I was the one who signed the bogus scientists list. I had already learned my lesson about talking to Junk News reporters. If you're not on board with the class of citizens holding "acceptable views," they will dishonestly twist your words and cleverly omit certain points with the aim of discrediting you. It is an invaluable experience because it gives you insight into how dishonest the Junk News industry really is.

I sent the reporter an email, explaining that I would be happy to answer his questions, but I insisted he use email so that I would have a record of exactly what was said. That way, I could expose them for the Junk News purveyors they are in my own blog,s and online posts if they pulled any monkey business.

I guess he passed the job on to Joanna Frketich.

That is a funny segment. She calls me a fraudster. Meanwhile, as Ezra Levant humorously shows in this next video, the list was heavily populated with fraudsters.

If Ms. Frketich were being honest here, she would have highlighted the true fraudsters. But she is not being honest. What she does here is label those who obviously see through the #ClimateScam and signed the list as a joke, or to see whether the list custodians were vigilant about the legitimacy of the "scientists" who signed that list, as fraudsters. But for anyone else, it was, "Come on down! Sign on the dotted line. Congratulations! You are a climate scientist."

As it turned out, they were not vigilant. They simply defined those who do not support the climate hoax as fraudsters, while anyone who promotes fraud are considered to be true scientists.

This is, of course, bullshit.

Read the archived Spectator article.

Retired Hamilton cabbie gets himself on list of fake scientists declaring climate emergency

Note:

"Newbold said some on the list may not appear to have expertise in climate change, but he cautions that scientists from a wide-variety of fields see and study the effects.

"Social scientists are also very much involved in climate change discussion because of the impact of climate change on our society," said Newbold. "It's not necessarily the scientist that's working in a lab and doing that environmental work, but they could be doing work about how populations are going to need to adjust or respond to climate change.""

"Social scientists are also very much involved in climate change discussion because of the impact of climate change on our society." Right. Well, if that's true, taxi drivers, janitors, waitresses, carpenters, and factory workers would all have the right to sign that list because they CAN ALL CLAIM to have knowledge of "the impact of climate change on our society." In other words, anyone in the world who doesn't sign it as a joke.

And,

"The final two signatories from McMaster are working scientists. Sebastian Irazuzta is a an environmental biologist and PhD candidate. Daniel Traylor is a postdoctoral fellow in the department of kinesiology."

So, according to Bruce Newbold, who is on the advisory board of the McMaster University Centre for Climate Change, kinesiologists can sign the list because of the impact of climate change on, ... on what? Sports injuries?

So, if a kinesiologist can sign that list, so can a fucking taxi driver.

Tuesday, December 20, 2022

Covid era excess mortality finally goes mainstream, but not necessarily in a good way

I don't want to jump to conclusions, but at first glance, it looks like typical Junk News Industry BS. It's fast and convenient, but has zero nutritional value. You would get more nutrients by eating your newspaper, instead of reading it.

It was published on Dec 14, 2022. A Google search, using the keywords "Missing data mean we’ll probably never know how many people died of COVID," did not come up as I expected. I expected to see page after page of that headline quoted as the Junk News industry jumped on anything that would inflate the COVID-19 body count. It didn't.

That puzzles me because it's exactly the kind of headline I would expect convenience news to jump on with great enthusiasm to stoke the panicdemic narrative. These reports would, of course, be accompanied by photos of body bags stacked outside of morgues, intubated patients in ICUs, and forlorn-looking puppies waiting for their masters to come home, along with the photo of the bereaved family at the UK National Covid Memorial Wall.

Maybe they just don't want people thinking about excess mortality at all?

The report opens with,

"We will never know exactly how many people the COVID-19 pandemic has killed: too many deaths around the world still go unrecorded. Statistical analyses suggest, however, that in 2021, COVID-19 overtook coronary heart disease to become the world’s leading cause of death. This conclusion comes not from official COVID-19 records, but from estimates of excess mortality: that is, deaths that exceed the levels that are expected."

<italics mine>

That line sends my BS meter into the red zone. Clever BS, but BS just the same.

It looks like what they are trying to do is bundle the estimated, or observed, excess deaths into the COVID-19 body count.

Some of us have been noting, and screaming about, the alarming increase in mortality rates for some time now. However, those in the "anti-science, racist, misogynist, and people with inappropriate views," and "conspiracy theory" groups have been pointing to the economic devastation wrought by lockdowns, free government party money, and last, but not least, possibly the experimental vaccines as the likely force driving excess mortality.

Blaming the alarming phenomenon of excess deaths, since 2020, on COVID-19 is just too stupid to be stupid, therefore, my preliminary BS analysis gives this report 5 turds.

One final malodorous whopper deserves noting.

"These extra deaths also include those related indirectly to the pandemic, such as from illnesses that health-care systems might have been able to treat if it weren’t for COVID-19-related disruption."

<italics mine>

Let's not forget that the "COVID-19 related disruption," was ALL CAUSED by the knee-jerk, jackboot medicine responses of most governments (A.K.A. lockdowns), NOT BY THE FUCKING VIRUS!

Notes:

All Ages

0-44


Australia's Former AMA President Defects, Exposes COVID Vaccines

Dr Kerryn Phelps reveals ‘devastating’ Covid vaccine injury, says doctors have been ‘censored’

Top doctor reveals both she AND her wife suffered 'devastating' Covid vaccine injuries - and slams 'censorship of public discussion' about adverse jab effects

Wednesday, December 14, 2022

Who Do These Tim Horton's Managers Think They Are?

She's had training.

Ironically, I got into a fight with a Tim Horton's manager in the dream I was having just before I woke up this morning. I was the only guy at the cash when I ordered a coffee from the manager. Then he started fucking around, going around talking to people and making weird adjustments around the store. After waiting an hour, I started to complain. So the guy started accusing me of sabotaging construction equipment in his parking lot, which was ridiculous because I never sabotage construction equipment in Tim Horton’s parking lots.

I decided to look for another person to take my order. Ended up walking down some crowded hallway when the manager got in my face and started attacking me. The guy was a useless fighter. Using some of my old judo training, I knocked him over a couple of times, but he kept coming back. Then he tried to kick me, so I used some Jiujitsu on him, grabbing his calf and kicking him in the nuts while he was spreadeagled.

Who do these fucking Tim Horton's managers think they are?

The End.

Tuesday, December 13, 2022

How Authoritarian Collectivists React When You Challenge Their BS

Introducing, Prof. Emmett MacFarlane.

On December 12, 2022, Professor Emmett MacFarlane posted the following Tweet.

In response, I posted the following Tweet.

This is how Prof. Emmett MacFarlane responded.

Does anyone need to guess what Prof. Emmet MacFarlane's position on internet free speech is?

Sunday, December 11, 2022

Make Canada Warmer!

I looked out the window this morning to a depressing sight.

Fucking snow.

It's really starting now.

I have always been puzzled by the way Canadian thought influencers enthusiastically jumped on the "Keep Canada Cold" bandwagon in response to the #ClimateScam.

First and foremost in my mind was, why the hell should Canadians be concerned about supposed global warming? We must suffer this miserable, messy, expensive, gloomy, dark, and depressing period for about six months of every year.

I don't know about you, but I HATE winter. If it were possible, I would go into hibernation every December, until at least April. If I could afford it, I would spend every Canadian winter in Florida.

There is a very good reason why MOST of the Canadian population lives as far south as possible.

Let's just say, for the sake of argument, that Southern Ontario was more like Florida. Would you complain? I sure as shit wouldn't. Those who enjoy winter sports can move to Ellesmere Island, along with the contrarian whack-jobs who pretend they enjoy the winter freeze, just because most people don't.

Every day I see those obnoxious federal Liberals bloviating on Twitter about their heroic efforts to grease as many palms as possible with the next generation's dollars, ostensibly in pursuit of this insane "Keep Canada Cold" agenda.

The millions of Canadians that have been sucked in by this con is simply mind-boggling. Such mass stupidity is not natural. It has to be programmed. That's where government controlled public schools, along with a thoroughly corrupt Junk News media, leftist and "woke" political activists, Marxist university professors, and a very large portion of an apathetic population come in. The common objective of all of these pushers and followers is the destruction of consumer-driven (I.E. democratic,) free market capitalism, in favour of authoritarian collectivist economic, social, and speech control, led by brazen charlatans like Justin Trudeau.


Project Veritas exposes the corruption at CNN.


As the corrupt Canadian Junk News industry pivots from its wall-to-wall COVID-19 panic porn into climate porn, few Canadians even perceive the psychological manipulation. This year, much of the hocus-pocus focus has been on the costs of climate change, with the implication that, if we revert to a pre-industrial way of life with bicycles and windmills, even though it's really hard to ride bicycles in snow, and wind turbines don't work when covered in ice, we will be altruistically saving Bangladesh from any more floods. And it will be even worse than that, because burning wood for warmth will be banned, and there just ain't a lot of bugs to eat in Canada during the winter. Wouldn't it be easier if Bangladesh just built some dikes, even though they might have to wait awhile for the wind and solar-powered earth movers and bulldozers to hit the market?

I made two Google searches just now.

For the first, I used these keywords, "estimated cost of climate change in Canada."

There were plenty of results.

But when I Googled. "What is the cost of winter on the Canadian economy?" I got nothing. Zip. Zip. Zilch. Either no one is asking that question, or the corrupt Google search engine is not enthusiastic about providing those answers.

So, I had to broaden my search, starting with the question of how many Canadian climate refugees there are every winter. It is reported to be 300,000 to 376,000.

My next question is, how much does this cost the Canadian economy?

According to this site, Canadian climate refugees spend about $3,500 per month. It is unclear whether that figure in $CDN or $US. I will assume it's in $CDN. Using the lower estimate of 300,000 Canadian climate refugees, that works out to a cost of about $1 billion per year due to Canada's ongoing climate sameness crisis. That's just a drop in the bucket compared to the estimated $25 billion climate change supposedly costs Canada.

But there are other costs resulting from winter.

  • snow plowing
  • snow shovelling
  • shovels
  • ice salt
  • vehicle boosts
  • rust damage from ice and salt
  • injuries from slips and falls on icy surfaces
  • vehicular accidents caused by climate-related road conditions
  • money wasted on warm winter clothing and footwear
  • the growing cost of home and commercial heating
  • heart attacks caused by snow shovelling
  • people falling through thin ice
  • people freezing to death
  • depression and loneliness resulting from climate-related isolation
  • drownings and floods during the spring thaw
  • snowballs being thrown at cars
  • waiting for buses in the freezing cold
  • unused unused <sic> bicycle lanes
  • people getting splashed with slush
  • wet and ruined footwear
  • people walking on the roads because of unshovelled snow
  • climbing over snowbanks and getting your pants and feet all soaked
  • increased misery for homeless people

Canadian winters are dangerous and expensive. If one word could sum up Canadian winters, it would be "yuk!"

Liberal voters bite their fingernails, wave their hands, and pull their hair out worrying about some imagined future climate crisis when this country experiences a climate crisis every single year.

Think about it. Even if you're naive enough to believe that a bunch of political wind-bags have the magical ability to thermostatically control the climate, why in the fuck would you vote for them when they promise to keep Canada cold?

We need a new political party in this country. One that buys into the CO2 hoax, but instead of subsidizing wind and solar, offer incentives to all Canadians to purchase and operate their own CO2 generators. And farmers will be told to feed beans, Chinese food, lots of salad with Catalina dressing, and chicken wings to their cows. (It will "create jobs" and all that BS.)

I know what I am going to do. On the assumption that these charlatans are actually right about CO2 warming the planet, I am going to buy a commercial CO2 generator and run it in my backyard, 24/7. Maybe I'll buy two. And then, perhaps, I will be Prime Minister one day.

Get yours here.


Update:

Someone post the link to this video in the comments section. I haven't had a chance to view it, yet, but will include it here in case anyone is interested.

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