Fathers Battling Injustice

Why be stupid when silly will do just fine?

Posted By: Hand
Date: Tuesday, 28 March 2000, at 12:43 p.m.

Tactics. The Hand is talking TACTICS here.

Are you screwed, Daddy? Feel so desperate you thinking about the BIG one? STOP, DON'T!

Do THIS thing I am about to tell you about and you can get yourself busted AND noticed by the press AND beaten by cops AND berated by a "hisonner" AND make a few fill their britches.

AND get NOTICED by the likes of the Rt Hon Hilda Joystick who "sits in the standing committee" of something, I don't remember.

Here's what to do:

Go to Ottawa. Bring along a red, five gallon, gas can.

Also bring along

a pack of smokes,

some bad soggy matches (later, to be used for effect),

a pack of good dry matches,

a stack of photocopied statements explaining how screwed things are for you and a big goddamned protest sign.

Go dressed in a toga looking thing like those Viet Buddhists wore to barbecues, back in the sixties, in Saigon (that's your choice, some guys just don't appreciate fashion, me, I wore jeans and plaid).

Sit down with your stuff, on the lawn, on The Hill. Yeah that one.

If no one comes close because of your gas can, worry not. Have a friend handing out your leaflet thingies or put them under a rock thirty paces away.

After a while, before sunset (I hear they evict you if you wish to stay overnight), make your POWERFUL statement:

Pour the contents of the gas can all around you. Make sure lots of people are watching. Light a (soggy) match, let it fail. Light another (soggy) match, damn!, let it fail. Third try (they ought to be ready to poop about now, eh?), light a smoke, toss the match into the water and lawn-food mix you poured from your gas can, and walk away.

Don't use organic fertilizer, it stinks rotten; they will not let you on the bus home.

Of course, cops will come get you, but it could be fun, if you are a tough guy.

Someday a week or two later, maybe:

Rt Hon Hilda Joystick peeks from her window and sees a big jesus clump of green green grass where that arsehole faked toasting hisself.

And she will say to herself, "Jesus christ!"

Or, "That dink gardener has to go. That's it!..."

Or she will think it is from the aliens...

Later, real deep-dark rich grass WILL grow where you sat.

Lots of people will have feelings about you,

An angry gardener will be gunning for you. AND there is a good possibility next time you write a letter to the Rt Hon Hilda Joystick you will get an answer not written by a computer.

Mrs Joystick MIGHT pay some attention to you if you hanged yourself. But that wouldn't be any fun, eh?

I am a landscaper, ruminating while shovelling, pondering, wondering. Aching (March is always tough, at forty, a guy can get kind of fat and slow before the season starts up...)

PS

I did this once. Not in ottawa. I put forget-me-nots in, and watered them with my red can, but later, the gardener poisoned them. I did SO make a few people pinch loaves right there. It was great! Well, until couple days later, when the mounties showed up at my house and took me away. Nevermind that part. It was better than being a deader and I did SO make a bunch of people notice me AND my troubles!! And now, when I write my representative I get a reply most times.

PPS

Suicide is the sport of chumps.

PPPS

It is a lot more fun being a zhit disturber than it is being a cause celebre...

PPPPS

I think a thing like this was written in here before: I don't care.