The Creation of Democracy – Part I


In creating a new democracy, we must toss aside all the laws, manners, mores and corruption of the old.  Step by step, of course.  We must draft a new constitution.  I hear already the screams that panic in the streets, fear of the unknown will bring about chaos.  Let me assure you, there will always be the idiots in the world.  I believe there are far more intelligent people than idiots.  Granted, if idiots wish to behave like idiots, they will be left to face the incumbent military, granted with the temporary authority to support civil order by using their common sense and good judgement.  The current military isn’t the problem.  The military is the men and women who want to serve their country in the best way they can.  We shall let them maintain order while we draft our new constitution.

To draft a new constitution, bill of laws, rights, etc, we need begin at the beginning.  That is, the structure.  Whom and how shall all this be done, anyway?  To begin:

A. Abolishment of the Party System

This is essential.  Parties cause segregated political systems.  Use your wonderful Common Sense and think on this statement:  Watch the current political parties banter, fight, throw names and insult.  yet none really do anything other than bicker.  Individual members of parliament rally under their flags and atrociously inept leaders, and do not do what they should – governing in the best interest of the people.  I never witness the opposition come up with honest suggestions and alterations to a leading party’s bills.  Nor do I ever see leading parties ever willing to listen.

Therefore, first rule – Effective immediately, the new constitution outlaws all political parties forever.  It will be mandatory that all elected representatives must vote in the interests of their constituent majority (or employers as I like to point out).  Representatives votes are public, so constituencies ensure transparency and honesty of their representatives.  Granted, if representatives are in opposition to what their constituents want, they can choose the option to resign.  While in office, however, representatives must listen to the needs/directions of their constituents.  While providing an ear, it is their duty and right to express their personal concerns and points-of-view.  This gives everyone the opportunity to listen to other personal and differential viewpoints.  Representatives can put effort into convincing their constituents why they should vote as the MP would prefer.  However, if the representative votes against their constituent majority, they must immediately step down and face a tribunal in their riding.

The reason for this ‘election by majority’ is two-fold.

  1. It is true democracy at it’s finest.
  2. It allows for a true representation of what people want/desire.  It will give a very clear picture to everyone across Canada of the needs and wants of different communities across the country.  (How do we pass laws, then, if every community/province, city has different points of view – I’ll save this for the next blog – REVISION of LAWS)

B.  One Five-Year Term Policy for Representatives

All representatives have only one five-year term with no exceptions.  Any attempt to run or be selected for a second at any time will be tantamount to treason and the candidate will either be exiled or eliminated.  Any candidate’s fate shall be decided upon by the constituents within the riding.

Selection for representatives can be done one of two ways:

  1. Elections; or
  2. Random choice from the group of eligible people over the age of 18.
In either case, the candidate must be from the community/constituency they seek to represent. A person cannot represent a riding of which they have no residency.  Moving into the area while during or preparing for an election is hypocrisy and will not be tolerated.  At the end of the five-year term, the representative service is complete.  Elected/Selected candidates will not be allowed to lobby for others to influence government from this point forward.

If selected, the candidate has the right to refuse service.  This comes at a cost.
  1. the declining candidate will be stricken from the roles to ever serve in public office again, and;
  2. the declining candidate will lose the right to vote for five-years.
  3. The above need be weighed against common sense.  (For example: if the selected person has justifiable reasons for declining such as medical, emotional, physical limitations, we can negate the two points above.  Once again, common-sense and fairness must rule.  A local tribunal from the selected candidate’s constituency will decide on right action.
people chosen to serve must learn that this is a great opportunity to serve others in the local community, the province and the country.  Refusal to serve for no adequate reason (determined by fellow constituents) must come with accountability for putting yourself ahead of your community.  What you choose is up to you – neither way is right, but it must be explained as to why.

C. One Six-Year Term for Elected Governor-General

The Governor-General (GG) of Canada will be selected the same way as representatives.  This post will be for one six-year term.
There are two options for how the GG post will be met:
  1. Selected at random and cannot have come from the Representatives; or selected by vote (with several candidates Selected from across the country at random)
  2. Selected from the elected representatives at Random (thereby eliminating campaigning and wasting time) or by a vote from the Representatives.  This option brings about factions and political manoeuvring.
 D. Equality for All

To maintain fairness and to bring down costs of a government and bureaucracy that are now sky-high, several things will have to change.
  1. Annual income for every representative will be the median household income for across the nation.  the Pension will be equal to that of other public servants who earn the median income for a five-year term.
  2. The State will pay certain expenses (such as flights to/from the Houses of Parliament, travel, dental, optical, etc – within common-sense reasoning).
  3. All expenses are transparent.  Constituents must have access to the expense accounts and the representative called into account if necessary.
  4. Housing will be constructed at/near the Houses of Parliament to host all representatives in a dorm-like setting.  Parliamentary expenses will cover this cost.  If representatives wish to rent outside the common housing, the responsibility and cost will be out-of-pocket and not permitted as expenses
    cafeteria-style eateries will supply food while representatives are in-house.  Meals here will be covered.  However, meals outside will be at the representative’s personal cost, not the cost of their constituents.
The theory for the above model is this.  With but one single term, representatives must put the interests of the nation and your constituents first.  Representatives’ actions and expenses must be made accountable at every moment.  At the end of this term, you are free to return to your private life, never having to serve as a politician again. Once again, representatives must vote for their constituent majority.

Next:  Creation of Democracy – Revision of Laws
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A Work of Fiction in 7 Parts: Murder on the Edmonton Express – Part VII

At Last, Mr. Christie!

Stepping out from that damn terminal, I walked though these frigging revolving doors eight times.  Eight!  I wound back inside the blasted Terminal.  I needed out or I was going to scream!


All right, I did it anyway. I Screamed.  On the Ninth revolution, that blasted door chewed me up and spit me out with such force I flew out and into a wall of white!  I had gone from ring around the revolving door to Snow.  Frigging Snow.  I really hate snow.  So, sprayed with this white stuff I waited.  This obese truck passed me by and, wiping my lips, realized it spat salt at me.  Why would these irritatingly short Canadians who speak a verbiage mix of Anglo-Saxon dribble and faux French – including a dab of Deutschland and Swedish – call it North American??  90% of the time, I didn’t understand a word, resorting to my Universal Translator.  Thank God for Star Trek Department Stores.  You can find anything there.

Well, I was on my own up here in the true north strong and free.  I missed Sodium, I missed Queenie.  I even missed Phish.  Well, some things a man has to do alone.  So, hailing a cab with a fifty dollar bill I made in my backyard, I climbed in to this crazy yellow vehicle with wood wheels, a dozen horses in the front and a cabbie all dressed in black and carrying a whip.  Reminded me of Sodium on her kinkier moments of erotica. Sitting myself and my black canvas bag on the hard seat behind the driver, I mentioned to the fat bugger to head toward the High Level.  The man, his face hidden by a red scarf and flop hat, stared at me with eerie blue eyes that definitely did not match his clothes.

“The High Level Diner or the Bridge?” He rasped at me.

“Uh, wherever the better view is,” I muttered.  The man nodded, snapping his whip in the air.  The dozen horses trotted off into the cold.  While all this was going on, I opened my canvas bag and began reading up on Mr. Christie.  This whole case was not making sense. The man had been pushed off the High Level Bridge and murdered by Dr. Peppa’.  Or so I thought.  Now, reviewing the murder note, I began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Mr. Christie was alive and Dr. Peppa’ – my nemesis from way back, was really dead. (Ok, so I’m slow, that doesn’t mean I’m stupid).  Mr. Christie owned a major amount of shopping malls, candy stores, the complete Hershey fortune-cookie fortune and adult magazines recently purchased from Harry Flint.  So, rereading the murder note, signed with Dr. Peppa’s true signature marked, even, with his ring stamp.  Hmmm…

humming to myself, I lay the files down, looked up to see where I was and found the wrong end of a sawed off shotgun staring me in the face. The horses had stopped.  There was no time to do anything but react.  So I did.

I screamed.

The man holding the gun screamed.

I screamed again.

The gun went off.  Never in my life had I ever been shot with salt twice in one day.  It Stings!!!!  Strangely enough, after panicking my hands flying every which way, my arm deflected the rifle’s aim so when the salt discharged it struck my left thumb leaving a nasty bruise that I would get Sodium to lick better later.  Uh, never mind about that.

Leaping back and off the old wagon (Yes, I at last realized what it was – these Canadians are so energy conscious, y’know.) I assumed my fighting stance, pulled out nunchuks from I tell you not where, a revolver and my razor blade aimed toward the fat bugger standing on the seat – or where he had been.  Looking about in a confused way, the entire roadway was empty!!  Except, of course, for the dozen horses, the wagon and myself.

I was in the centre of the bridge, weapons drawn, no traffic anywhere.  My Rolex read 1600 hours.  The middle of rush hour…but then again, this was Canada.  Not many people left here after the mass exodus to the States and better pay.  Maybe this was rush hour!

A cough brought me to stare at the horses and a cowering black mass behind the lead horse, shivering either in fear or fright.  I grinned my evil grin, replaced my weapons to appear much too dignified and not the frightened mass I was (memo to me: change pants when I get to hotel) and stepped forward.  One step at a time, the snow crunched beneath my feet and an eerie western movie music filtered through the air until I stood towering over the massive black mass at my feet.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The black mass peaked at me from behind his red scarf and flop hat and I saw those out-of-place blue eyes shaking in fright. “Look, Mr. I don’t know who you are but I’m looking for Mr. Christie.  I’m Pep-Shi, International spy of Mystery, Spooks, Wraiths, and other assorted Paranormal Phenomena. I’m-“

I shut up.  The fat man towered above me by some three feet, wider than a church door…um, let’s be polite here, shall I?  He was robust about the mid torso.  Grinning at me with these bright white fangs he wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug and I thought I was gonna die as he squeezed the life right out of me.  I began to black out.  Little birds fluttered around me head.  The music of Elton John grew in my ears when suddenly I realised I was looking at blue jays and the music was from my Sony CD-man playing in my earpiece.  Sheesh.

Well, the fat man let me down, crying happily and shaking my hand. “Oh, Mr. Pep-Shi –“

“Cola,” I said. Pep-shi is my first name.

“Oh, Mr. Cola, I’m Mr. Christie, owner of the Hershey Fortune. Thank you for coming. You saved my life back there, y’know.” The man’s smile was so huge and innocent I didn’t know what to make of it.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” was all I could think of to say.

“Oh, Mr. Cola. You don’t understand what kind of stress I’ve been under!  Cookie?” He munched on a handful of chocolate truffle cookies –his new line coming out this winter – and offered me one.  Accepting one I allowed him to continue.  “Well, you see, Dr. Peppa insisted I meet him up here in this wonderful, silent, ancient city of Edmonton, atop the High Level Bridge built by the Sumerians before the Egyptians ever got here, saying we needed to discuss my fortune and his access to it!  Can you believe that Mr. Cola? Can I call you Pep-shi, or even Pep? It sounds so much more dignified, don’t you think so? Milk with your cookies?” He offered me a frozen white glob that I guessed passed for milk up here as nothing says thawed for more than a few seconds. Licking it, my tongue stuck fast and Christie pulled it off before continuing, offering me a cup of hot chocolate instead.  “Oh, dear.  Some people just never get the hang of eating frozen items. Oh, Dear. Oh, yes. Pep, I met this dastardly evil Doctor Peppa and we argued over his access to my funds, as he was, once upon a time, a summer student in my internship program for world domination applicants.  Oh, yes, I remember turning you down too, merely because you were over qualified for the job!  Don’t feel too bad, Pep, you will go far.  Anyway, Peppa struck at me with my very own M&M chocolate beanie bags and I pushed him off the bridge in sheer fright.  Not knowing what to do, I contacted my special agent Beaker to contact you and hopefully you would come running to help me out of this predicament! And here you are! OOOOOhhhhhhh!!”

The fat bugger began hugging me again and I felt my ribs snap before managing to squeak out a plea for him to release me.  Gosh, Sodium would have a field day on my body once we got back together.  Wheezing, I looked up at the towering man.  “Listen, jack.  What kinda problem is there? Your man Beaker hired me to find your killer.  You ain’t dead. Peppa was a poor student anyway, so why worry?  Call the cops, pay ‘em off and return to your quiet life of grandeur, wealth and boredom.  Just pay me for my services (say an island in the pacific with a great view, a castle and unlimited expense account and we will call it even.)”

“Ah, Um. Oh, Eh. Ar., Er, Or, Ug. Mu. Fah!  Please, Pep. I’m so bored!  I hired you actually to find me!  You did.  Now, come with me and I shall explain everything. Hehehehehehehe”

I followed, shivering from pain and fear from that eerie laugh of his.  He reminded me of The Shadow, some guy I met back in New York a few years ago who chased after the guilty and kept laughing, shooting and screaming at the top of his lungs “The weed of crime bears bitter fruit.  Crime does not pay.  The Shadow knows! Hahahahahahahaha” Brrrrrrr…. chilling.  Could Christie be that same person? Naw… The Shadow was much thinner.

Christie tossed me atop the old carriage and climbed into the driver’s seat, humming and laughing while hugging me with one of his big, thick arms and using the other to steer the horses across the bridge into his mansion on the other side.  His home was a palacial and he liked to call it “The Legislature Grounds”.  There were rooms aplenty and offices for everyone working in his empire.  Tossed me over his shoulder he carted up the front steps and into a library off to the side of a stairway.  Inside, setting me down, I was abruptly accosted by two very feminine hands, feeling me up everywhere while a set of ruby lips wouldn’t stop kissing me.

“Wha?” was all I managed when a short black man, no taller than my thighs jumped on me, shoved an expense cigar down my throat, lit it and pulled his Elton John glasses up his nose to see me better.  The ruby lips began nibbling on my ear while in the background I heard the fat man chucking his maniacal laugh.  I blinked.  Sodium climbed atop of me and continued thrusting her tongue down my throat while Queenie, now in a different colour, stepped off, headed to the bar and poured a round of brandy.

Still in utter confusion, all three, along with Phish busily wheeling in an enormous table of foodstuffs with Beaker began singing “Happy Birthday” to me. Call me an idiot.  I totally forgot, it was my 30th birthday!!  While Sodium and Queenie went out to fetch my gifts and the other party guests, I watched as the fat man removed his makeup to turn himself into Butter Ball, my chief in the organisation. “Butter Ball,” I exclaimed! What’s going on here?”

The man laughed his maniacal laugh, stealing my cigar for himself and settled into one of the deep seats, his feet outstretched while a lot of beautiful, gorgeous goddesses began massaging the man’s back, feet and temples.  Gosh, he was one lucky man!

“Well, it was your birthday, Pep.  Realizing that you were really bored over in England, we decided to organize a birthday bash.  I figured you also needed to settle into one relationship, so Agent Sodium agreed to seduce you, not realizing that she was falling in love with you.  Queenie I recruited to keep the game afoot and Dr. Peppa I really did push off the damn bridge.  The bastard had it coming. He was trying to find you again and kill you dead this time!!  So I set up the party thing for you and – well, here we go!”

The party was awesomeness.  People I’ve met in earlier adventures that are still classified showed up, and gifts aplenty were had by me.  A video watch to keep in contact with headquarters, a satellite uplink and mini-computer I could hide in my underwear, appropriate clothing from Armani (from both Queenie and Sodium), spike toed shoes from Fantom Phish, a chemistry set from Beaker and loads of fresh fruit, computer games, and handy weapons from everyone else.  Sodium even gave me a.. uh, never mind.  Needless to say, she whispered something in my ear and – well, I’ll be a daddy in a couple of years, so just wait.

The next morning, I awoke in my bed with silk sheets, Sodium still asleep beside me. What woke me?  My new watch was beeping. Touching a button, the image of Butter Ball came into view, a cigar stuck in his mouth and a god-awful tie handing around his neck. “ah, morning, Pep.  I need you.  Let Sodium sleep. I’ve a case only you can solve.”

Twenty minutes later, shaved, showered, and dressed, I showed up at Butter Ball’s office, only to see him now wearing a lounge coat and two of the most beautiful women I have ever seen (next to Sodium, that is) massaging his shoulders. “what’s up, boss?”

He slapped a folder toward me, grinning. “we’re moving to our central headquarters in Brazil, Pep.  However, there is a case I need solved.” Motioning to the file, I read the cover.  For your eyes only: Mission Commode.  What? Looking up, I stared into the staid eyes of the Chief.

“Mission Commode, boss?  What’s going on?  I thought our man in Ethiopia had this one solved years ago?”

He did, Pep.  Nasty business, that.  You will find him in Shanghai and he needs help bad. The whole thing flushed back in his face last week.  Terrible stuff.  He asked for you and only you.”

Befuddled, I sank into a chair as a chill ran up my spine.  What could have gone wrong in Africa so badly that our agent there needed my help?  I asked the Chief.

“I don’t know, Pep. I’m aware you never met our man over there, but he knows you.  You can’t even take Queenie or Sodium with you.  This is a solo operation.”

“What?” I was in shock. If this was anything like I thought it was, our man, whoever his name was, would need all the help I could bring, including my assistants.

Butter Ball shook his head. “No deal, Pep.  I’ll inform Sodium and Queenie at breakfast.  I have one of my lady friends here ready to take you to the airport, and you can get out of this stinking city and on to Shanghai, then Ethiopia.  I need to you stop off at London and pick up one thing, though.  It’s for our man in the field.”

Grumbling, I walked out of the office, but not before slipping half of the boss’ best cigars into my sleeves without him knowing.  That’ll show the bastard.  Ethiopia.  Shit.  Even I don’t want to go there, especially if the Commode has backed up.  That project was our master plan… or was it?  I could never figure that one out.  Well, if this one was down the toilet, Commode would be in for one heck of a sewage pile when the project finished.  I’m off.  Need to catch that plane.  At least I’m heading away from Edmonton.


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A Work of Fiction in 7 Parts: Murder on the Edmonton Express – Part VI

Mr. Christie, You Make Good….

Canada, the Land of opportunities.  The land of plenty where everyone has something to do, and everything paid for by a loving government.  Canada, a land with resources aplenty, enough that you shovel into the dirt and black gold comes bubbling up from the depths of the earth.  Under every rock is a vein of Gold or Silver, even Platinum or Uranium.  Flora and fauna abound and every turn leads you to wonders of life you never will experience anywhere else – like polar bears or wolves.  Or, better yet – the Moosejaw Moose. Or a giant Easter Egg. (People wonder about the size of the egg.  I wonder about the size of the rabbit.  How many Angora sweaters can you make from that hair, hmm?)  Other delightful sights inexperience-able anywhere on earth are the wondrous Capital Igloo in Ottawa and the unusual Sasquatch that wanders the Rocky Mountain ranges singing poor renditions of popular 1950’s jazz songs.  There is the dark and scary Crow’s Nest in the Pass – again, giant-sized.  People claim to have met the bird; I wonder how they could have escaped the beast, considering the size of the nest.  Ogapogoo Eddie, a weird lizard living in a deep-water lake.  A spindly woman named Niagara who keeps falling. (I heard about her, Why would I want to meet someone who can barely stand when they’re sober? Makes me wonder about those party nights in Ontario.)

Among all these terrors are two this faithful adventurer had to face.  I faced neither before and, I hope to God I never have to face them again.  The first was a beast called Snow that blasted me with winds of up to 80 miles per hour and a temperature of a balmy -40 degrees F.  (Note: measurements are in American.  I was forced.  Editors on staff threatened me with cancellation of my adventures unless I was willing to write them in ways those Americans could understand.)  Snow is an unbeatable opponent whom I choose never to meet again, if I have my way.  The most upsetting thing is, Salt finds Snow fun.  She says she’s played some sport with Snow using two thin sticks tied to her feet and metal poles to hold while leaping headlong down a steep incline.  I could never understand what she was talking about.

The worst beast to meet, though, was the High Level Bridge in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, eh?  Black girders reaching up into forever, a polluted river far beneath you – so far below that you can’t even tell its there.  It looks like a trickle of a stream.  A green cloud of toxic waste hovers over Edmonton like a green dung beetle waiting to fart.  The smell of the city is um… intoxicating to say the least.  The bridge in question looms in the middle of nowhere, joining two sides of a valley with the little river of toxins running between.  Built so high off the ground, Air Traffic Control had my plane directed to fly beneath this puppy. Eerie, considering when we did do so, coming in for a landing, I looked out and up from my window seat to gaze up at strangers peering down and taking pictures of the plane.  Stupid terrorist tourists.  How was I to know the bridge was so high up to give me elevation sickness enough to wet my jeans by spilling a bottle of drambuie on them? Can I say disoriented?

Well, anyway, here’s the story:

After departing from flight 666.6 from the Amalgamated Airlines between Air Canada and Canadian Airlines – now called Air Canadian – I stepped from my platform and was instantly lost in a sea of thousands.  All wandered around the giant terminal, wondering where to go and which plane to board.  Considering the confusion even at the check in luggage counter, I won’t go into that.  Let me just say I lost my luggage somewhere in a place called Kalamazoo.

While standing in queue, I ground my teeth to a powdery ash.  Queenie and Salt were out and about back at my Secret Headquarters doing stuff.  Me, I was standing in a line humming some stupid Dillon tune while a short chick with red hair and freckles and a fancy cap kept stamping people’s passports and her big partner who looked plenty like Elvis Presley shot them with a needle and pushed them through this solid lead door into the outside air where all I could see from my vantage point was white.

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A Work of Fiction in 7 Parts: Murder on the Edmonton Express – Part V


Yep, you read the title correctly.  Queenie saved my sorry @$$ back there in the airport lounge.  You shoulda seen him.  The little guy was a mix of Elton John, Liberace, Chow Yun-Fat and Bruce Lee.  Wearing nothing but a yellow, glittery orange boa, high heels and a spandex purple tutu, he leapt in from I-know-not-where and beat the $#!t out of everyone!  It was fantabulous, I tell you.  I felt I was back in Las Vegas, gambling my life away and the Lounge Act manager shows up describing to me the entire fight.  Heck, I wish I laid odds down on Queenie.  Instead, I phoned my bookie with a trusty cell phone I stole from the Big Dick himself (Richard Nixon, I might add) and ended up losing a quarter million because I bet on Huey, Dewy and Lewy – the terrible trio as they are known in the Cartoon Wrestling Association of Zany Yellow Birds Federation.

Anyway, there was Queenie, my hero!  He leapt through the sliding glass doors with a yell that made me have a bowel movement I never thought I could have.  I disappeared back into the washroom to clean up while leaving the door open to see my little man’s actions. That’s the problem with Queenie – he always gets excited when a brawl is going on. He carried a Howitzer, rounds of ammo he slung over his shoulders and, in his purple tutu, began to spout “Jose Can You See?” from the successful musical “America: the Beautiful” that never lasted past opening night on Broadway. Granted, the song made it to the top spot in the World Pop Charts for over seventeen years way back in the 1300’s.  Huey, Dewy and Lewy he turns into skewered Chicken slices by shoving a sword through all three of them, plucking them and throwing them into the giant fireplace next to the tarmac where Mr. Christie’s plane crashed only moments before, thanks to a bazooka used by my wife-to-be Sodium.  They tasted pretty good, considering Queenie had no time to sauté the lot of them.  He didn’t even use spices.  Only after adding a few choice peppers I found in an unlocked safe in the back of the airport did we enjoy lunch later.

Queenie, after skewing the trio, jumped the Big Dick himself and…. uh …. well… I better not explain what Queenie does with Big Dick… uh… well… never mind.

Fantom Phish appeared behind me after I stepped out of the washroom.  He too was eager to jump into the fight.  He wore this cool looking Versace low-cut polyester sea-print disco shirt and extremely tight cream coloured dance-pants.  Wow.  Holding a knife and grenade he grinned at me.

“Hey, Pep. Queenie said there was a great party going on down here and invited the entire congress of the US here to witness him playing show off. Look out!”

Phish saved my @$$, too, joining Queenie in that small list of friends I would give my life too.  A moment later he threw his knife behind me and I turn to see Beaker collapse, the MiB from way back in Part I.  The man, bleeding to death, looks up to me with his Frog eyes (I mentioned he was French) and spouts one word.

“Timex”.  His eyes rolled up and then he melted. I was right!  The thin, giant of a man was really an alien from another world, disguising himself to record our abilities and talents.  No one can pull a hat down over old Pep-Shi’s eyes, I tell you.

Anyway… Phish looks at me, wondered if I was ok, only after swinging his fist as large as a sledgehammer into the face of the Chairman of People’s Republic of Iraq and sending him flying into Queenie’s path. The small man stopped fighting for a lengthy debate on the finery of the Long March of Mao-Tse Tung, joined in by the House of Congress and Sodamn Insane of Iran. Needless to say, after cleaning up the mess Queenie made and setting up a recording studio for the debate, Sodium Chloride and I took off for parts unknown to settle our little tete et tete over who loves each other more… That part of the story was deleted as my editor, Sodium actually, says some things are best left as tantalizing acts of mysterious fiction…. uh, excuse me, she’s nibbling on my ear and uh… Well, you know what that means…

“C’m here, Sodium… I want to”


… Wow! Whotta night! if I could explain in words what Sodium ended up doing with ketchup, strawberries and marzipan, well, WoooWoooo! Come the second day of our honeymoon (yup, we got married while Queenie was still busy in his debate) there came a knock on our door. Slipping on a kimono I walked over to the door and opened it. I screamed. Beaker was standing there, a hole in his chest and a smile on his face.

“Hello, Secret Agent Pep-shi. I am here on orders of Mr. Christie whom escaped from your death trap at JFK international Airport. He demands you show up at the Mountain Dew Consortium offices in Boulder, Colorado, after showing up on the high level bridge in Edmonton. You are to meet with my esteemed leader.  Bring your friends. It will be exciting!”

I turned to look at Sodium who slid up behind me, wrapping her arms around my stomach and nibbling on my ear. Beaker paid no attention, his eyes a glassy, hypnotized look in them. I realized he was being mind-controlled from a distance and checked him out head to foot. I found a metal device implanted in his head and looked back at Salt, smiling.

“This thingamajig is called a whachamacallit, trademarked by Hershey Corporation. I do believe we shall face our esteemed dastardly villain of this whole epic!”

Salt smiled, licking her lips lasciviously toward me. “Oh, Pep! The way you talk!! Can I show you position 119 in this book? You might like it!”

I looked. I liked. We tried…. Can I say the rest is censored?

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A Work of Fiction in 7 Parts: Murder on the Edmonton Express – Part IV


 So. There I was. Sitting on the john, reading the latest copy of Reader’s Digest, letting the flatulence out and contemplating the theories of the universe.  I belched, realising there are none.

I was in the drunk-tank at JFK international Airport somewhere in the US.  Everyone disappeared while going through customs while I was handcuffed to the toilet.  I can tell you I was not a happy crapper.

Pulling out my trusty hacksaw, (I won’t tell you from where) it took me all of a several moments to cut through the handcuffs, pull up my pants and fart before opening the door to see where I was.  Outside was the lounge to the Airport and everyone I ever knew was there.  Richard “Dick” Nixon, yup, the Big Dick himself was there.  Santa Clause, the Pirates of Penzance and three old colleagues of mine, Huey, Dewy, and Lewy.  They were all drinking a toast to the television they were watching. An announcer was speaking and I listened as I made a glass of Hooch and swallowed.

“And Dr. Peppa’s Mountain Dew Consortium fell apart today as the young woman, Sodium Chloride, addressed congress in a clear and concise way explained how Dr. Peppa’ is really dead and Mr. Christie, heir to the Hershey fortune and current president of the US, is guilty of the crime.  Sodium Chloride, dressed in a low-cut revealing more than I can say on television, charged Christie with treason…  The immediate response of the US congress was to Impeach the President for sleeping around with Hilary Clinton and Monica Lewinsky.  The President retaliated by launching miniature used condoms into the House of Representatives and leaving on a plane to Jamaica.  All this happening at the JFK International…”

I coughed up my Hooch and looked around.  I understood why everyone I know is here in this lounge to say goodbye to Christie.  I didn’t tell you, everyone I know is an enemy   except Queenie, Salt and Fantom.  Suddenly, the huge doors open at the other end of the room and as sure as my gold tooth has been replaced thousands of times, Christie himself walks into the room.  Gomer Pile gives the man a box of chocolates, Frank Sinatra offers him a song and Beaker (the MiB from way back in Part I) hands him the keys to a classy Plane.  The man boards and flies away, myself shooting at him with my Armalite rifle… the plane leaves, I turn around from the huge observation windows and crap my drawers, which I should have done while I was sitting locked up on the john.

Ever have one of those nightmares where every monster you can think of is in your room, staring at you, wanting to remove the skin from your body while you are still living? Yeah? Well… I’m there now and I have no clue how to get out of this one… Any suggestions?

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A Work of Fiction in 7 Parts: Murder on the Edmonton Express – Part III


Queenie and I fell asleep aboard TWA flight 666 out of Gatwick Airport   that’s in London, by the way   immediately. I think I felt more than heard the wheels leave the tarmac and the hum of the engines while the wheel mounts retracted into the underbelly of the big flying sardine can. After that, I didn’t know, see, hear, taste, touch or have intercourse with any living thing… uh, anything, that is to say!!

Sometime later, the dark of my eyes broke open as they fluttered up and down upon my awakening. I blinked. I blinked again. I blinked a third time.  “Queenie!” I yelled at the top of my lungs… “Wake up!!!”

Queenie was snoring away on the other seat   but we were no longer in an airplane.  We were in some sort of deep cavern.  Tied to our seats.  I could tell immediately that we were beneath the surface of the ocean.  The rocks were moist, from what little I could discern in the dim light of the cavernous room.  Our chairs were of red ochre in hue  I really hate that colour   and matched the moist rocks for their comfort ability level.

I looked over at the Queen. He still snored away.  It was here I noticed his clothing was changed.  As was mine own! Queenie wore a lavender coloured three-piece suit with pastel purple buttons   double-breasted silk, if mine eyes did not deceive me. Myself, I found garbed in a ludicrous suit of deep ocean blue lined with thick red pin striping and a matching tie. Great Galloping Galaxies! Even my shirt was red!

“Who in the world dressed me?” I screamed, absolutely in shock. Heck, I know I’m the master of bad taste   but I think I met my match, especially noticing my black and white pimp shoes… I screamed again… And Queenie finally came around, belching as he always does when he gets up in the morning…


So, anyway, he belched. Then farted… “What did you EAT!” I looked directly down at him in the other chair and he blushed.

“Uh, I had a bowl of sauerkraut before the beginning of last chapter, Pep. Sorry. Say, where are we?”

I shrugged my usual shrug, not knowing. All I did know was how much I craved a cup of Second Cup coffee   or better yet, one of their mochas! Starbucks is out of the question… They are American, after all!! We looked around and back to each other, knowing instinctively what to do.

After how long, I cannot say, we managed to move the swivel chairs with castors toward each other by hopping up and down on the seats so that they bounced toward each other and made a lot of noise so everyone outside this cavernous cave knew we were awake and eventually we reached each other and swiveled the chairs back to back to begin unravelling our knots. In no time at all   say as long as it takes to read the dictionary from a z   we stood in the tiny room as large as a really large cave, the chairs tipped over. I flipped on my blue fedora, Queenie putting on his own lavender one. We   I hate to say it   we looked like something out of a bad spy movie, thick-headed mobsters. All we needed was a couple of Tommy guns.

Queenie found those in a closet by the metal door that would not open due to no handle or hinges on our side. All we could find in the room were two buttons. one said “Ring for service”, the other “Do not touch.” Queenie and I did a double take, grinned and touched the latter   we couldn’t resist. Really, we should have.

Unseen ports in the rock walls opened and the ocean above us began flooding the room. By my calculations we only had enough time to finish writing this chapter. Needless to say, a huge rock slide moved up and away from the far wall and we stared out of an incredible lead glass window into the ocean depths   and a grinning Phantom Shark. The water continued to rise and Queenie continued complaining about getting his ridiculous suit wet.

Attempting to console him, I noticed the tag on his sleeve. ARMANI. Oh my god…We were wearing ARMANI suits…do you have any idea about how expensive these suits are?   don’t bother about the colour coördination.  Whoever put these on us didn’t. I screamed banging on the door.

“HELP! Let me out! I don’t want to die! I’m wearing the first ARMANI suit I’ve ever owned and I don’t want to die in a $10 000 suit! I want to live, Live LIVE!!!”

Already the flood tide was up to my waist and Queenie climbed up atop my shoulders. “If one of us is to die, it might as well be you, PEP,” he said. I understood my friend’s reasoning. I would do the same for him in another predicament. I began crying. Queenie didn’t. He did what any good CIA trained freelance operative did in situations where we were in unknown territory, surrounded by tons of rock and the room quickly filling with sea water… He pushed the other button.

Immediately, the room stopped filling with water and a window in the upper half of the metal door opened. “Yes?” said the inquiring voice of a luscious brunette I’ve never seen before with cascading hair, a tight black dress and holding a wiener dog in her hands. Her skin, pale white, radiated a loveliness I never noticed in women before   her lips a blood-red, her eyes were a wondrous black and she wore these high heels Queenie squealed over.

“Get us out of here” I bawled   the suit ruined.

“Why?” She inquired. “You were stupid enough, Secret Agent Pep shi, to start the waters flowing in Dr. Peppa’s waiting room   why should I clean up your mess? The drains will suck up most of the water   there are mops and pails in the closet you found your Tommy guns in. I suggest you put down those lead carriers and pick up the mops and start cleaning   or Fantom there will be really pissed.”

I looked at Queenie   still on my shoulders. He looked down at me. “Who be Fantom?” Queenie asked. The beautiful girl smiled. That behind you:

We turned.

We Screamed.

We mopped up the room.

Fantom was this incredibly over-large muscular fish man   the same phantom shark we stared at behind the glass port. He had been exercising outside when he heard us open the gate to fill the room. The Phish was an OK sort of fellow   but not very talkative. Kinda Shy. Very good at being a superintendent, though. He told us how to clean up the place very fast.

After all was said and done, Fantom hauled us by the scruff of our necks down corridor after corridor, deeper into the underground lair and finally tossed us in an elaborately carpeted office. The beautiful brunette sat at an office desk. The wall behind her was another lead glass window looking out into the ocean. An occasional school of fishes went by. Queenie noticed the fishes.

I was too caught up in the low-cut dress the girl had on. It was so low I noticed she wore no bra…WOO WOO! The skirt was so high it revealed much. Man, I was sweating, let me tell you!! Crossing the room, the wiener dog in her arms, she same over to me, giving me the longest, deepest French kiss I’ve ever tasted. All the while, she fondled my   uh   my Tommy gun I brought with me from the Chamber. Yeah, that’s it… my Tommy gun.

“Nice piece of equipment,” she said.

“Thanks. Heckler and Koch, RPG Assault Rifle.” I managed to mumble this after wiping off tonnes of lipstick. I felt exhausted. “And who might you be?”

Queenie looked up at me, arching an eyebrow as he picked up the wiener dog and petted it fondly. “You don’t know, Pep? You’ve never met Sodium Chloride – Dr. Peppa’s right hand woman and professional home maker assassin extraordinaire??!?!? ”

The woman flashed her black eyes toward me, kissing me again, and tipping me over. Wow! I think I’m in love!!. Queenie sighed. “Miss Sodium Chloride, I would like you to meet my dear old friend and ofttimes confessor – Pep-Shi, international man of mystery, ghosts, wraiths, spooks and other assorted Paranormal phenomena.

“Pep, meet Miss Sodium Chloride.”

I had to pull her away to breath and get a good look at her. I staggered over to a red leather couch with an erotic painting hanging on the rock wall behind it. Adjusting my tie, I sat, looking at the woman of my dreams   her arms crossed and a leather cat o nine tails tied to her waist. I swallowed. Can anyone anywhere explain this LOVE thing to me? I’m confused. I just met her and already I want her to have my children   (and in a few years, she will, but that is another story. We’ll have three children Vanilla Ice, Sprite and Sarsaparilla).

I gulped in more air, thankful for the only break I’ve really had in this whole kit and caboodle adventure   and I’m not even in Canada yet! Anyway, the Goddess before me bowed and I offered my hand for her to kiss. It gave me a moment to gather my thoughts – and stare down her cleavage.

“Ok, Miss Chloride. May I call you Salt? What is all this about?”

She sobbed, falling into my arms, holding me tightly. The romantic music in the background flared and I yelled for Queenie to turn off the damn CD player. He did, the little wiener dog following him around like a friend. I learned later the dog’s name was King…. kinda appropriate, if you catch my innuendo.

Anyway, there I was, Queenie atop the desk turning off the love music, petting his dog. There I was, sitting on the red leather couch, Salt on my hands and wondering what to do. Salt continued to cry.

“Oh, Agent Pep shi. Please help me. The evil Dr. Peppa is dead!! The evil Mr. Christie pushed him off the High level bridge in Edmonton somewhere in Canada and is now after myself and Fantom Phish. Won’t you please help?”

I looked at Queenie. He shrugged, tossing King a little biscuit to chew on. “I don’t know, Pep. Maybe she’s right. I haven’t heard anything from Peppa in a long while. Maybe Mr. Christie is the killer and not the other way around!”

“What are you saying?” Salt looked into my eyes and I told her everything while she copped a feel! Damn, I always fall for that.

Several days later, several hours of intercourse later and several wonderful meals later, all five of us   Myself, Salt, Queenie, Fantom Phish and King were standing on the island above the secret Dr. Peppa hidden World Headquarters Organization for Really Emotional Management – WHORE MANAGEMENT – waiting for someone to pick us up. Apparently, the island is uninhabited by any natives in the middle of the south Atlantic ocean. I Also found out how we got there in the first place. Fantom ended up hijacking the plane while we were sleeping and crashed it a few miles offshore. Our clothes supplied by Salt and I gotta admit, I like her taste.

It turns out, too, that Salt may be speaking the truth. I made a few phone calls while down below to cash in favours I needed. Apparently, the body found in North Saskatchewan River may   or may not – be Mr. Christie. I’ll explain later… Really, I will.

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A Work of Fiction in 7 Parts: ‘Murder on the Edmonton Express’ – Part II


So I went…

…Right into the middle of a TWA hijacking.  Can you tell I was not having a great, wonderful, super day?  The MiB – who called himself Beaker (no idea why) – gave me my tickets atop the Tower of London and I flew – well, what do you expect from a super spy, anyway – cab driving?!?  Actually, I took my hand glider and lifted off toward Gatwick airport miles away.  Colder than all Hades up there, I can tell you that.  My gonads still endure at the thought.

Well, anyway, back to the story.  I landed my glider on the outskirts of the airport and wandered in, unnoticed.  Wearing no disguise I looked like a handsome Humphrey Bogart and sauntered up to my gate.  Thousands of people were there, cameras, media crews, journalists, rocket scientists   you name it.  “Shit.”  I muttered.  I actually muttered it. Aloud.  If you don’t believe me, read that last bit again.  It’s in quotation marks.  That means I said it.  So there.  Pardon my American.  I walked up to the gatekeeper who looked too much like my last date and asked her what was going on.

“Oh, kind sir, I have terrible news.  Oh, sigh.  Your flight is cancelled.  Behind me and through those very large windows you can see why.  Oh, Sigh.  The Concord has been hijacked!  Oh, Sigh.”  She fainted.  Daphne, her name tag said.  Daphne?  No, it couldn’t be.  I looked closer at her cleavage.  Yep, it was!  She was my last date. (Not bad, so I groped a quick feel, grinned, and laid her down on the floor.)

“Yes, hijacked!”  Everyone in the port echoed back.  I screamed.  This scenario began to sound too much like a Gilbert and Sullivan Musical.

“All right, all right!”  I was cranky and getting pretty pissed off.  No one was taking charge.  I didn’t see any security or anyone of importance other than a rather handsome man wearing a cream coloured trench coat and matching fedora.  Crap, I was looking into a reflection in the window!!  I’m not complaining! “Everyone, please listen up! I am master spy Pep-shi, from Japan and I am looking out for all of you! Can anyone tell me what is going on here?”

“I can,” came a tiny voice in the crowd.

The crowd parted and a midget, dwarf, someone small, vertically challenged, take your pick of terms, walked up to me, batting his eyebrows.  Yuck!  The tiny fellow in drag let a blue boa wrapped about him to drag twenty feet behind.  What made me pee my pants was the fact he held a Gatling gun at my testicles.  I can tell you it is not the most comfortable feeling in the world.  You have someone ready to remove your entire reason for living while you’re awake and see how you like it.

“Who might you be, Shorty?” I asked in my best authoritative voice.

“You’re a turd, Pep-shi.  You don’t recognize your old friend and CIA buddy?”  He paused for dramatic effect, turned his head both ways, stepped forward and grabbed my tie, pulling me down to see him eye to eye.  “I am Queen Kong.”

“Queenie!” I screamed in sheer delight, startled out of my wits. “The last time I saw you, you were eight inches taller, and black.  You.. you… you’re Asian now! What happened?” Around us the crowd dispersed as Queenie ordered all the CIA agents to pull the people back.  Not bad, though the media rioted.  The CIA in typical fashion responded with gas and bullets.  The media cleared out pretty fast after that.  Queenie and myself were left alone looking out the closed-door that led to a hijacked plane.

“So what did happen to you, Queenie?”

“Cross culture dinner picnic. I slept with a French Frog and woke up the next morning looking like a short Khan. I can tell you, this skin does not go with my high heels!”

“No guff…so what’s the scoop, old friend?”

He pointed outside, laughing. “Some stupid idiot calling himself Elvis John Franklin Robert Martin Luther King Kennedy Presley Jr. took over the cabin.  He’s demanding we release the J.Edgar Hoover files on the Alien Abduction of Princess Di.”

I looked at him, exasperation written all over my face. “We can’t let those documents out to the public!  The United Nations, the Pentagon, and the entire free world would be ruined!  If everyone knew the UN allowed aliens to kidnap humans in experiments to save the planet, the Captains of Industry would revolt! We would see instant degradation of our resources.  We cannot allow this to happen.”

Jaws firmly clamped on one of the better cigars the world had to offer (straight from the corner growing store), Queenie batted his long lashes and spat.  “You got a better idea than negotiations, Pep?”

I lit his cigar and grinned my widest grin.  “You get me another date with Daphne and…hell yeah!”

“Daphne thinks you’re a flake, Pep.  I suggest you try out that Priscilla dame out in Edmonton, AB.  Next time you are in the outback up in Canada way, give me a call and I’ll set you up!”

I looked at him, my eyes crossed.  “You know, Queenie,” I said.  “I’m heading out that way on my next flight, which happens to be that flipping plane!”  I shoved my thumb at the long sliver of silver atop the tarmac.  “Gimme that bazooka!”  I grabbed the bazooka out of his backpack, and without even thinking (heck, I only had a half cup of coffee all day and that decaf), pulled the trigger with Queenie screaming in my ear.

The plane exploded like a gazillion Roman Candles lighting up.  It was magnificent.  I spent the next four hours discussing the art of warfare with my old friend while rescue ops cleaned up the much on the tarmac.  Sad thing, losing that concord.  It to take me to Toronto…

“You really are a turd, Pep.”

“Why’s that?”

“You notice anything odd about that plane before you blew it up into so many pieces of sexy silver coloured shards?”

“No.  Nothing besides the red carpet, the five black limousines rolling away from it with the Union Jack plastered all over them. Why?”

“Prince Charles and his mom were aboard.”

“Oh, well.  I’m not English.  Why should I care?”

Queenie looked at me awkwardly for a second before shrugging.  “Yer right, Pep.  I keep forgetting you only live in England because of the women. Good sex.”

“Yep. Listen, you want to join me on a quest of solving a murder?”

“Hmm.  I’ve got some time coming.  Why not?  Who kicked the bucket, Pep?”

“Mr. Christie.”

The cigar fell from his mouth and hissed in the puddle of water beneath our feet. “Wow. Sure, why not? Is, um…well… You-know-who involved….?”

I sighed.  “Yeah, unfortunately, Queenie.  Peppa’ is at the heart of it.  I’m sorry about you two breaking up last year, but bad guys are bad guys.”

“I know, Pep.  C’mon, we got another concord to catch!  It might be fun kicking Doc Peppa’ in the nether regions for a change.  He always like to play that game with me as target.  It’s time to turn the tides on the scruffy bastard.”

We stole the next concord that came by and left for Toronto.  Toronto’s in Canada as far as I know.  Never could figure out if it was the name of a city or a province or some park or something.  Truth be told, never been there.  Don’t want to be there, either.  I hear Toronto and Canada are cold and they have snow, igloos and forts scattered all over the place.  I checked.  the Times World Atlas and Google Earth list several hundred Forts scattered all across this huge, barren, landscape.  Left a chill to run down my spine.  Heck they even have something called a Lawyer still breeding and breathing there, a really rare thing.  Several years ago do to another case I was on, all the lawyers in the world were exterminated.  It was an accident.  Really.  I had no desire to reach out and touch that red button marked “Target All Lawyers” on Dr. Death’s DeathRay Death Machine.  I wonder if I can shoot me one while I’m in the Great White North.  Lawyer’s Heads make great mantelpiece displays.

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A Work of Fiction in 7 Parts: ‘Murder on the Edmonton Express’


There I was, sitting atop the Tower of London, when this mysterious man, about seven feet tall approached.  He wore nothing but a trench coat, smelled of Napoleon Brandy, and I could tell in an instant his most intimate secret.  He was French.  The over tall giant lit up a cigar (Cuban, unfortunately), and inhaled. I could not believe it when he turned green!!

It took a moment for him to compose himself.  Finally he gazed at me with those strange, black eyes that held no meaning, no life.  Then he spoke.

“Are you Pep-shi, International spy of Mystery, Spooks, Wraiths, and other assorted Paranormal Phenomena?”

“Why, yes,” I mumbled into by travel mug of steamy Red Rose Tea that I had to import from Canada.  It is only available in Canada.  Pity, eh?  “What is it to you?”

The man in black – the MiB, looked at me with a face describable as sad or, better yet – HAUNTED.  “It seems, Mr. Pep-Shi, that the Evil Dr. Peppa’ and the Mountain Dew Consortium have killed Mr. Christie – owner of the Hershey Fortune.  His will, read yesterday, stated he would be murdered and YOU are to solve the case.”

“Holy Alberta!”  I retorted and dropped my mug.  From far below, a soft moan reached my ears as my cup struck the night watchman.  Oh, well.  He was no big loss to the world. “How was Mr. Christie killed?”

“He was found floating below the North Saskatchewan River, tied to a cinder block directly below the High Level Bridge in Edmonton.  A note pinned to his back read “I WAS NOT PUSHED..I WAS MURDERED…DOCTOR PEPPA’.”

“Wow, I said.  What is in this for me?”

“Ten billion dollars and the entire Christie line of shopping malls, candy stores and adult magazines he purchased from Harry Flint.”

“Wow”, I said again.  Solving this case against the evil Dr. Peppa’ – my nemesis since we both graduated from Harvard with degrees in EVIL and GOOD and my ending up being the valedictorian.  I grinned.  My gold tooth glittered, malevolent in the full moon.

“When do I start?”

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The Struggle for Democracy – Part II


Many friends, colleagues and acquaintances have asked in that rhetorical manner ‘how do we fix the system?’  The brutal answer is that we don’t.  The current oligarchic system of government works just fine – for those in power.  One cannot fix what is not broken.  However, this is not the best system of government, nor is it a democracy (see last post). If the current system of government and bureaucracy do not work, what is a better state of affairs?  Granted we cannot go from A-Z without going through the alphabet, unless we want to go backwards.  That is an option, although common sense tells me it is not the wisest of directions.  We must take this step by step, a process that entails hard work, dedication, and determination for a better life for all concerned and not only the people in power.

ELIMINATE THE POLITICIANS (I don’t necessarily mean kill)
No current or retired politicians can be trusted to act in the interests of a democracy.  In my opinion – I write again, IN MY OPINION – all politicians are all lying, cheating, self-interested thieves and cut-throats.  This doesn’t make it true; it is what I believe the truth to be.  Admittedly, I’ve met many politicians in my life, and those experience has shaped my opinion.  Once elected, a politician’s only interest is in shaping their careers and re-election.  That is their only interest.  Granted, when these people are not play-acting as politicians, they are probably decent enough and want a happy life, like everyone else.

SO, GET RID OF THE POLITICIANS.  Convict them of Treason without trial and set about their immediate dismissal from power and from Canada.  Accomplished in one in one of three ways:

  1. Capital Punishment: Hang the lot of them. (It is a capital offence), that is bad karma, and not an avenue I wish to explore.  Granted in every political reform in the past, this was always used.
  2. Banishment:  Exile every politician, including their spouses and descendants to Baffin Island, along with every Deputy Minister, every Assistant Deputy Minister, and Executive Director and Judge.  Give them enough raw supplies to last them two years – and warn them they will never be allowed to leave, on pain of life.  Establish military bases and ensure their exile.
  3. Exile From Canada:  Send them to whatever countries will accept them.  Never allowing them to ever walk on her soil again.

In every case, everything they own is seized by the new State and used to help create a true democracy.  Once these people are gone we can set about getting down to work and creating the world’s first democracy.

Join me in my next post as we look at drafting a New Constitution.

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The Struggle for Democracy


With the Election in Canada around the corner, I feel it is time to remind every one of a few basic points about the Canadian political Landscape:

  1. Canada is NOT a democracy, no matter how much the politicians, the parties, the bureaucracy and the fifth estate mindlessly state it is.  Canada is an Oligarchy.  Oligarchy is a form of government ruled by the few who are not interested in needs of the many, but in the needs of those few.
  2. The media / fifth estate continues to ask the wrong questions.  they nurse maid the oligarchic structure of both government and the bureaucracy, the parties and their players, not doing what they should be doing – asking worthwhile questions that actually focus on what the people want.
  3. Most people don’t care about the government any more.  Everywhere I hear the lack of trust in the system, lack of trust around parties, politicians and the media, the legal system, taxes, and so on.
If I were to tell you that I could give you Eden after 48 hours, and clean up this entire mess, would you take it?  Keep in mind, there is a cost:
  1. Everyone would need to do as I say within those 48 hours.
  2. After that, the country would be yours – yet you would have to earn it every day of your lives.
  3. This current system does not work as efficiently and democratically as it could.  As it isn’t broken, it cannot be fixed.  It needs be dissolved and a new system put into place.
I promise, though, every day you would go to bed a lot more fulfilled, a lot more interested in your country and your world.  Would you still take it?
Most people are misinformed and are ignorant of what our system really is.  Ignorance is not a bad thing.  All it means is ‘lacking knowledge’.  That, in and of itself, presents a gift for everyone to be more informed, more educated and open to new and greater experiences.  I admit I am ignorant.  That alone gives me the self-empowerment to listen and be open to what others have to say. It also grants me the self-wisdom to state my views of the world around me, and to share them.
With that pretext, we need to define our terminology with the world around us; and how the media and the entire structure of politics keeps using incorrect terminology to define itself.  If the media and politicians keep getting their words wrong, no wonder the people, who should be in the heart of power are a thousand miles away from it.  So, without further ado – definitions:
  • Democracy:  (ancient Greek; DEMOS + KRATIA.  DEMOS = city/all people of a city.  KRATIA = to rule. )  Literally – the rule of the people.  This means all people.  (Admittedly, even in ancient Greece true Democracy was an ideal, and not practiced.)
  • Oligarchy: a form of government in which all power is vested in a few persons or in a dominant class or clique; government by the few. (This is the Canadian Constitution as it has stood for over a century.)
  • Government: the governing body of the state (on any level).  In Canada, the Federal Parliament and the Provincial Legislatures are the governing bodies.  Therefore, all elected officials are part of the government.  The Media and the Politicians believe the Majority Party (the party with the most influence) is the government.  This is not true.  They are are only a part.  the Media and the politicians express their words of how the government has decided or leads Canada a certain way.  This is not true.  The leading party guides the path (and fails to represent the majority of Canadian citizens).
  • Ruling Party:  The Party that has the most seats and asked by the Governor General to lead government.  (Where media is concerned, as with all political speeches, when referring to ‘government decisions’, the term ‘leading/governing party’ needs to be substituted.  This is much more honest and correct, and therefore not misleading the public by lazy writing or promotion)
  • Bureaucracy:  (Private or Public) a system of administration based into bureaus, division of labour and hierarchy of authority, etc.  Designed to dispose of a large body of work in a routine manner.  The bureaucracy of a public or private enterprise is also the body of people who are not elected, but do the majority of work.  The larger it is, the more entangled it becomes.

The challenge with the media and those within government and bureaucracy is that even they misuse each term, causing more and more confusion.  This needs to be cleared up and writers (including myself) need to strive for clarity when we write on such topics.

As I continue with the political monologues, further definitions will be added.

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