Archive for January, 2008

RANT #13: The Toronto District School Board

So this is one of those rants that isn’t for humour purposes. No, I’m fucking pissed off today.
I woke up this morning and checked the newspaper. It was dated January 30th, 1950.
It must have been. There’s no way it said 2008. I’ve gone back in time nearly 60 years, but somehow the Internet still exists.
How else do you explain the fact that fucking segregation in schools has returned?
Get this: Black only schools will be opening by September 2009.
Now, I’m a guy who isn’t easily dumbfounded, but this did the trick.
How the fuck did this happen in 2008? How the fuck did 11 out of 20 trustees vote in favour of it? How the fuck did even ONE trustee vote in favour of it?
Here’s background on this issue. It makes no sense whatsoever.
Someone looked up stats and found that the black high school drop out rate is around 40%.
They decide to do research on the causes of high rate… NO WAIT, THEY DON’T!
Not extensive research anyhow.
And they determine the cause to be… Black kids aren’t learning enough black history in school, thus causing them to drop out due to boredom.
And at hearing this news, 40% of students of Italian, Asian, German, Portugese, Brazilian, Indian, Argentinian, Russian, and Ukrainian descent realized that there isn’t much of their history taught in school either, and dropped out simultaneously.
No wait, that didn’t happen either.
The Board of Trustees sat down and discussed what they could do to fix the situation.
"Hmm… We could offer more electives, such as an African History course…"
"No, no, that’s a terrible idea."
"Why’s that?
"Well that idea might actually work. We’re looking for something completely ridiculous that will only serve to make the problem worse by sparking mass controversy."
"Oh. In that case, let’s bring back segregation!"
"Brilliant! You’re a genius! Please, screw my wife!"
So that’s what they’ve done. Introduced sergregation. Or rather re-introduced it.
More background? Get this:
In the provincial election, the Conservative candidate ruined his election chances by supporting the idea of faith based school. One school system for Catholics, one for Jews, on for Muslims, etc. The Liberal candidate opposed these ideas, saying that everyone should have equal opportunities for education, and won easily.
Now, the Liberal Premier doesn’t want to interfere in this buisiness, because standing up for what he believes in would be wrong.
So let’s get the facts straight here…
1. Blacks are dropping out at a fourty percent rate.
2. They blame it on the lack of African history courses, despite the fact that very little history is taught here besides French and British because those two form much of Canadian history.
3. This vote was pushed through by black parents, who expect the education system to teach their children African cultures and traditions, as clearly they’re too lazy to be bothered to inform their children of these themselves.
4. The answer to the problem is segregation.
Is anyone as fucking confused as I am? Does that make any fucking sense whatsoever?
Social de-evolution at its finest. Fuck the world.

When Lines Unravel

And here’s a new poem. I’ll call it "When Lines Unravel" for now, but if any of you have a better title for me, I’ll gladly change it. Anyhow, here you go.


When Lines Unravel



Off to the races, we’re out in the street,

Looking for places, places to meet.

Don’t know where we’re going, but the answer’s out there.

It’s dark and it’s cold but it’s us and I swear:


Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wait outside in pouring rain.

Sit and listen, sit and wait.

Sit forever, tempting fate.


Change the world, just a smile,

Save the world, worth my while.

“If only you would talk to me.”

I was blind but now I see.


Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wait outside in pouring rain.

Sit and listen, sit and wait.

Sit forever, tempting fate.


Should years burn through my eyes

I’d cry.

Should rain fall on this page,

I’d die.

Should light fail to shine through the sky,

Then why

Must I try

Here and now my end is nigh.


Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wait outside in pouring rain.

Sit and listen, sit and wait.

Sit forever, tempting fate.


If then at the end of time,

When lines unravel as do rhymes,

One word of mine should leave a dent,

Then not in vain is my life spent.


Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wait forever for the Train.

The world is mine, my path is straight.

It’s my race now, forgetting fate.

-Cyanize 01/29/08



It’s crazy the things that people expect you to do in life. Picking a career, for example. Very few sixteen year olds know what they want to do with their lives. Heck, some twenty-six year olds don’t know what they want to do with their lives. Why let it concern you?


You want to avoid it? Today, go out there and find a girl, or a guy, who you can marry and be with forever. Make a lot of friends. Be blue with them.


That’s it. You’re safe. Blue Heaven. That’s ace eh?


This poem is about a boy or girl around that age who has the option to be blue, and has all these great things around him, but something leads him to making bad choices and sacrificing his youth for glory. Don’t be like this kid, okay guys?



Harrier – Scrapped Idea #1: Introduction

"The second. 

A short unit of time. Seconds come and go quickly, and so we tend to take them for granted. And why shouldn’t we? When one second passes, another takes its place rather quickly. Many of us will live to see at least 2,000,000,000 seconds in our lifetimes.

But a second has far more power than that. Indeed, within a second it is possible that your life will change entirely."
I was twelve years old when I was first taught that lesson, but unlike most lessons that you learn in school, this one stuck with me. Somehow, I knew that one day I would have my second of glory. I just didn’t know when.
I guess I should introduce myself before I continue.
My name is Cody, but most people call me Harrier. Why? Well, once in grade four, a substitute teacher mispronounced my last name while taking attendence, calling me Harrier instead of Haminer. How she managed to do this is beyond me, but regardless, the class broke into laughter, and the name stuck. At first I didn’t like the nickname, but its grown on me over the years, and so now I introduce myself to people as "Harrier" more often than not.
I’m sixteen years old now, right in the middle of my high school career. I guess you could say that I’m your typical high school student. Inside of school, I get decent grades. For an extracurricular, I do Cross Country running. I’m on good terms with most people, though I’ve made an enemy here and there.
Physically, I’m average. Average height, average weight, average build. Black hair, dark brown eyes, and a dimple on my right cheek, which no one has seen in 8 years. I’m not exactly the pinnacle of male beauty, but I’m fine with how I look.
While looking through my French book a while ago, I found this story. It’s horrifying, to be honest, but it’s a good story nonetheless. Obviously it’s in French, so I’ll translate it for you here as best as I can:
Anthony had a good childhood. He and other wooden blocks of his age would spend entire days transforming themselves into palaces, planes, buses, schools, horses, among endless other options. He had plenty of imagination and many great ideas. He was able to do anything he wanted. It was said of him: "He has tons of potential." and "He’ll go far in the world." Therefore, Anthony continued his creative development and never questioned the meaning of his existence in the world.
Eventually the day came when Anthony was told that it was time to put his childhood behind him and fit in with the rest of the red square blocks in the Big Box. Anthony did not understand how he could be placed inside the Box. He had not finished exploring the richness of life outside the Box. Therefore, he thought, his place in life couldn’t be inside the Box. Besides, he wasn’t a square like all the blocks in the Big Box, but a triangle. And he was green as well.
Anthony explained his discontent. He explained that as a green triangle, he had different aspirations that those of the red squares. He spoke of life free of the constraints of the Big Box. He spoke of nature, of trees, of peace, of youth, of brotherhood, of birth, of eternity, and of hope. They responded by telling Anthony that life was better in the Box, and that all green triangles before him had resisted the Big Box, but that they had always entered eventually and all of them were living happily inside the Box. Anthony cried that he wasn’t red, that he would never be red, and that he didn’t know how to be red, nor how to become red. With strong smiles they told him that anything was possible. Finally, Anthony gave in to their insistance. His tint began changing from green to red. Finally, the green disappeared altogether.
Anthony went to place himself along with the other blocks of the Big Box, but he was not allowed to enter. He was told that he was still a triangle and that there was no place for triangles inside the Big Box, that all the spots were made for squares. Anthony insisted with conviction. He spoke of compromise, of originality, of individuality, of liberty, and of passion. They responded with words of norms, of symmetry, of systems, of reason, of institutions, of order, and of control. Each new word chiseled Anthony’s body, sculpting him into a perfectly formed square. Finally, he placed himself among the other red squares inside the Big Box.
Anthony was a great success in the Box. He created new, more efficient systems of keeping order within the Big Box. He smiled gently, remembering the potential he had shown during his childhood. Others assured him that he had chosen the right path in his life.
Occasionally, Anthony recalled his resistance of the Big Box, and shuddered. With embarrassment, he thought of the deformed shape and colour which he had wanted to perserve. But, he remembered that he was now a red square, that he would always be a red square, and that he would protect his square shape and red colour for the rest of his life. Proud and happy, he smiled with joy.
This has gotta be the most terrifying story I’ve ever heard. It’s like… anti-ace. Guys, do me a favour. Don’t be like Anthony.  If someone tells you that you need to change, that it’s time for you to change, tell ’em to fuck off, or something. No one can tell you to change, or when to change.
What should have Anthony have done? See, he was a green triangle. That’s already a problem. His best bet woulda been for him to change into a blue triangle first, before doing anything else. Once he was blue, that’s it. He’s home free, see?
It just goes to show you. Anything blue tends to stay blue. If you’re not blue, become blue. That’s the last time you’ll ever have to change.

As Expected

So mates, I’m just chillin in the morning, and I hear this:
"Round one of the MK II tournament will be held at 3:00. Be there."
"Fucking shit!" thinks I. "I haven’t practiced in weeks. I’m screwed."
So three o’clock rolls around and I start hearing the victory road music in my head, as any normal person does when he’s about to play in a video game tournament.
If you don’t know what the elite four music sounds like, please tear your ears off immediately and incinerate them. They aren’t worthy of existing. Or… Just LEFT click download. You’ll be a decent human being if you do.
Well… more decent than you are now anyhow, which is like saying that the leafs are LESS shitty now that they’ve fired JFJ.
Anyhow, my enemy arrives, and I start hearing:
and the battle begins, and it changes to
and I realize… holy shit… this guy’s no pro. He’s a fucking nooblet! And I beat his ass down, suffering only one attack en route to a nearly flawless victory.
64 kids started, and by the end of tomorrow, there’ll be 32 left.

How to Make Friends – Pt. 2.

Hola fuckslabs.
Lemme introuduce you kids to another friendship blog. Just shut the hell up and keep reading.
So, there are three main classifications of friendship that a person can be in:
1. The Superior Friendship
In this type of friendship, you call all the shots. You’re the boss, and you tell your friend what to do, who to hang out with, etc. This system is mutually beneficial. You get to run someone’s life, and they learn valuable life skills. For example, I’ve had a few mates in this type of a friendship. I got to own them at pretty much everything that exists, and they got to learn how to own. Get it? One tricky thing about this type of a friendship though: It rarely lasts long. Eventually the other person will get fed up of being your bitch and demand more. Then you’ve got a choice: Tell them to fuck the fuck off and find a new friend, or be a pussy and offer them equal terms.
2. The Equal Friendship
Friendship for pussies. In this type of friendship, no one dominates the other. Everything is equal, and happy. This is how you make lifelong friends. Good if you’re into that kind of thing, I guess, but bad if you want to hurt people.
3. The Inferior Friendship
Now I know what you kids are thinking: "Say Kak, isn’t being inferior worse than being equal? Wouldn’t you be more of a pussy that way?" to which I respond: "No, you fucking queefag idiot. Shave your vagina, grow a fucking brain, and then come back and talk to me. I can wait."
Alright, I’ll assume that each and every one of you is now clean-in-between and is capable of basic fucking logic. See, if you want to be friends with someone for whatever reason, this is the best way to start out. Say "I’m your bitch." Who in their right minds would turn down such an offer? A free bitch? Man, I wish I got free bitches daily… Oh wait, I do. And I’ve got ten spare ones inside my closet. And only three of them actually know where they are. And none of them care. But I digress. People like it when you’re their bitch. Complement them, defend them from their enemies, praise their accomplishments, and the like. It takes some time, but eventually they’ll come to like you. Back in my dreamassassins days, I had to initiate such a friendship with Master S, and oh how fucking brilliant I was. Anyhow, maybe they’ll offer you equal terms after a while, and maybe they won’t. It doesn’t matter. Either way you can play them for a fool and take everything from them.
Or, y’know. You could live happily ever after. Pussyfag.
Just remember: If you’re gonna commit a crime, make it something outrageous. Why? If someone says: "That man stole my wallet!" everyone will believe it. If someone says: "That man used a pneumatic drill to break into the San Diego zoo and steal Lucky the Zebra, and then sold Lucky to Aranian merchants for $20,000, and used that money to finance development of his gun that can kill without firing bullets, and used that gun to assassinate Queen Elizabeth!" No one will believe you. Except Michael Moore.
"Bring in the prisoner!" commanded the voice angrily.
"Y-Yes Supreme Commander," squeaked the servant, backing away.
A man in chains was forced up the staircase by two jail guards.
"Unhand me!" he demanded. "Why have you held me in bondage for so long without even telling me who you are or what sins I have committed against you?"
"Shaddap!" The guard snarled and punched the man in the gut. "The Commander has asked to see you, so consider yourself lucky. He only asks to see the prisoners that he likes. Most of the time he just has us torture and kill them."
The man remained silent for the rest of the way up the stairs, until he reached the throne room. Then he looked up, and his mouth dropped. Flags coloured in mustard and black covered the ceiling, and they bore a terribly familiar emblem.
"No…" thought the man, slumping to his knees. "Impossible,"
The man sitting on the throne turned around, and for the first time in ages the prisoner saw the face of his nemesis.
"Bellij…" The man said quietly. He was too shocked to say anything more. He felt a mix of anger, embarrassment, and fear within him, but blended together none of these emotions were able to manifest themselves properly, and so the expression on the prisoner’s face remained one of utter disbelief.
"Welcome to my humble abode," said Bellij, grinning. He had been waiting for this moment for a long time. "I hope you enjoyed your nap, s3c0ndh4nd."

Kudos to Kids – Tommy Zois

Today’s kudos goes to a relatively unknown figure. In fact, two weeks ago no one outside of his family and friends knew his name. Surely he would have prefered to remain an unknown, given the circumstances by which he has found himself proclaimed as a hero in local newspapers. This is a piece which I do not want to write, and would not be writing in a perfect world, but…
Tommy Zois. 16 years old from Toronto, Ontario. Up until Christmas, there was nothing spectacular about this boy. On December 25th, he spent part of the day at his older sister’s common-law husband’s house, along with his fourteen year old brother Jamie.
An argument brewed between his sister (Illida) and the man, and suddenly the man stabbed his Illida repeatedly. He then proceded to stab both both Tommy and Jamie. Tommy watched as both Illida and Jamie died, and then watched as the man raped his sister’s corpse. The man then took Tommy to another apartment, where he gagged and bound him and put him into the closet, and then told Tommy that he was going to get a gun and kill them both. Tommy struggled in the closet for seven hours before managing to free himself from his bonds. He then waited an additional two hours before making a run for it. He managed to escape the apartment and then told the police his story. As it happened, the man had already turned himself in a few hours earlier, and was charged with two counts of second degree murder, one count of attempted murder, and one count of kidnapping.
I don’t think that I need to explain much. Tommy Zois went to hell and came back alive. That’s beyond kudos. That’s heroic.


"One third," Cody said to his friend. "It’s a nice fraction, isn’t it?"
"Not nearly as nice as a half, or two thirds, or three quarters, or a whole."
Cody dismissed his friend’s comment with a wave of his hand.
"Oh, stop being so pessimistic, Mike," he said. "I’ll bet you never thought you’d get this far."
"No, you’re right, I didn’t," said Mike. "But at this rate it’ll be June by the time I finish, if I finish at all."
"Then you’ll finish in June," said Cody indifferently. "Which gives you a whole year afterwards…"
"And what if they don’t like us?" Mike asked.
"They will," said Cody. "And if they don’t the first time, you can try again, and again, and again. Eventually you’ll get it exactly right, and then…" His voice trailed off.
"We’ll be heroes," Mike finished, stars in his eyes.
"Isn’t it worth it?" Cody asked.
"Of course it is," said Mike.
"Aha!" Cody cried triumphantly. "Then we’d better get to work,"
"Yes Mike, ‘we’." said Cody, smiling. "I help you, don’t I?"
"Now that I think about it…" Mike said, returning the smile. "Yes. Yes you do,"
"So, when do you think you’ll be halfway done?" Cody asked.
"Working at 100% efficiency, on February 1st."
"…and how likely is that to happen?" asked Cody, already knowing the answer."
"I’d put the odds somewhere between slim and none." Mike grimanced. "It’s more likely that I’ll be halfway by February 20th."
"But eventually you’ll get there. That’s what counts."
"You’re right Cody,"
"Aren’t I always?"

On My Mark

"You called, general?" asked the soldier, saluting.
"I did," responded the general. "Tell me, captain, are we fighting a war right now?"
"No general, we are at Defensive Condition 5. Code blue sir."
"Really, Captain? DEFCON 5? Code blue?" Then his anger mounted. "If there’s no war, how the fuck are we losing so many men!?"
"Sir, I-" but he was interrupted by the general.
"Shut up!" he said, still fuming. "I know about the poisoning! You think that was an accident? Someone is fucking with us."
"Are you sure, sir?" asked the concerned captain.
"Damned right I’m sure. A whole regiment isn’t wiped out by a stomach flu. This is biological warfare."
"But who?"
"It could be pretty well anyone. Cuba, China, the Taliban…"
"Orders, sir?"
"Increase the security patrols around the camp and make sure that no one gets in. Keep a close eye on everyone who touches our food and water supply. If you find anyone, shoot to wound, not to kill. I want to know who’s doing this. Then we alert the President."
"Noted, sir. By your leave."
The captain dismissed him with a wave of his hand.