Fucking Belinda Stronach

We live in fucked up times. How's that for an understatement? Shit is fucked up beyond all recognition. The magazine we all see prominently displayed at the supermarket ought to change its name to Fucked Up Time. Yet, despite 2006 being more of a train wreck than the most pessimistic Anarchist could have imagined a mere generation ago, everyday life rolls on outside our car window as we watch and occasionally bark at it like a wet nosed overfed Belinda Stronach hanging out the window while Peter MacKay gives it to her from behind good and hard.

There is some beer philosophy for you: we are all fucking dogs like Belinda Stronach. Ow-woo!

Despite the disaster exploding in the world today I sit with a glass of cheap wine at my writing desk amusing myself and perhaps one or two others. What the fuck else am I supposed to do? Drinking a litre or two of wine and doing a little writing beats watching the Canucks or motherfucking poker on the tv. I am not the great thinker or writer my hero William Godwin once was but I try and live a life guided by his centuries old wisdom. Like we say when confronted about something by the boss down at the sawmill, "I'm doing my fucking best (asshole)." At the end of the Preface to the first edition of his Enquiry Concerning Political Justice and Its Influence On Modern Morals and Happiness Godwin wrote,

But, exclusively of this precarious and unimportant consideration, (that "the duty he conceives himself most bound to discharge is the assisting the progress of truth") it is the fortune of the present work to appear before a public that is panic struck, and impressed with the most dreadful apprehensions respecting such doctrines as are here delivered. All the prejudices of the human mind are in arms against it. This circumstance may appear to be more essential than the other. But it is the property of the truth to be fearless, and to prove victorious over every adversary. It requires no great degree of fortitude to look with indifference upon the false fire of the moment, and to foresee the calm period of reason which will succeed.

A toast then, to the calm period of reason which will succeed the Fucked Up Time. I drink to the Truth. Drinking wine spo-dee-o-dee drinking wine.