Large Fierce Mammal

“Death Dealer” by Frank Frazetta

For those of you who aren’t privy to the machinations of Canadian politics, our government is attempting to push through a piece of legislation that is widely held by the thinking population, including us LFMs, as a dangerous and intolerable assault on the rights and freedoms of Canadians, all presented as another one of those “for your own good” propositions. Put forward as Bill C-51,  with the working title of the Anti-terrorism Act, the government argues that we are “… at war …” with ISIS and that Canada, “… is under siege …”, thus justifying spying on the interior of the house in case an Ant gets in, instead of finding and rooting out the Ant hill.

Speaking for me and mine, we grow tired of childish parliamentary arguments over what “combat” means, and the persistent doctrine of incremental warfare where the time tested one called “shit or get off the pot” should really be dusted off and put back to work. It seems to us that if an enemy is so vile and unconscionable that its every moment of existence represents a threat to all that Canadians hold dear, then shoring up the ramparts at home is time and money less well spent than sharpening our swords and readying our ships to make the bastards sorry they ever attracted our attention.

In the end, turning the life of every Canadian into a government assigned fish bowl, and unleashing a pogrom, represent extreme ends of a complex but not exactly unheard of situation. One that, unfortunately, is at risk of being exploited in the former extreme. In Truth, if the threat to Canada really is that heinous, then our moral imperative is to turn it into a grease spot as soon as possible. If not, then my advice would be to shut up and go home, because in that case we have loyal people in harm’s way, faithfully carrying out orders to commit, or at least facilitate, violence of doubtful efficacy, all free from any sound reason to be there.

I will have more to say on this subject, but for now I offer the poem that follows, echoing sentiments uttered in The 13th Warrior:

Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan: “Have we anything resembling a plan?”

Herger the Joyous: “Mm-hm. Ride ’til we find them… and kill them all.”

Mark Twain said, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme.” This poem does neither.

Take the Fight to the Enemy

By LFM

“The sky is falling!” came the cry.
“Enemy at the gates!” echoed from the hills.
“War! Fear! Doom!” boomed from the ramparts.
Ears ringing, I left my work and made haste to the wall.

Mounting the stair to the battlement, I stood
And looked across the plain, the sweet wind in my face.
Upon the land below, cattle grazed, and men moved about their business –
Some good, some bad, most neither and both.

Of the Dread Enemy spawning warnings so dire,
None could be seen, and yet every act of mayhem is Theirs.
In the streets, Their name is spoken in whispers hidden in shadow
For fear that to name Them is to invite being marked as one among Their number.

The walls have ears, but none are Theirs, and few notice
That the spears of defense have come to point ever more inward rather than out.
Soldiers are sent with great fanfare to deal pinpricks hailed as triumph –
Muzzled War Dogs best kept leashed if they are not to slake their ravening thirst in blood.

In lofty halls, forked tongues entwine the words of conflict,
At once invoking the name of War whilst insisting the Soldiery
Stand upon the field for reasons otherwise.
That a Soldier exists as the bloody finality of his Nation’s tolerance is forgotten.

An Enemy so offensive yet so weakly pursued,
In concert with the noble quest for avoidance of offense.
So empowered that we must fear our own children, and throw open our homes
To the benevolent vipers sent to lurk protectively beneath our beds.

That the Enemy hath power to change the hearts of men
And turn them to ignoble cause seems strange to me,
For have there not always been those among us who would
Cleave to any cause offering excuse to release whatever particular evil they hold dear?

Standing there upon the wall, the wind stirs my hair
As I ponder how such an evil is granted the power of cowering fear
Instead of a righteous outward vengeful flood with but one goal –
To ride until we find them, and kill them all.