| CANADA'S SOURCE FOR HUMOUR, PARODY, AND SATIRE
 by Fubrics Short
It is the furtive
and secretive manner in which our recreant and cowardly government is
trying to hide its complicity in Project Sunshine, this most horrid of
crimes, the selling of the bodies of our children in the 1950s, some dead
to be sure, but how many were actually dead, the rest bleating like small
lambs as they were led to Australia to further the cause of Empire and
the Free World by being subjected to the poisonous radiation from nuclear
testing, this is true I kid you not, check in your library under Project
Sunshine if you doubt the veracity of my claims, I tell you I remember
as a small boy my mother telling us to watch out for the bogey-man at
night, and we thought she was talking about father, coming home late after
spending the evening at the bar or whorehouse, reeking of alcohol, sweat
and other malodorous substances, but no, now I see it, she was trying
to save us from something bigger, something far more sinister, our government
prowling the streets at night and plucking children foolish enough to
ignore their curfews, sending them off to the ends of the earth where
they would be tied to the ground with a stake at a variety of distances
from a nuclear test, what were the levels of Strontium, how high was the
Cesium count I ask on these irridated bodies, charred and turned to the
ash from whence we all come and to where we will all return, some day,
not too soon I hope, although every day leads me closer to that inevitable
coldness, but I digress, return their bodies I say, return the bags of
clammy ashes, if they haven't already be processed into bombs flying high
above us even as we speak, or floating in the deadly space citadels of
doom envisioned and already achieved by our kindly neighbour to the South
(that would be the US, for those who don't know that I am writing this
epistle in the Whiteness of the North), already achieved I say, despite
what you read in the newspapers, those babies and small children did not
die in vain but live on in the bombs above the clouds watching and protecting
us like guardian angels, I am not afraid or sad any longer but wait for
their return
fubrics@thetoque.net
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