I’ve had it. We are down to our last two issues of the Meliorist and I’ve been trying to get a response from this god-forsaken student population of the laziest sheeple on the planet with absolutely no luck. They probably don’t even read this page. Well good riddance. I’m making my last offer: to all those like-minded activist peeps out there who want to join me, I’m going to march on Ottawa and stage a coup. We’ll sit on the front lawn of the parliament buildings singing Koombay-ah (or however the fuck you spell it) with our arms linked and we’ll trip all those uptight bastards during the changing of the guard.

Lethbridge has dealt me its last hand, and I’m out. These wash-board brained infants who think Snooki is the be-all and end-all, and who try daily to emulate pop-star sensationalist lunatics (and it takes one to know one, people) aren’t worth my truth and effort anymore.

The municipal government is out to get us with its higher property taxes and estranged building projects. The provincial government is out to get us with its Castle logging agenda and continual abhorrent tax-hikes to pay people not to work (because, let’s face it, that’s the only way the world is going to improve). The federal government is out to get us with Bill C-10 and all kinds of shit legislation that will never allow us to grow as a people or learn how to make home-based atomic generators for all our energy and mutation needs.

Fuck this shit, I’m out.

I’m packing up my tiny little Honda and going to Capitol Hill with the expressed intent of thoroughly embarrassing my blood relatives in what can only be described as the “last-ditch hurrah of an utterly insane individual.” That’s the headline for the Globe to catch on to. There, now I’m doing their fucking work for them too. Want to join me? Meet me in Ottawa in 16 days wearing hot-pink leather chaps over a white spandex bodysuit and we’ll show all those stick-up-the-ass politicians how to have a real good time (though I hear some of them already partake in this kind of activity on a discreet every second Thursday).

The world’s gone to hell in a hand basket and all those really smart fuckers: Einstein, Newton, Lennon, and Carlin, have already figured it out. That’s why they fucked off already and are chilling on some astral plain sharing a roach and laughing about all of us poor saps still stuck here to clean up the mess of previous generations.

It’s a tiring gig, but somebody’s got to do it. Fortunately, that somebody won’t be me. That’s my gift to you: the opportunity to think for yourselves and get off your ass and do something. I’ve spent my entire school year writing rant after rant from the comfort of my navy-blue Lazy-boy wondering when the hell you fucks are going to catch on, and I’m through; find some other sap to do this thankless job, I’m out.

Even though I’ll be back as your sorry-ass, kicking-myself-in-the-head, bitter-towards-life-and-the-world Editor-in-Chief next year.

Think you’re going to get off light? Fuck no. Nobody’s going to fucking escape. All you have to do is decide: do you take this rant seriously or not?

(My advice is [censored])