Another Ringside Report from the Great White North
by Kevin “The Champ” Annett
When I learned the other day that it’s no longer a crime in Canada to publicly criticize Christianity, or to hold a duel, my first assumption was that now the atheists and the church goers will finally get to fight it out with pistols at twenty yards. Why else would a Parliament as sober as Canada’s enact such an eclectic mix of legal reforms: of dispensing with the medieval crime of Blasphemous Libel while allowing again the medieval practice of Trial by Combat?
But then suddenly I recognized the hand of divine providence in this typically mixed-up Canadian law: namely, that I’d finally get to legally execute the United Church Moderator.
Now hear me out: I have nothing personally against Jordan Cantwell, the present Moderator. I don’t even know the guy, besides the fact that he was a shoe-in to the position thanks to the male gender of those he sleeps with. But if we’re ever going to put such a messed-up institution and mindset out of its misery, hell, shouldn’t we start at the top? And it’s not like I don’t have just cause.
So I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been practicing my Muhammad Ali impersonations in front of the mirror in recent days, since it’s just me now in the ring against Jordan Cantwell: armed and dangerous, squaring off against each other at fifty paces.
Because face it, people! The guy is nothin’, and he’s just plain ugly. Man, he’s so ugly the sweat drips backward from his face so it don’t have to go there. I’m gonna wup his ass even without any bullets. Man, when I get through with Jordy he ain’t gonna be able to Moderate a phone booth! I’ve wupped Popes! Some mealy-mouthed nobody from the flatlands ain’t nuthin’ compared to the Champ!
Mind you, I doubt that the little bastard will accept my challenge. When it comes to United Church bureaucrats, shit boy! I can carve a better human out of a banana! So in the name of justice for all those mangled little kids, I ain’t gonna confine my challenge to some watery know-nuthin’ like Jordan Cantwell, who shits himself when he hears the words “Kevin Annett”. I’m out for bigger game! I’m on the prowl for any church big shot who’ll have it out with me, ’cause man, they got nuthin‘ now! Those church boys can’t put me away anymore for calling them out on their crap! The law’s on my side now! Blaspheme my ass, dick weeds!
I’m talking to you, Fred Hiltz! That’s right, you mutha fucka! Don’t try hiding behind that funny hat and all-white-boy Anglican smirk! I know what you done. Maybe you can wallop a mess of little brown kids and shove ‘em in the ground but you dealin’ with the Champ now! And I know why they call you the Primate, you little shit! ‘Cause you ain’t nuthin’ but a big stupid ape in a fancy dress! So choose your weapon, mutha fucka! And meet me at high noon some Sunday outside your fancy Toronto temple! I’ll be waitin’!
And let’s not forget the Papists.
Shit, I already took down their champ, so they is nuthin’. They’re too busy shreddin’ documents and hidin’ all their kiddy fuckas to put up any fight! Hell, I won’t even need to draw a bead and shoot on them jokers. They is already skedaddlin’ with all their loot for the Cayman Islands and Abu Dabhi, man! The papacy’s as big a fake as Sonny Liston was when I dropped him in five!
So what’s the Champ to do? I hear voices from ringside yellin’, “Give ‘em the knock out blow, Champ! Land ‘em one right in their gut and put ‘em down for the count!” I got the bead on them, that’s the truth. But takin’ them down ain’t even fun now ’cause they’re not even puttin’ up a fight anymore. They ain’t even buryin’ their own dead but are hightailin’ it out of sight before you all wake up and deal with ‘em yourselves. Just like George Forman in our Jungle Rumble, man, those churches can run but they can’t hide! They’re the real blasphemy, children, and they knows it!
Maybe the government knows it, too, which is why they is makin’ it easier for us to challenge them fake churches to a standoff now that they don’t have Big Brother holdin’ their coat for ‘em while they take down innocent little kids. All of them is scared now, people, so why the hell are we still so scared of them?
Like my good buddy Dalton Trumbo wrote when they were tryin’ to take him out for good, during his own blacklisting years:
“Put the guns into our hands and we will use them. Give us the slogans and we will turn them into reality. Sing the battle hymns and we will take them up where you left off. Not one, not ten, not ten thousand, not a million, not a hundred millions but a billion of us, all the people of the world, we will have the slogans and we will have the hymns and we will have the guns and we will use them and we will live. Make no mistake of it we will live this time. We will be alive and we will walk and eat and sing and laugh and love and bear our children in tranquility and security, in decency and in peace. You plan the wars but we will aim the guns, and this time we will know which way to aim them.