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The Ubyssey Apr 1, 1983

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Or, we take gratuitous shots
at our bosses.
Page A5
Sex and the
Single Puppy:
An exclusive behind
the kennels report
■■i iw El Salvador and back: all
P 'S j       the national sites,
\ Jf^m$~\n 24 hours — guaranteed
' hr*m
Page F2
The Rose
Exciting new sequel to The Thorn Birds,
shot In George Pedersen's garden.
Everyone's favorite newspaper
west of 6th and Granville gets
sold after bloody battle between
Southam, Thompson and
CUP. "I loved it till the
end," laments Cuppie.
Page B1
See inside:
* * * * *
he weakened Stum
Today's weather:
Stay indoors
No sense
$500 outside Pacific Press
Latremouille to grab premier's seat
'I didn't do those
gov't ads for nothing/
he says, 'or did I?'
"ONLY CANADER EH?" whisper conspiring refugees beginning to catch local
lingo, as they lament the nuclear holocaust which has destroyed Europe. For-
Joe's dull, so are we
Silly's trendy little poodle MUFFY
Joe, a quiet soft-spoken man in his early 30's, nervously brushes a lock of unruly
blonde hair from his forehead as he begins
to talk about his singularly interesting
Spending his days as a chartered accountant and his nights watching video
tapes of the 1982 Stanley Cup final, Joe
seems, at first, to be living a life of utterly
unremarkable boredom.
His unprepossessing Kits walk-up is
uncluttered by mementos of past
glamour, he has no exotic pets, no interesting personal mannerisms, and does
nothing to distinguish himself from
anyone of a thousand people one might
encounter on any Vancouver street.
In short, Joe is not the sort of person
one would ever pick out as the leader of a
cult of transsexual accupuncturists.
Which isn't surprising, because he isn't.
Joe, like dozens of other people interviewed by the Specious Report team during the
past several months, is typical of most
people put there in storyland — he is dull,
he has done nothing of note, and he isn't
In a daily scramble to fill a gaping hole
in The Weekened Scum's front page, we
of the Specious Report i team have been
knocking our fucking brains out trying to
find interesting, trendy, human-interest,
featurey stuff padded out to fill our allotted 30 inches of space per day and now —
after months of tearing our hair out to
please those assholes in management who
thought up this plan — we're sick of it.
You hear us, GS, sick!
It sounded like such a plum assignment
when we got it.
"Hey team," they told us, "how would
you like to have a lock on front page —
everything you write planted in an
attention-grabbing page one box?"
Who could refuse an offer like that?
Hell, they even ran pictures of us next to
our by-lines.
See our mug shots, AS	
We didn't even mind when the company didn't pay us any more for doing
this shit. Those guys know how to kiss ass
when they want something out of you.
They promised us a section of the parking
lot would be marked off: "For exclusive
use of the Specious Report team."
But after a while, when the ideas
weren't coming so easily anymore, the
nice promises kind of fell by the wayside.
The word was out. We'd blown it. We
just weren't interesting enough. People
stopped laughing at our jokes in the press
club. Invitations for lunch were usually
declined with averted eyes, a mumble, and
a cough behind a fist.
We were yesterday's newswriters.
—Steve Bosch photo.
tunately, cameras were rolling as intelligent life, as we know it, on the planet expires and refugees can watch instant playback preserved for all eternity on convenient video cassette.
Instability hits Europe
Weakened news services
A ceasefire has been reached in this morning's limited nuclear war that destroyed
Europe. The agreement came after American
and Soviet officials declared the conflict a
stalemate, a White House spokesman said
earlier this afternoon.
"This is it. This is what New York was all
about," said an ecstatic American freeze
movement spokesperson in reference to last
June's massive rally in New York City.
The limited nuclear exchange began at 7:30
a.m. when the U.S. fired a "warning shot"
at Leningrad. The U.S.S.R. returned the fire,
and the continent was destroyed as most
Europeans were on their way to work.
Preliminary counts put the number of dead
at 200 million, almost half of Europe's pre-
exchange population.
"By 7:45 it became obvious that neither
side was going to capitulate or back down,"
said the White House spokesman. "We
played our ace and destroyed
Czechoslovakia, but they simply wiped out
Italy. That told both sides it would be best
for everyone to de-esculate."
But in Geneva, which was untouched by
the conflict, military observers said the conflict took at least 30 minutes to slow down,
instead of the planned 10-12 minutes. "As a
result, all of Europe was decimated, as opposed to the handful that would have been
hit if it could have been brought under control as quickly as the regulations dictate,"
said one official, who was in Geneva for arms
control talks.
By 8:00 a.m. the exchange had become a
m.a.d. free-for-all, survivors reported.
"If it had been Kieve or Odessa, maybe we
could have understood. By why Lenigrad?"
a bewildered Soviet president Yuri Andropov
told Pravda.
U.S. president Ronald Reagan explained in
a press conference that the Free World could
no longer tolerate Soviet expansionism. "To
save Europe, we had to destroy it," he said.
Weakened Kamloops Bureau
In a surprise move, BCTV weatherman
Fred Latremouille has taken the Social Credit
party by storm and will lead it into the next
provincial election, replacing premier Bill
"The premier has been in a high pressure
.area for some time now," said a sunny
Latremouille, "and he's feeling under the
weather. Consequently the party decided it
would be best for Bill and for the investment
climate in B.C. if a new front moved in. That
front is me."
Latremouille, the controversial freelance
weatherman who faced a hail of criticism for
hosting a thinly disguised series of Socred
political TV ads paid for with government
flush funds, has had a meteorological rise
within the Social Credit party. He attributes
his success to Bennett's indecisiveness about
calling a provincial election.
"Bennett just couldn't decide whether to
call the vote or whether to wait,"
Latremouille said. "So leading party
members figured if they were going to have a
whethermari lead the party, why not at least
get a professional one."
A despondent Bill Bennett claimed the
overthrow was plotted by Surrey gardener
and former cabinet minister Bill Vander
Zalm, but admitted his political future appeared cloudy.
"It was a snow job," said the testy
premier, his temperature rising. "I've been
frozen out of my dad's party. My career's on
ice. But I'll tell you one thing —
Latremouille's rain in this party won't last
Meanwhile, Latremouille breezed through
his election platform. The new Socred boss
said that based on the success of B.C.'s new
covered stadium his party was planning to
put all of Vancouver under the dome. The
money for the enormous project will come
from a special government fund put aside for
rainy days.
NDP opposition leader Dave Barrett, calling it a dark day for the province, promised
to turn up the heat in the legislature.
"Latremouille and his fair weather friends in
Social Credit are full of hot air," a beaming
Barrett told reporters. "When the election is
called the people will shower the New Liberal
. . . er . . . New Democratic Party with
votes," he predicted.
Latremouille's stunning move sent shivers
down the spines of Conservative party
members currently searching for a new
knifeholder, also sometimes called Tory
leader. Inside informants at the CBC claim
that newsreader Knowlton Nash is pondering
a stab at the job.
"After all," Nash reportedly said, "the
Tories . agree on one, .thing,, surprisingly
enough, and that's the need for a national
candidate. So who could be a better National
candidate than me?"
Observers feel that if Nash were to throw
his hat in the ring the only man capable of
stopping him is Lloyd Robertson of CTV.
When contacted Robertson said of the
rumours, "It's news to me." He added that
Harvey Kirck was still on vacation.
Although the full effects of the
Latremouille coup are yet to be determined,
political storm warnings are in effect for all
parties. The most alarming possibility yet was
voiced by political analyst Dalton Camp,
who claims that the Liberal party, ever alert
to new trends, plans to draft one of Canada's
most loved broadcasters as its next leader.
"I have it on good sources," said Camp,
"that the next( Liberal leader will be none
other than the Friendly Giant! The Giant has
been told that a little chair has been set up for
him in the Liberal parliamentary benches,
right there beside the fire."
Camp said the Giant would be extremely
popular with big business and have a
stranglehold on the votes of young people.
Friendly's key political advisor, Jerome
Giraffe, said if elected the big man would
have a strong cabinet. "Rusty the Rooster
will take over the ministry of agriculture and
the egg marketing board, and I don't think
I'd be sticking my neck out too far to say I
hope to get an appointment to the upper
house," he confided.
Camp said, the Friendly. Giant's only
potential difficulty was in his close business
relationship with Mr. Dressup, the TV
mystery man noted for his bizarre wardrobe.
"I'm just not convinced Ontario is willing
to take a man like Mr. Dressup seriously in a
post such as minister of external affairs,"
Camp noted, though he agreed that a
Dressup appointment to the B.C. Supreme
Court would be acceptable and not surprising. You
Che Weakened Scum
*****    FRIDAY, APRIL 1
It's usually one thing to run a famous catering service and
quite another to be a woman's libber. But Susan has found a
way to combine both and be a more creative person and loving being for it, although she has an ambivalent attitude:
towards the term "Superwoman."
In her comfortable, co-op house, where strings of garlic:
cloves easily mesh with large ferns, Susan sits back on a pink
velvet couch, takes a choking drag from her low-tar
cigarette, and admits what she's known for years: "Yes,
nanaimo bars lead to liberation."
"They certainly led to mine," she stresses, afraid that the
person with whom she is trying to communicate won't
understand and will prematurely judge her. She is all the
more apprehensive because it's only been five hours since
she discovered that she didn't need a man to be a whole person.
As an affirmation of her realization, Susan went to court
today to legally remove her last name that made her famous
— Meddlesoon — to prove she can stand on her own.
"Patriarchy and male domination suck," she quietly
says, pushing last month's copy of Cosmopolitan under the
coach and revealing Ms. magazine under a cushion nearby.
She reflects on her years as Vancouver's top gourmet — she
cites appearing on the Vancouver Show with Pia Shandel as
a crowning achivement to a successful career — and quiche-
maker. Her own business, The Hazy Gourmet, continues to
thrive despite recent personal turmoil.
She says she feels uncomfortable about owning a business
that brings in more than $200,000 a year: "Most of my
customers are meri anyway," she remembers and spits in
disgust. Fortunately, there is a spitoon nearby.
Susan, who started the Hazy Gourmet restaurant and
catering service five years ago, says food was crucial to her
journey to enlightenment. "You cook, and you cook, and
you cook, and one day you realize you don't have to cook."
Most Vancouver feminists have accepted Susan's
transformation, although most will not go on the record.
Debbie Dallas, of Vancouver's Progressive Women's Pro
gressive Health, Counselling and Support Services and Spa,
says: "I embrace her. She's a woman, a sister, a friend,
there is a natural bond between us that springs from men's
oppression of us. They'll never take that away from us.
They'll never know what it's like for me and Susan to share
a nanaimo bar together."
The subject of nanaimo bars comes up frequently during
one's conversation with Susan, who describes them as "the
perfect food: "Throughout North American kitchens,
housewives knew about its nurturing qualities before apes
with human faces found out about it and made it commercial. The loving mix of homogenized — not two per cent —
milk with pure chocolate and freshly grated coconut, well,
you can't beat it.
"Although you have to be careful about men who tend to
overfill it with nuts, in keeping with their character."
Susan has been a loving mother to two androgynous
children — "I had them operated on" — for more than two
years. In addition, she has ventured into theatre; she became
one of the directors of Tieanoose theatre in 1979, the same
year she gave birth. She is currently one of two and a half
women on the board.
Susan isn't the only upper-middle class personality to
discover feminism. Only recently, she and women's rights
champion, model agency head Blanc MacDonald got
together for edible nanaimo bar private-wear.
"Those disgusting stores that cater to men's fantasies only offer the usual Lifesaver flavors," says Blanc. "We want
to prove that they can be as healthy and fulfilling in the kitchen as in the bedroom."
The pair decided to put famous, axioms on the new
fashion line, starting with Susan's personal favorite:
"You've Come a Long Way."
"It's so perfect," she reflects, adding that it's one saying
that has had the most influence on her life. As she realizes
the meaning of the words, and the promise they continue to
hold for the future, she weeps and looks down on the bright,
clean Afghan carpet, only recently smuggled out. Susan, or
Susan Meddlesoon as she was known just yesterday, is exactly where she belongs.
El cheapo finds new ways
to save reputation
OAKALLA — The 1983 income tax form
is a complex, intellectually overpowering set
of documents numbering more than 473
pages. They could have kept the cost and the
bulk of the form down by not double-
spacing, but that's government for you.
Those spendthrifts probably don't even
know the recipe for the old-ketchup-bottle
bloody Mary.
So why the new dateline on my column?
Well, keeping costs down, managing money
and running a tight household does take its
toll, even when you're sharing that burden
with a patient, unstinting tax-deduction like
the one I'm married to.
I guess it all started with the provincial
government's abolition of the renter's tax
credit. I know you're probably thinking
"renter's tax credit? But this guy owns his
own house."
Right you are, but as I pointed out in an
earlier column, a handy but often overlooked
tax dodge is to register your house to a dummy corporation in Singapore and, while still
living in the house yourself, list a set of fictitious relatives as the tenants.
This device also has the beneficial side-
effect of making it hard for out-of-province
creditors to track you down.
I found an economical way of venting my
pique at the government's move, however.
An effective molotov cocktail can be cobbled
together using basic ingredients found in any
well-managed household, and thus armed I
attended Bennett's extravagant,
uneconomical opening of the B.C. Place
Unfortunately, I was nabbed as I tried to
sneak in with that choir of school kids, and a
security guard stole my bomb and told me to
stay out of trouble.
I went home for a parsimonious brood.
Then there were the banks. Another little-
known but useful fact of money management
is that loan rates of as low as 9.3 per cent are
available to borrowers who list a minor diety
as the co-signer. Given this provision, I'd
gotten the money for the Vega by forging the
signature of Vishnu on the loan form. This
was two years ago, and just a couple of days
ago, the bank finally got wise.
They didn't notice the forged signature —
oh, no, they went for one of their usual, petty
Yesterday in
€ht Weakened Scum
• If you'd bothered to pick this paper up yesterday — and
we would've been surprised if you had — you would've
discovered the details behind the publications war to control
The Ubyssey. You would have learnt about media politics and
corporate negotiations to make the student newspaper Vancouver's third daily paper. But you didn't pick us up, did you?
You missed out on all the important news. Not to mention
that you failed to make us richer. Shame on you. You deserve
to be stuck with The Province.
loopholes. They told me this particular diety
didn't have signing authority except on the
Indian subcontinent.
I threw my youngest born through the
manager's door. The little tyke's medical expenses can be written off against the additional interest on the loan — this through an
obscure clause in the Bank Act — so I was
able to make my point to the bank with a
minimum of personal financial disruption.
But, back to the point of this column. Yes,
the 1983 income tax form is a bitch. For years
I've been deciphering these things, for my
thousands of skinflint readers, and more importantly for myself.
But this year! More than 473 pages of
numbers, provisions, exclusions, qualifications. And the whole thing capped at the
back page with a picture of Marc Lalonde
and the caption "Eat this, motherfuckers!"
So I did the only sensible thing. I got the
whole family and the dog together, we
urinated on the form and sent it back without
further comment.
Actually, this Oakalla thing is working out
quite well. I'm developing metalworking
skills at the prison shop that should save me
time and money when I get out in 10 years.
(Five for good behaviour, but I'm having too
much tax-free fun here to behave.)
Of course, my family is a problem. They're
still out there, generating bills, paying taxes,
and spending money I don't have.
But we do have a shop bakery here. And
my latest cake (ingredients paid for by you
tax-paying saps) went out with the little
woman last night.
If she tries at about 2 a.m., I figure she and
the kids can break in and stay unnoticed.
And that's today's tax tips.
Can you tell the difference?
We can't
The 1983 award for sensationalist journalism has already been
won by the staff of the Ubyssey student newspaper at the
University of British Columbia for its coverage of an alleged
Herpes outbreak. Although normally we usually hire from
Eastern Canadian journalism schools, The Weakened Scum ap-
plaudes the accomplishments of the following reporters, artists
and editors:
M^ &yL
Peter Berlin
Robby Robertson
Craig Brooks
Shaffin Shariff
cM u*£^L>
Patti Flather
Len Whitehead
Charles Campbell
Doug Fraser
Arnold Hedstrom
Brian Jones
Lisa Morry
AI Banham
Sensationalist Che Weakentu- Scum
Founded in 1983
Senior letter cutter
Managing Dipstock
The boss
Editorial page
*    *   *   *   *
Being right
The past four years of Vancouver Civic administration has taught Vancouver voters that the
"left" is not all that bad. Under Michael Har-
court, a person with political views not that far
left of centre, the city has done its best in these
tough economic and social times.
We have seen controlled growth, management
of Socred megaprojects in the interests of the people; and budgets reflecting the needs of Vancouver's population, not that of fanatics and
developers who want to remove barriers for the
sake of political gain. Or rather, we would have
liked to have seen such changes.
When one drives home after work, usually
about 6:15 p.m. or so (why not 4:30, we still don't
know), the advantages of having Michael Har-
court in office become obvious. Whether it be a
West End for people, not prostitutes, or building
developers with plans for people, not profits, Har-
cdurt's presence is felt.
When the Scum supported Michael in 1980 it
wasn't without hassles. People in the business
community who have too often dictated the
editorial stance of this paper were not amused.
They said the Scum was "commie," "pinko,"
"leftist," and yes, even "radical." (Sounds like:
The Ubyssey, actually.)
But the Scum's choice was for the better. Can
you imagine what it would be like today, with expensive wrist watches on all civic employees,
skyscrapers outside Stanley Park, Mein Kampf
readings in council meetings, and the selling of our
valuable park land for developers.
We at the Scum editorial department knew what
would happen if Jack Volrich and his cohorts got
returned to office. That is why, against the desire
of our publisher, the true blue Tory that he is,
and that of the Southam mega-empire, we, the all-
knowing, all-seeing editorial writers, supported
Brother Mike.
The province is in a similar circumstance now.
Faced with a corrupt government, which has an
atrocity list longer than Attila the Hun, one may
cautiously conclude that the Socreds are a party of
the past. They have brought (or is it bought?)
more dirty tricks than even tricky dicky Nixon
could have thought of.
Grade's finger, northeast coal, B.C. Hydro,
B.C. Place and its roads, rapid transit, letter-
writing, and more. We are facing education cuts, a
worsening state of health care, and a massive
deficit, while the provincial government builds
visible mega-projects to help get re-elected.
It is time the people of B.C. stand up and be
counted in something other than a census. It is
high time Bill Bennet stopped hiding in a corner
and ruling by decree. It is time we had a change in
the government.
But Dave Barrett and the N.D.P.? We've been
more of an opposition than they have.
That is why we think anarchy is the better alternative. Let the revolution start now.
We apologize if anyone out there really believes
we took a real stance.
Sex positions
Ever walk down Davie Street? Or Georgia
Street? We haven't, but we'd like to comment on a
matter that greatly concerns us. And the only
reason it concerns us is that our Surrey and Bur-
quitlam readers (the majority of our circulation)
havej expressed concern about it.
We refer to an ugly topic, one that has been a
source of sorry state since the beginning of time.
We refer, of course, to a matter so controversial,
even Pat Carney (PC-Vancouver Centre) brought
it up in the house bf commons.
Vancouver cannot tolerate the situation any
longer. Citizens are continually harrassed by this
menace that prevents children from walking to the
corner grocery to pick up 1 litre cartons of two per
cent milk, going to the nearest video arcade in the
loc|lj7-ll store, or even doing something mundane as going to schools that are full of dope
But we aren't worried about schools with dope
pushers or the proliferation of video arcades (incidentally, Clark Davey's son has six Atari games,
two Intellevision sets, and is clamouring for a
Commodore 64). Our intelligence, or lack thereof,
prevents';, us from tackling those subjects.
(Editorial writers whd wdrk 10 a.m. to 6 pirn,
shouldn't have to deal with such things anyway.)
Little old men may not agree with our stance.
What they do in early afternoons in Stanley Park
or near Denman street makes their day worthwhile. And we applaud house of common's
justice committee's suggestion that the activity
under discussion here be undermined by the
government's definition of a public place.
Such activities should not be taking place in a
public place. If beings of the streets begin to
disregard appropriate health standards and
precautionary measures, a large segment of our
respectable citizenry will be affected. We would
not like to see a tragedy on the scale of recent outbreak of an incurable, infectious disease among
Australian Lippizan stallions.
We have considered the matter long and hard,
weighed both sides of the issue, and taken six
months to come up with our stance.
Ours is an imminently fair position: Squirrels
in the West End must go. There are no two ways
about it. For too long, taxpaying citizens have had
to deal with rude little creatures who continuously
interrupt a good night's sleep and other important
While we're at it, we think Pigeons also must
go. It seems those pesky birds have been flying
south to Surrey after leaving the downtown area.
A real enhancement
The informal ceremony earljer this week in
which Lieutenant-Governor Henry Bell-Irving officially opened the min-hatchery on Kanaka Creek
that will bear his family's name was but another
grace note in the service he and his wife have given
this province in the nearly five years he has been
the Queen's representative in this most favored
corner of her Canadian realm.
The hatchery will be not only one of the focal
points in the new regional district park along the
creek but an important educational resource for
students in the area. It was built with donations by
thejsublic to The Scum's Save the Salmon Society
but moist significantly with the financial support
of the Bell-Irving family.
At a time when they were winding up a family
business that had been their direct association with
the west coast fishery they acknowledged their
obligation to the future of that fishery with their
support for salmonid enhancement.
It's an example we can only hope other companies and families whose futures are still inextricably linked with that resource will be impelled
to follow.
Canadians should feel a certain sense of loss at
the recent destruction of the cultural centres of
Europe. It is truly a pity that today's nuclear war
brought and unheralded rain of destruction upon
Europe, the like of which the arts have never seen.
The Mona Lisa, the architecture of the Vatican,
the castles of Germany, the fish and chips of
All gone. To say nothing of all those people.
We have our roots in Europe. That is something
we should never forget, as we forge ahead without
that spot of land across the water.
It's a bloody crying shame.
"My dear, despite what you say about voodoo, I doubt that stabbing junior's doll will make Mr. Clark drop out of the race.
Is anyone out there reading this?
"Who the hell am I" — unknown iconoclast.
My name is Jam Lame.
I'm a journalist.
My job is to expose evil and corruption in our
That's why I am in Ottawa, and that's why I
am a journalist.
Watching movies in Vancouver just wasn't
the same.
And last week intrigue came to the world of
Ottawa, just my kind of stuff. When a Grope
and Flail reporter was barred by security officers from following Pierre Trudeau up a flight
of stairs, I reacted. It's my job. I'tn a journalist.
Accounts of the dastardly incident made the
CTV national news, my column, and provoked
numerous other newspaper and radio reports.
Although we aren't supposed to talk about the
fact that journalism is one of the major drinking professions, at the Ottawa press club the
matter was yelled about long and loud over sundry fermented concoctions (saying beer is not
pefmitted'by power'-that-be).
He was not exactly manhandled, but he was
physically prevented from asking the prime
minister a question in a place where the prime
minister is fair game for questioning. Hence the
media outburst in favor of freedom of the
press, and denigration of Mr. Trudeau and his
security team for denying the media the opportunity to quiz the country's leader on matters of
important policy.
I happen to agree with that view. But I also
think I know why the incident occurred when it
did, and what was behind it.
Before the vice-president's wife went on a
CBC radio show, six U.S. agents entered the
studio — which was flashing a red light, indicating a recording was in progress — and
began knocking on walls, inspecting electronic
hardware, and generally making a psychic
shambles of the place.
What makes this security show really amazing is the knowledge that it was staged by what
was only the 'B' team. The 'A' team, bigger
and better yet, travels only with President
Ronald Reagan.
No doubt there is legitimate concern for the
life of the vice-president. Sad though it may be,
he must have security. We should not forget
that Artie Bremmer stalked Richard Nixon
here in the '70s before choosing George
Wallace as a suitable target for his gun. But
sometimes the security treatment is taken to absurd lengths.
You see we wanted to ask Pierre something.
And he didn't want to tell us. Mystery, intrigue.
And why not? Simply put, Mr. Trudeau is
jealous of us. He has all those Canadians hating
him, particularly those in the West.
People read and listen to us. Most Canadians
gave up on Trudeau a while ago. A while ago
Mr. Trudeau decided not to have any more
regular press conferences. All part of his grand
plan. Since then he and his ministers have
issued conflicting statements on everything
from the Cruise missile to testing potential
nuclear weapons on Canadian soil. He told
United States vice president George Bush last
week he supported Cruise testing, but later he
told the House of Commons something else.
I'm still trying to find out what.
You're telling me.
Mr. Trudeau is trying to make us look bad,
so he will look good, in comparison to us, the
Either that or he has finally gone off his
rocker. I think it was something I'll call the
Grecian Factor.
The incident occurred the day after Mr. Bush
was here. During his brief stay he was never
without a bottle of the Grecian Factor. That
popular substance has been used in abundance
around 24 Sussex drive recently, my informed
inside sources told me Tuesday. Despite his
receding hairline, Trudeau is actively using the
stuff, our source says.
It must be soaking through the bald spots
right to his brain.
And then there was the Bush incident, not
unrelated to Grecian. During the vice
president's recent visit to Ottawa, professional
secret service people showed their stuff. The
glamor of the machine, the precision pacing,
the brutish behavior, jeez — big league stuff.
Just adding to the intrigue nature of Ottawa.
And you are reading about it here, since it's my
job. I'm a journalist.
And we journalists stick together.
The reporter who got accosted, a certain Mr.
Walkom, is a friend of mine (although we are
still not on a first name basis). After the incident when Canadian security guards imitated
their U.S. counterparts, Mr. Walkom was
taken to the commons basement for a dose of
Canadian torture. I sought him out after he
returned from the dark, deep, mysterious depths of the central block, because I wanted to
know what was down there, but because I gave
a damn about the Toronto competition
(although he is, still, a friend, like all us true
Ottawa journalists are).
So what was Canadian torture like? I asked
him. He was forced to watch the beachcomers,
the ACTRA awards, and Nowlton Nash (a fine
dedicated journalist).
Doing movie reviews in Vancouver just
wasn't the same.
Is anybody reading this? Does anyone care?
The Weakened Scum is a politically naive newspaper. It is published daily except Sunday, Monday,
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday
and Friday and holidays by Vancouver Newspapers Unlimited
(owned by Southam for the proprietor. Pacific Press Ltd. (also
owned, coincidentaly by South-
It has always been patently obvious that the leftist/liberals have been unable, in their noble fairytale
existence, to get at the heart of the real issue.
They use classy, loaded, perjoi-ative phrases in sup-
pdft of objectives that will plunge the community into anarchy, ruin or worse. Take the inflammatory
word bashing, as in union bashing or East Indian
bashing. Their use of the word simply serves to
detract attention from their own moral turpitude.
Then there is that moral vaguary — just. They
cavort around proselytizing about this or that just
cause. "Just wait until we're elected," they say.
The simple fact is that their language is without
content — a perfect reflection of the fact that their
: beliefs are without substance.
I should make it clear that this is a subject around
which things have not been honestly discussed or
debated. And it is because those progressives,
rendered comfortable and often arrogant by their
own rhetoric, have too much pride in their rosy
earnest beliefs to be crusty buggers and mess up a
news page with gray, disconcerting and unpalatable
Those lawyers have a cute way with words. And
unless you step back and measure their anguished
phrases you may not realize that they are closet advocates, that they are defending a propagandistic
point of view, as opposed to myself, whose reasoned
diction and judicial wisdom benefit the critically objective role of the passive newspaper scribe.
What have they against my mother?
Those teary eyed sophomores even dare to suggest
that the intentions of those who would return to 19th
century England or to the Italy of the late 1930's are
not noble, good-intentioned but bad, unsavory, un-
professorial political ones. It is all part of their quasi
fascist suppression of honest truth.
The woolly, uncritical, milquetoast, permissive,
liberal intellectuals promoting green light parenthood
will only promote homicide, homosexuality, assault
and rape, which, as we all know, go hand in hand. Or
would at least like to.
And the politicians will be criminally negligent if
they supinely go along with their do nothing advice
amid the liberal groans of horror at the thought of a
hard, penetrating truth.
Morality is angry and nasty. Nature is mean and
old. Mean and old is angry and nasty. It is a reality
that the nice, kind loving progressives will rend the
heavens in order to deny.
They will eagerly seize on the idea that convention,
the strap and sexual repression were the enemies of
my normal development.
But where are the facts? What has the left got
against my mother? What in fact is the crux of their
jist? The uncomfortable truth is that the left wishes
to think itself right. But the logical fallacy of that
statement is patently obvious. Still they use the word
right as though it were their private purvey,: as
though they could assume the right of the right.
As though the libertarians think they can forge
anything except Lenin-like chains of steel. As though
those who would reward the thugs and shoplifters
with a suspended sentence deserve anything less than
a cold, damp cell in Siberia. As though freedom isn't
the worst form of imprisonment.
And those misguided political  scientist,  those
dowdy, effiminate sociologists, the veritable toast of
the evangelistic progressives, what have they done for
their country? For whom will they go to war with
their pithy ideas about nuclear disarmament and
pefect equality? T"> which ideology do they owe their
They will be cowering in their little, blood stained,
pink booties when we return to the good old days of
capital punishment and the English squirearchy.
We'll give them brickbats, not laurel wreaths.
It is always nice to come back to the typewriter
after a snooze. I've often wondered after my little
nap where those stars come from, those tiny asterisks
. . . But there they are, crying out for an addendum
— the content at the end of the column.
Regarding a letter from a certain J. Swift who objects to my suggestion that the marketing of Nestles
infant formula — which results in one million deaths
per year through starvation and disease — is not an
appropriate method of population control.
"Why not," proposed Mr. Swift, "feed the infants twice as much infant" formula as they need
rather than half as much." ((This would be easily ac
complished as none of those impoverished third
world idiots can read and probably feed their kids
twice as much as they need anyway.)
"The resulting fat and healthy babies could be
harvested to feed the starving adult population,"
Swift continues. "There are several advantages to
this. In the long run less infant formula would be
consumed as the children would have a fixed
lifespan. As well, the need for abortion would cease
and the tragedy of death through starvation and
disease would be eliminated."
But I won't place a premium on Swift's fuzzy leftist thinking. Why create a stable of healthy third
world adults and preclude the acceptability of large
scale population control through war?
Certainly war is a more intelligent method of control than this tawdry socialistic idea of Swift. After
all, what do healthy, unrepressed unrepentant adults
do? They propagate. And they would quickly have
more babies than they could eat!
Then the doctrinaire intellectuals would be dancing around saying '' We can't make war on these people, they're just like us."
A word to the young thug who refused to give me a
seat on the bus because I was "senile."
To paraphrase Winston Churchill, if you're not
witty when you're 17, snide when you're 30 and
senile after 20 years on the bench you're not an
asshole. Sports, Entertainment
^he Weakened Scum
*   *   *   *   *    FRIDAY, APRIL 1
Friday is normally the day for my self-
righteous indignation column. But today is
special. Our much loved sports editor, Duncan Stewart has just been sacked and by
way of celebration he bought everybody
here drinks. I am now the only person left
in the office who is both sober and awake
and as a whole bunch of reports just came
in over the wire, I'll just cobble them
together, stick my name on the top and
hand them in to the soon to be ex-editor.
* * *
In my time as a sports writer I've been
lucky enough to meet many larger than life
characters, but none more so than Moose
Laizly. Moose promotes concerts for the
student All My Mother Society out at UBC
and has his eyes set on the Guiness Book of
Records and talks about having UBC
students set a world chair sitting record next
fall, but already this year he's come close to
breaking the record for the least number of
people to buy tickets for a rock concert. He
sold two for David Craven and then went
all the way for the big ZERO with the
Ploughboys from Seattle.
Says Laizly: "Any fool can fail to sell a
ticket if they fail to advertise and put the gig
on at 7 a.m. on Sunday morning. But I've
shown that I can put on a decent band at a
good time with promotion and still fail to
sell. And it wasn't just a one off or a fluke.
I can lose money on anybody, The
Cowboys, DOA, Daniel Ellsberg, The
Beatles, you name it." Laizly is a man who
takes pride in his work. "I'm really into
messages," said the rippling Laizly. "And
remember, I'm a rock n' roller, no-one's
tougher than me. And if you write anything
bad about me, Boredom, I'll sit on you." I
hear you Moose, I hear you.
You may wonder why this column is concentrating on our local university rather
than on our local sports. Well, as my old
friend, future England soccer team coach
Brian Clough used to say when he picked
up in his Merc' when I was teaching him
how to play squash "You show me a stupid
athlete and I'll show you an athlete with
problems." And that's why the university
athletics program is so important. Athlete's
get first rate coaching and an education
which teaches them not to be stupid. And
I'm all for it.
Talking of UBC. Wreck beach reminds
me of the sunny strand at Rhyl, that North
Wales paradise where I used to meet my
mate Bill Shankly, then Liverpool Football
Club manager, in the days when I was his
script writer. I still remember the dog like
devotion with which he used to trot behind
me as I read him his lines and the pure admiration with which he greeted the pithy
epigrams I used to toss out. "Some people
act as if soccer is a matter of life and death,
but it's more important than that." was one
of my better efforts. (Mostly I just pinched
sayings from Yogi Berra and Vince Lom-
bardi, Bill had never heard of baseball, he
knew no better).
* * *
Some people say the fight game's tough,
but it's nothing to journalism. Sure
Muhammadi Ali's lost more brain cells than
any of us ever had to start with. Sure Duk
Koo Kim was killed in the ring and sure
there isn't a professional pugilist around
that hasn't a nose broken more times than
I've had sex and with ears bigger than the
best B.C. cauliflower but that's nothing
compared to the awful damage their careers
have wrought on the men who make up the
scum sports team. There isn't a clean liver
or a pleasant thought in the place. But on
occassion it's worth it all. The spectacle of
two talented men at the height of their
powers slugging it out is still a spectacle of
terrible beauty.
And we at the Scum have been privileged
to witness just such a spectacle. Not for just
fifteen three-minute rounds but over two
years our noble combatants have gone at it
toe to toe whenever one of them turned his
The two demonstrators of the noble art
(office back stabbing) were much loved
sports editor Dune 'Sailing-run it' Stewart
and (in the black corner-boo hiss) assistant
managing editor Geoff Stevenson.
And the bout ended last week when
Stephenson landed a clean left knuckle
duster to the back of Stewart's head.
Naturally enough we here at the sports desk
want a rematch and are busy trying to rig
the fight in favor .of our man. If we don't
get it we'll all sulk (well we all sulk anyways
but now we'll have an excuse) and run
endless sailing stories.
The UBC faculty of commerce and
business administration invites nominations
and applications for the position of
Due to the imminent departure of the present dean for that scummy
SFU, where he willassume the position of chief executive officer July 1,
we need a dean, like fast.
The appointment, which will take effect as soon as that Lusztig fellow
clears out his desk is for a term of five years, with the possibility of renewal
if the successful applicant can talk like the incumbent arts dean.
Applications should be accompanied by a detailed curriculum vitae, the
names of references and a $10 non-refundable deposit.
This advertisement is directed to Canadian citizens and permanent
residents, but foreigners are really encouraged to apply.
Applications, nominations and enquiries should be addressed to:
The Commerce Undergraduate Society
Henry Angus Building 302
University of British Columbia
Vancouver, B.C.   V6T 2W5
Are you bored with your present lack of employment? Has the prospect
of sitting on the beach all summer got you down? Cheer ,up. You can
change all that and get a chance to control the lives of millions of other
people at the same time. For qualifications and details on this unique opportunity keep reading.
• Is your last name Who?
• Do you own a NHL team?
• Can you confidently fuck up this country's budget?
• Do you have any inclinations to wear feathers or collect dead
• Would you like an opportunity to learn two officious languages?
• Can you refrain from violent illness at the mention of the federal
Conservative party?
• Are your middle fingers in good working order and do you
have contempt for the average person?
• Do you have absolutely no sense of reality?
• Need a few bucks?
If so, you too can join the latest trend and run for Conservative leadership. There's only one position, so hurry because there are already too
many candidates for the job.
Benefits include a ticket on the Canadian Prime Ministership Lottery,
which offers better odds than winning a prize from Loto Canada or dropping dead in a Flamingo suit while riding a cruise missile.
To take advantage of this exciting opportunity to lead this country to
oblivion send your resume with explanations of why you desire power and
the best ways to fuck up this country to: Armour Securities, 24 Sexist
Drive, Ottumwa, Canada. FOA 1D1.
Moose gets critic
noosed in pas 17
• Lloyd Dynk, Weakened dance
critic and non pareil, visited a cultural extravaganza and inflicts us
with a report.
We had occasion last night to take note of
the latest offering from the Royal Moose Jaw
Ballet. Stunning? Suffice it to say that we
presque soiled our seats in untrammelled
critical ecstacy.
This daring company's latest force de
frappe, an original pas de vingt-sept entitled
Whither the Hastings 14, tells the tragic saga
of Alfonso, a bus driver, and his star-crossed
love for the bag-lady Eloisa.
Elroy Fosdick was passable in the role of
Alfonso, but the real stand-out was plucky
Sydney Fuzzbox, affectingly dancing the role
of the GMC diesel bus. Convincing? We
could smell the fumes in the 12th row,.
Intermission came. We strolled out to the
lobby. Our Courvoisier was watered. No
Rapture was ours as the second act began
with a masterful bit of Fuzzbox improvisation. An ability to rise above minor setbacks
marks the truly accomplished dancer and
Fuzzbox placed himself solidly in that
stratum hier soir.
His faultless stop in mid-leap and his
subsequent walk to the side of the stage,
from whence his shouts of "That was a-one
and-a-two, right?" echoed through glittering
east-side venue, bespeak a creative daring too
seldom seen in the stilted, formalized structure of classical dance.
But even such a magical night as this was
not without its minor flaws. Principal female
dancer Elvira Perspira could be seen from
where we sat to have a striking five-o'clock
shadow under each of her armpits, a significant disadvantage to one who so often dances
with her arms up in the air.
Still, it is to nit-pick. Such quibbling cannot blunt our enthusiastic enjoinder to, as the
vernacular has it, cut loose with the Moose.
JOYS OF TRANSPORTATION: it's the Dink-y things that count
Incompetents end up hollowafter wimpdom
"No one can accuse us of being wimps. We
play music that kicks you right in the b—,"
says Duane Insane, lead singer and guitarist
of the Up and coming punk/new wave band,
The Incompetents.
From the looks of Insane, he's probably
right. The man is huge. His massive muscular
build is topped off by locks of bleachy blond
hair cut in a Mohawk swath. Euro-discoites
probably bow meekly in his overbearing
presence. (I should know.)
But I manage to get on his good side as he
graciously gives me an interview over Big
Macs and McChicken at the golden arches
near the East Vancouver cave where Insane
and his fellow band members dwell.
"Do they have milk here?" asks Insane in
a sandpaper voice. "My mother always said,
'drink lots of milk.' "
I offer to buy him a glass of white stuff
while I quietly muse to myself about the
dichotomy of this punk rocker who drinks
milk and still remembers his mother's wise
Indeed, dichotomies surround The Incompetents who are quickly making a name
for themselves in the burgeoning Vancouver
music scene.
The band manages to balance opposing
elements in their music. Their sound is
awesome — one of raw, unabashed power.
But their jackhammer-like music is given a
light, breezy touch with quasi/soul-reggae,
verging on ska stylings.
I caught a recent performance of The Incompetents at The Smilin' Buddha where the
band wasted no time kicking into first gear
with a rousing and riveting sound on the very
first tune I heard.
Unfortunately, I could only stay for one
tune since I was covering talent night at
Richards' (on Richard's) the same night. But
it was obvious from my brief listen to the
group that they are a competent bunch of incompetents.
More dichotomies were revealed from their
performance. Despite their reputation as a
gang of degenerate, greasy-haired scums,
their tunes reek of intelligence and sensitivity.
The intelligence comes from former
Rhodes scholar and current bongo and
drums player of the band, Geek Miller. The
sensitivity comes from the bassist, xylophone
player, and rap master, Burping Roger. They
definitely balance the dunce-like aura of The
Take the lyrics of the single, Nothing
Below My Neck, off their debut album on
Junk Records, Wimps of the World Beware.
Definitely thinking man's music. It won't insult the intelligence of any of the voids and
trendy punks who flock to their gigs, no matter how illiterate they are:
Chest hairs, 1gotta grow chest hairs.
Give me some chest hairs, I gotta grow
some chest hairs.
Can't get no chest hairs, I gotta get some
chest hairs.
Don't wanna have less hairs, I gotta get
more chest hairs.
Originality and talent are the only words
which can be used to describe such musical
poetry. Use those words all the time.
As Insane puts it, "We try to address the
issues which are of supreme importance for
today's youth.
"In Chest Hairs, we talk about a crisis for
young studs like ourselves which is equivalent
to an old fart's battle with menopause: deficient chest hair growth."
He speaks with vitality and determination.
Insane knows it is a long hard road ahead to
making CFUN's top 40 charts with such
sincere and revealing music.
But the band's manager, Malcolm "I'm a
capitalist pig" Mush, is not worried about
The Incompent's desire to achieve improved
commercial success. (Their album has only
sold four copies to date, which according to
Mush were bought by three groupies and In-
sane's mother.)
"People aren't total imbeciles and
morons," admits Mush. "They know good
music when they hear it and The Incompetents are about the best musical group
to emerge since the Partridge Family, or even
The Monkees."
Can The Incompetents live up to such high
expectations? If classic tunes like Chest Hairs
are any indication, I would say yes.
But for now they are desperately trying to
avoid the nasty clutches of a horrible
phenomenon: wimpdom.
Well bully for you. It's too late. We've decided
there's nothing left worth bothering to vote for. From now
on anarchy rules, anyone can do anything she or he desires.
An existential bent is encouraged but of course not mandatory (black tie and tails are required).
Anarchy is easy. Let the id roam with wild abandon,
become a citizen of the world, if you like.
Vive la bagatelle!
If you choose not to decide you
still have made a choice
Province of
British Columbia
Chief Electoral
Catch the
B.C. Spirit
During the past few years, we have:
• Taken credit numerous times for federal programs;
• Opened thousands, er, hundreds, er, tens of
daycare centers, while closing many others;
• Developed North East coal, while laying off people
in the South East coal fields;
• Revised electoral boundaries twice, to provide a
more equitable distribution of correct voters;
• Created harmony between the government and
B.C. teachers;
• Built a domed stadium to hold politicians' hot air;
• Channelled federal money to mega-projects, helping to create construction jobs, while we import professionals since our universities are funded too little, and
• Had the queen visit, so you could all listen to the
Premier Bill make a political speech.
This ad paid for by government (your) money, not by
the Social Credit party.


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