How To Get Assaulted By Evil Muslims, Win Friends, And Influence People.

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It seems we have yet another shocking, completely unprovoked attack by Muslim thugs on yet another completely innocent white bystander.

Before you struggle through the toxic amalgam of aggrieved self-righteousness, bad writing and nativist smirking fermenting in the original piece, we thought it might be instructive to set out the Ur-narrative from whence it oozed. For the scholarly, note that essential elements of the narrative are bold; optional enhancements to lend artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative are italicized to facilitate quick customization.

The Template:

So there I am, just walking down the street/at the mall/in the park/outside the mosque with my camera/cellphone/etch-a-sketch/film crew.

And I see something really interesting. So I stop to take a picture, which as a white citizen of this great and free land I have every right to do.

And then this crazy, wild-eyed Muslim bitch/crazy, wild-eyed Muslim guy/crazy, wild-eyed union guy from PSAC/crazy, wild-eyed self-hating Jew comes racing over to me and screams at me, demanding to know what I’m doing.

Well, I explain quietly and politely that as a white citizen of this great and free land I have every right to shoot a dozen closeups/videotape their picnic/show up week after week and take their pictures and post them on my blog. And you know what they did then? They ASSAULTED ME! (Editor’s note: At this point, it’s best to be vague. The word “assault” is your wisest choice. It has a pleasingly legal ring to it, and can run the gamut from abusive language to an icepick through the forehead. Best let the reader’s imagination fill in the blanks. However, if there is ANY physical contact, it’s a “punch”.)

So I go to the nearest cop, and I explain the whole thing to them. And fortunately I have my wife Kathy/my son/my gang/a mysterious unnamed Syrian couple who speak fluent Arabic to confirm that I’m telling the unvarnished truth, just like last weekend and all the other times this happened to me.

So the cop goes over and talks to the hijab-swathed tramp/hulking, bearded Arab Brute/smirking, fat PSAC union stooge/deluded self-hating Jew. And then he comes back and tells me that they’re not going to lay a charge because it’s somehow all MY fault!!

Fortunately I survived the ordeal unhurt, and through sheer luck there was absolutely no damage to my camera/cellphone/etch-a-sketch/film crew. But if you ever needed proof that our cities AND our police forces are all secretly under the control of Muslims/Terrorists/George Soros, look no further. I’ll be back next week with my next tale of an innocent assaulted by dusky-hued foreigners. Saturday good for you?

If you’ve enjoyed this tale of high adventure, you can read its most recent iteration, week after week, at Shaidle’s or Arnie’s or Frumpy’s or Dodo’s or Moose and Squirrel’s or Scaramouche’s, or any of several fine purveyors of contemporary xenophobic pique. I don’t think they let Wendy come along any more, but the rest of these obsessives are pretty funny, and adhere religiously to the script, as outlined above.

My favourite was the time Arnie claimed to have been “assaulted” (followed by a wonderfully solemn reassurance to us all from Shaidle that her husband was “unhurt”. Unfortunately, Arnie unwisely left his camera rolling after the “assault”, and posted audio of himself and pals tittering about it.

The most recent member of this Bold Survivors Club (BS Club for short) is a guy named David Menzies, who writes for the National Post about cars and Rob Ford, and whose prior political works on the importance of privatizing the LCBO and making booze more readily available through stores have been collected here, at Mr. Menzies seems to make a habit of public indignation in the company of his son, who was also present when Mr. Menzies tried to bully a gas station attendant and earned himself a police questioning. And (I know this will surprise you) he doesn’t seem to like foreigners or Quebeckers very much either.

Funny. I’ve shot thousands of photos over the years in reasonably dodgy areas of Istanbul, Xian, New York, Belize, Yap, Athens, Mexico, Marseilles, and even -gulp- Toronto. And I’ve never managed to provoke anyone into so much as a cross look. But curiously, it happens every week or so to the BS Club.

Odd, that.

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This page contains a single entry by Balbulican published on August 7, 2011 1:00 AM.

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