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spinning cotton? And anyway, a bullet got him in the end. Meanwhile India and Pakistan are back to wanting to nuke each other, and the Middle East is one big ticking bomb. Somebody should come up with an advertising campaign that makes killing a sign of weakness. A campaign that makes not killing sexy, that makes guns look like crutches for cowards who lack social skills, that makes living and dying by the sword something to be ashamed of. Maybe somebody could design We Wun Without Guns T-shirts, or Don’t Slice, Be Nice hoodies, Bombs Are for Buttheads baseball caps. I’m no advertising wizard but it must be possible. Advertisers can make us do anything. The hitch is violence sells. And there’s nothing like a war to keep the corporations happy.
    I’ve been reading about Genghis Khan because I’m obsessed with conquerors and monarchs. I like knowing that, even with all that power and cash, they were still dragging their asses and not exactly excited about getting up in the morning. Mostly they fretted about who was out to get them or betray them and, of course, which of their many enemies must be incarcerated or slaughtered. Anyway, for centuries old Genghis has been made out to be this Mongolian psycho killer. Well, it turns out he wasn’t half as gruesome as all those Vikings and William the Conqueror. Educated people resented that this labourer – Genghis – turned out to be an amazing warrior leader, but the academics made him out to be a ruthless murderer while the likes of the Plantagenets and Alexander the Great got special treatment. None of them conquered half as much land as old Genghis did. Old Caesar doesn’t even compare. But they were of noble birth and thus got noble treatment. That’s what I mean when I say the people with post-secondary education
are bad for Spaceship Earth. You can’t believe a word they’re saying.
    Inspector Power says he knows that we carry weapons to look tougher, to show that ‘Don’t-f-word-with-me image.’ The crotch-scratchers snort.
    â€˜I understand,’ Power says, ‘that many of you carry knives to protect yourselves. But rest assured that any weapon you carry can be turned against you.’
    Ms. Brimmers is nodding so much I keep expecting her to get dizzy and pass out.
    â€˜Rest assured,’ Power repeats, ‘that on the whole, our schools are safe, our suspensions and expulsions are down, but there’s no denying that we’re seeing more guns, and more knives.’
    It kills me the way they go on about weapons. Sick people can make weapons out of anything. Plastic box cutters go undetected by the security system, and if a box cutter isn’t handy, they’ll shove toilet paper down your throat and choke you to death. Weapons aren’t the issue. Sick minds is the issue. Violence isn’t freaky. Violence rocks. They beat up on someone to prove they’re the big man. If the cops catch them, even better. A criminal record is a badge of honour with these losers.
    I keep thinking about that John Bull guy organizing the peasants after the Black Plague wiped everybody out and there was a labour shortage. Suddenly peasants could demand pay for sweating blood for some noble. John Bull demanded to meet with King Edward II who was fourteen or something. The peasants had no bone to pick with the boy king, they were happy to support him as long as the nobles paid them for their labour. Edward agreed to meet with John Bull to discuss the matter and old John Bull showed up on a mule to explain the situation. Edward, sitting on his über-purebred, said, ‘Fine.’ John Bull sat there stunned on his mule for a minute. When he said, ‘Thanks,’ and turned around to go deliver the good news, one of Edward’s henchman lopped off his head. Two weeks later the hormonal king ordered a proclamation saying the peasants would remain slaves and should expect even worse treatment than