Tag Archives: Michael M. McConaughey

Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) and Holdings Powers That Be Accountable

18 Jun

 

 

My friends here at WordPress, especially those who’ve read The Mirror, know that I am not one who gives up easily.  Monday evening, I was having a beverage at a local saloon with a younger military Signals engineer whom I was on the Space Operations Course with, a couple of years ago. In discussing my book, he suggested that I contact the Go Public team at CBC News.

While the British have the BBC, Canadians have the CBC – the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. If you’re from the U.S., think of the CBC as if PBS was an arms-length agency of the Federal Government.

So, I’ve sent the CBC News / Go Public team an email about my book’s true story. I’ve reproduced the email below, with the necessary minor alterations to change the true names to the pseudonyms I used in the book, as required.

* * * * *

–IN CONFIDENCE–

Dear Go Public,

This will be difficult to believe, but it is a true story, I assure you. As you read this, bear in mind that I am a recently retired, 3rd generation RCAF navigator (almost 31 years of service) and a Member of the Order of Military Merit. I was a founding member of the Canadian Forces’ Welfare Centre, have the military equivalent to a basic post-graduate education, and have worked with defence scientists and researchers of various flavours. Character references upon request, etc., etc.

In 2008, during a nasty marriage breakdown, I had to deal with my estranged wife’s rabid parental alienation and possible Munchausen by proxy behaviour. Both of these are serious forms of child abuse. Experts hold that alienation abuse is at least as harmful to kids psychologically as is sexual abuse. Munchausen by proxy is the most lethal form of child abuse. By Ontario law, I had to contact a Children’s Aid Society (CAS) to report this, and so I did. (Pasties CAS.)

The CAS not only refused to investigate, which by their own admission would require outside psychiatric expertise, they tried to block an expert psychiatrist’s involvement. They assisted my ex-wife in alienating our three children from me–11, 13, 17–and got me court-ordered from my own home, without trial and without evidence, and with a cunning de facto no access order placed against me.

Even when the expert psychiatrist (Associate Professor of Psychiatry, psychoanalyst) corroborated everything that I had said was happening, the CAS still refused to help, as did the Ontario’s Office of the Children’s Lawyer. It would be more accurate to name that agency the Office of the Mother’s Lawyer. Better that children be subject to serious child abuse than mother not “win” HER child support payments, in Ontario.

I used my military background to analyze the child protection system, and discovered some rather interesting things. The mandatory 2007 Child Protection Standards in Ontario have been rigged with feminist ideology and definitions, so that a mother not getting exclusive custody of the children in divorce (and hence the child support payments) now technically constitutes child abuse, especially if she is a threat to the kids. This rationalizes what is in fact malicious interference in divorce by feminist CAS social workers under guise of fraudulent child protection.

Feminist CAS workers know this will establish “status quo” and “primary caregiver” child custody advantages for mother in the ensuing divorce proceedings, as these are the two largest determinants of child custody in Ontario. It also vilifies the father as being abusive, by implication, as he had to be removed from the home “due to conflict.” (i.e., It was his fault, he’s belligerent or abusive or has “anger issues.”)

This feminist ideology is in the realm of domestic violence “theory,” and it was refuted by UBC Professor Don Dutton back in 2006 (i.e., before the Child Protection Standards were written in 2007) in a peer-reviewed academic paper. My analysis also revealed something else: this systemic practice is criminal, and not in a trivial way.

I maintain that the Ontario government acted to cover up what happened in my case. I had brought this to the attention of Minister Rype-Blumers and Attorney General Guy Smiley. The Child and Family Services Review Board issued a misleading decision against Hastings CAS to cover up the criminal malfeasance. When I complained against the feminist judge who ordered me out of my house without trial, I specifically explained how her actions constituted the criminal offences of abduction as per sections 280.1 and 281 of the Criminal Code (abduction of a child under 14 or 16). The Ontario Judicial Council couldn’t refute my argument, so they merely wrote back to inform me that I had complained of criminal “abduction.” They literally put the word in quotes to express their contempt for me.

I’ve recently published a book to expose what constitutes, unbelievably, a covert Ontario-wide feminist criminal conspiracy to abduct children from their fathers in divorce, from which Children’s Aid Societies justify their government funding. I am openly alleging cover up and criminal malfeasance, including on the part of the feminist judge and others like her.

I also noted essentially similar narcissistic personality traits in the hard-core feminists in my case to those that the expert psychiatrist identified in my former wife. I’ve re-interpreted existing elements of narcissism theory to explain this.

My book and its thesis about feminists and narcissism have the endorsement of reformed former feminist Professor of English Janice Fiamengo (University of Ottawa). It’s garnered strong reader reviews, and is reported to be a gripping read. One reader described it as John le Carre meets Mommy Dearest, to which I would add a bit of author Malcolm Gladwell.

To due Ontario’s Child and Family Services Act, I cannot be publicly identified in association with my true story. Thus, I write and blog under the pseudonym of Michael M. McConaughey.

Please help me to expose this duplicitous system of injustice and abuse of children (and men!) in Ontario. The expert psychiatrist  -Toronto’s Dr. Sol Goldstein – told me in May 2010 that there were strong clinical indicators in the Russ Williams case that suggest that severe parental alienation at the hands of a highly narcissistic mother (e.g., his strange family name changes) is what caused Williams’ severe psychopathology. Please help me expose and thus defeat Ontario’s secret Russ Williams Training Program for Children of Divorce.

The whole story is even bigger than what I’ve outlined in this email. This is just the beginning. My book’s title is The Mirror, Book One – Welcome to the Evil Sisterhood.

Thank you.

Michael M. McConaughey

Ottawa ON

613.123.4567 (evenings and weekends)

* * * * *

Someday, somewhere, someone is going to break this story in the mainstream media. Hopefully, it will be CBC News Go Public. I note that they’re advertising that they are on a bit of a summer vacation from June to August. If I don’t hear back from them, I’ll contact them again later in the summer.

My father taught me that perseverance is a virtue. It was a good lesson.

The Fantastic Quotes of Edward Gibbon

3 Feb
My man Eddie

My man Eddie

This is going to be a fun post.

I was an avid reader as a kid. It started with Mom teaching me to read with the slightly Eurocentric Dick and Jane.

The land that multiculturalism forgot

The land that multiculturalism forgot

Around grade 3, it turned to boys’ mysteries and adventures such as Brains Benton, adventures which I shared with the protagonist boys and treasure to this day.

Brains blows the Hardy Boys right out of the water!

Brains blows the Hardy Boys right out of the water!

Grade 5 saw me find H.G. Wells classic “The Time Machine” in my school library.

How to engage a grade 5 boy's mind!

How to engage a grade 5 boy’s mind!

By junior high school, it was golden age science fiction and epic fantasy. I still recall being enthralled by Tolkein’s “Silmarillion” in grade 9, and I rather enjoyed the Shakespeare comedies that we studied in high school English class, along with provocative science fiction such as simpler works by Ayn Rand.

The standard by which all epic fantasy is judged

The standard by which all epic fantasy is judged

When I hit university, what became important was the caliber of the writing and the mind behind the writing, more than the genre. I got into the Easten Press’s “100 Greatest Books” program before the 90s military pay freezes, the Canadian dollar tanking, and the cost of raising a family put an end to it. (If you’re into great books and great minds, you’ll probably enjoy jrbenjamin’s blog. I do.)

One additional set of books that I bought from Easton Press that I have never had the chance to fully read (got through most of Book One before the kids and the rest of life interfered) is Edward Gibbon‘s classic of the Enlightenment Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.

Worth their weight in gold

Worth their weight in gold

My goodness, but Gibbon had a beautiful mind. One is best advised to have a dictionary at hand when reading him.

Gibbon’s work will be a major foundational element in the sequel to my current book. To introduce him to you, I thought we would look at some of his more famous quotes. To make it fun, I am introducing a poll. It asks which Gibbon quote you like best. The results will form the basis of a new post.

Enjoy:

The Yogateria Chronicles: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

1 Feb
Nav was not always this svelte and handsome. Credit: Deepak, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Yogisculpture.JPG

Nav was not always this svelte and handsome.
Credit: Deepak, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Yogisculpture.JPG

It was, as evenings go, a cold and snowy one. We were late, and The Nameless One, so named as she must not be named, was slightly vexed. We could not permit ourselves to be one of THOSE inconsiderate people who arrived late to yoga.

Were we to permit this to happen to us, we would be bad.

Through a hazardously blinding snowstorm, we raced to the Yogateria, that hallowed hall of harrowing contortions. We entered the main cavern silently, for one is better advised to make noise in a public library than in a yoga chamber of silent horrors. To our surprise, there were only a couple of penitents laying prostrate on the floor, whose hidden sins surely weighed mightily upon their dark souls.

I lay down, oblivious to the peril into which we had placed ourselves. Thankfully, The Nameless One was not so naive and innocent. She, scarcely to be heard above a silent breath, whispered to me, “We may be in a dirty studio.”

Good heavens.

A dirty studio is good if one is dirty dancing or partaking in other forms of debauchery. On the other hand, a dirty studio is bad if one indulges in the yogic arts of contortion and twisted self-suffering in recompense for one’s evil masculine existence. I was bathing on a floor coated with the wicked perspiration of sin that had been sweated out of the previous collection of spandex clad convicts of conscience. I was unclean, only more so, a lost moral leper looking for his colony of sin and suffering.

As the yoga janitor came in, we rolled up our mats and headed to the other, smaller cavern of yogic contortions. We were almost late – perish the thought! There were but two spots left for us two sinners at the front of the dark and somber room, spots which were right in front of The Wall of The Mirrors of Shame. The two spots were separated by two spots in between, and in the darkness I spied the silhouette of the two lithe spandex clad penitents on those two spots awaiting their torturous absolution.

As I drew near to my spot, the place of my soon-to-be future trial by agony, my eyes discerned the nature of the two spandex yoga warrior princesses frozen prone in anticipation of what was to come. Next to me was Muffy the High School Cheerleader. Sans pom poms, no less. Perhaps one day she would be old enough to get her driver’s licence.

Next to The Nameless One was The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. And Sweet Mother of our Blessed Redeemer, what a tattoo it was! It was a sultry tattoo. It was an evil tattoo. The wicked worm’s wanton head was worn clearly visible between shoulder blades laid bare by the heathen and slightly open-back Lulu Lemon spandex top of sin that its malevolent mistress wore, which should have been a size two, but was a size four, as this apparently is how one sizes said sinful Lulu Lemon tops, not that I would know. Where the dragon’s tail ended, I could not see and did not want to know for fear of my sinful soul’s lost salvation.

Close enough

Close enough

I sensed I was in immediate danger. Surely I could be sent to prison for doing yoga next to one so young. I gazed about the room, nonchalantly, innocently surveying the male yogateers. Perhaps one of them was an undercover cop. Were those guns in their pockets, or were they just happy to see me?

I wondered.

I did not wonder for long, as the High Priestess of Yoga entered the room and began the incantations to initiate the solemn rite of demonstrating excruciating male inflexibility. Upward dog, downward facing dog, chatterungha, cobra, and other names too horrible to mention, names known to strike fear into even the stoutest of male hearts.

I was no stranger to pain that evening. Nor was I to fear.

At one point we, for sins that must have been so great in some former life that they beggar the imagination, were in a contortion that mimicked Superman in full flight parallel to the ground and a stork standing on one leg in silent contemplation of its place in the universal scheme of things. In response to the unrelenting horror, my mind has thankfully forgotten the name of this pose, or at least it is very good at pretending it can’t remember. It was in this Superman-stork-from-hell position that my head was twisted to the right, towards Muffy the High School Cheerleader. God please, let there be police, no sirens, and no billy clubs!

As my gaze swept past Muffy the High School Cheerleader in the valiant but doomed attempt to preserve what little innocence I still possessed, whom did my eyes fall upon but The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

OMG.

Whereas I was a bulbous flying one-legged pickle barely leaned over from standing vertical in a mockery of the Superman-stork-from-hell position, she was herself vertical, but in the other direction. In the most unnatural and demonic act yet witnessed in the Yogateria, she, standing on her left leg, had her head on her left foot and her right leg extending straight to heaven in a flagrant act of inhuman heretical flexibility.

It did not go unnoticed.

I have spent many years on this Earth. And in these many years, I have gained insight into the mysterious ways of wily women. Women can have raging battles in plain sight, terrible battles, horrific battles, and all that men see are sweet smiles and innocent gestures and meaningless words. And so I recognized, to my horror, that what The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo had done was not just to offend decency, Heaven, and Earth with her display of spandex clad hubris.

No. What she had also done was thrown down the womanly gauntlet of yogic flexibility right in front of The Nameless One. It was more than a challenge.

It was a declaration of yoga war.

One challenges The Nameless One at one’s peril, and so did The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo that horrible evening. The Nameless One may be ever-so-slightly past her glory years in terms of absolute yogic flexibility, but she is not helpless. She is the veteran of P-90x commando fitness bootcamp. She is a devoted acolyte of psychopath fitness warrior empress Betty Rocker. She is a veteran of the Toronto marathon. She cross country skis. And she does not fear girls with dragon tattoos.

It was a battle of unsurpassed violence, a battle replete with victories and defeats, a battle of wounds inflicted and sustained, a battle of grim determination and grim resolve beyond that of any male contest of arms.

And the men were oblivious to a man, with me the sole exception. They remained just happy to see me. Either that, or they really were police; one can never be certain of these sorts of things.

It was during the Sideways Starfish of Supreme Suppine Sorrow position that The Nameless One struck a telling blow, a mighty blow, a devastating blow, and the hubris of The Girls with the Dragon Tattoo was exposed in all of its fickle fragility, only then to be dealt the truly horrific mortal strike of the v-sit, as NO ONE out v-sits The Nameless One.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo lay broken on the yoga floor, and the men were none the wiser. I was. I was a survivor of the Great Yoga War, my scars visible to no man but myself.

And with her lawful foe laying vanquished beside her, The Nameless One joined me in celebrating our emancipation from that hot and sweaty twisted Purgatory as the High Yoga Priestess spoke the long awaiting incantation of freedom.

Namaste.

* * * * *

Thus ends the Yogateria Chronicles saga. For the time being, anyways. The instalments are:

 Nav in Dante’s Yogateria

The Yogateria Chronicles: A Sinister Danger

The Yogateria Chronicles: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Guiding the way through the horrors of hot yoga