On a scale of 1 to 3, with 1 being granola-popping tie-dyed hippies, and 3 being black bloc anarchists, the OCAP (Ontario Coalition Against Poverty) protesters on Friday would probably rate at 2. Not outright violent instigation, but prepared to throw a few punches.

You may have already seen the video in which John Clarke bluntly states, “they have given us war, we’re looking to give them war back”, and “things are not gonna to be peaceful”. This speech was given prior to the march and these quotes weren’t taken out of context. Mr. Clarke further urged protesters not to be afraid of the police which, during this protest march, made their presence clear.

As with many of the G20 rallies, this one gathered at Allan Gardens, apparently a favourite meeting spot for protests because of its centrality to poverty and social justice movements. There was talk of how poorly homeless people were treated in the neighbourhood, including the atrocious conditions of nearby homeless shelter Seaton House.

Shame no one bothered to get my opinion on the area (I did offer). I guess they didn’t really need to hear from people actually living in the neighbourhood (I’m looking at Allan Gardens through my front window at the moment). The fact that my flat backs out onto Seaton House and the fact that my friend has worked there as a counselor for years also didn’t seem to matter. Facts or extensive first-person experiences, apparently, shouldn’t enter into it.

But it wasn’t all OCAP; there were plenty of other groups involved in the afternoon’s festivities.

The most vocal groups at the front of the march spent a great deal of time insisting that they wouldn’t be told to “shut the fuck up” and that they had the right to protest. I tried asking a few police officers if they knew who was trying to get the protesters to hush up but I couldn’t make out their answers over the din.

The marchers were fighting for gender equality, women’s rights, abortion rights, and a number of other rights I could’ve sworn we had here in Canada (white men excepted, of course). Perhaps I’m mistaken.

Some of the imagery employed by the protesters was especially poignant, like the adult-sized coffins filled with wire coat hangers used to represent the dangers of illegal abortions. Again, I was under the assumption that abortions are legal here, and I also thought that there were somewhat safer methods to induce abortion, even if not performed by a doctor. But I was loathe to tell anyone that because it was obvious that they put a lot of effort into their displays.

Among the protesters were the Freedom Singers, demonstrating for their right to, umm, sing. And unionize. They were pretty good, despite the horrible repression they were experiencing.

There were also the anti-Israeli Apartheid people who had identified a number of corporate sponsors as being the cause of the current middle east conflict.

One lone frail dissenter stood across the street near the police claiming that Palestinians didn’t exist, because there is no Palestine, and that the protesters were totally off their rockers.

A surprising number of neo-Marxists, Socialists, and Communists peppered the crowd, many of them speaking only French.

And there were a few people who were there to add some colour to the parade. At least, that’s the best I could surmise.

Continued in next part…

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So, until I get a chance to sit down and do it up properly, here’s the OCAP-led (Ontario Coalition Against Poverty), protest in hastily slapped-together videos.

My favourite was when the riot police came out in formation.

Everyone gathered at Allan Gardens…

…then they marched along Carlton/College Street (same street, it just changes name halfway through), to University Avenue where they turned south and were met with a pretty imposing group of riot police.

After the little standoff the group decided to head west along Elm Street. However, after dead-ending in the narrow street they decided to do a loop back to University and back onto College…

…and then we all went back to Allan Gardens for ice cream and songs around the campfire — we were all tuckered out. The protesters are currently camped out there and I can still hear them whooping it up.

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So where did I leave off yesterday? Oh yes, the zombies had me surrounded and I’d run out of people to toss in their path. The situation was getting really ugly:

The great discovery happened when I pulled out my camera and started to take photos. I figured I could record my final few moments for TCL; become the first post-mortem blogger — I believe that would make for interesting content. But it wasn’t to be.

You see, it seems that zombies actually like to have their photos taken. Anyone in the crowd who happened to be brandishing a camera was given a wide berth and, often, cooperative smiles (or menacing grimaces – whatever the scene called for):

And I feel that branding them all as brain-hungry murderers really isn’t representative of the zombie population. Being undead, apparently, isn’t enough to stave off the requirements of the workaday world, but the zombies seemed to take it all in stride. If it wasn’t for the homicidal tendency of ingesting live human brains, they’d probably make decent citizens.

Haha! *insert social commentary here*

Speaking of commentary, who’s tailing the wag here?

That’s a little slice of a-okay, isn’t it?

Basically, there was a very good chance that most of the non-zombie participants in the walk would have made it out had I not panicked. But like the army used to say, “gullibility costs lives”, which would’ve been especially poignant had I actually said it to someone before pushing them into the flesh-eating crowd. Or if that were a real army slogan. Or if it applied in any way.

“Hmmm. No, you may not hide behind me and my camera. Go buy your own protective gear, cheap-ass!” *shove*

I did what I had to do to survive.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that unprovoked, the zombies really just want to walk around complaining loudly about a lack of dietary cerebellum. That’s pretty much it. Only if you shove people into the throng will you get a reaction.

But, you know, I did what I had to do to survive. I’m not saying I’m proud of it.

Haha! Watching people turn into zombies is awesome though! The first symptom of zombiedom is a total loss of memory. Well, yeah. No brain!

“That’s right, fella, you’re with the rest of them! Yeah, good brains to you too!”

*yoink!*

And now I move in style

And sometimes you just need to direct the zombie’s attention away just because it’s kinda gross. Take the next gal (“that’s a girl in there?!”, someone exclaimed), for example:

Yeah, the “hands” are pretty creepy, and then there’s the chicken on the head. No thanks. Shove a sacrifice thataway and the zombie follows. It’s all about keeping it simple, effective, to the point. And grabbing the wallet before she gets her highly impractical “hands” on him.

Anyhow, the denouement of this story is a bit of a snooze so I won’t bore you with it. Needless to say, camera and hapless strangers helped to ease the journey until I eventually found myself outside the pack, and stumbled wearily back home.

But I don’t want to leave you with a totally bad impression; the undead population includes some interesting personalities so at least one of them was bound to show up at some point:

There you have it, a Halloween tale to scare the pants off your friends. The attractive ones. And for that extra depantsing kick, you can tell them that most of it really happened! And for a small fee, I can even corroborate your presence in this tightly-woven, explosive narrative. That’s guaranteed pantlessness!

You know how to get a hold of me.

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Every year they keep demanding brains (like that’s gonna happen!) and better severance.

One of the things that shocked me about the whole thing was how punctual the zombies were. These days I’ve come to expect events starting thirty minutes to an hour late. But on Saturday, the undead were off and moving at 3:30 sharp.

Also shocking is the size of the demonstration, not to mention the aggressiveness of the group:

I only escaped unharmed because of one amazing fact. That I will share with you tomorrow. You see, the march was so prolific, I simply have no choice but to milk it for two whole posts. Besides, some of the zombies put so much effort into the event, I feel it’s only fair to give them a little air time:

One guess as to what this fellow was demonstrating for. Yup, brains. I don’t get it, are they that tasty?

They probably have no idea what they really want. I mean, they pick their leader based on who’s got an extra appendage:

What I found particularly interesting was that while zombies don’t have the wherewithal or the sense to eat infants in a civilized manner, they nonetheless possess the forethought to pack an umbrella for the impending rain:

You may be thinking that I escaped this terrible occasion because of the security forces attending the route. Haha! Wow, you’re so wrong. The security forces were useless. When they managed to hit their targets, it wasn’t in the head, so the zombies just got back up and kept on going. In fact, I don’t think the personnel were shooting anything by the number of zombies they managed to kill: zero!

Perched snipers seemed to have the same problem, and many of the security weren’t even armed. And the posts they gave them to guard … who thought of that?!

This guy managed to stand his ground for a little while. He beat down the first zombie that managed to climb up and then, wisely, decided to ditch his post:

He jumped into a nearby dumpster which proved to be even less effective in protecting against zombies. And they want his brains?

In the end he managed to rip free from their clutches and beat a hasty retreat around the corner of the building yelling, “28 days later!”

And then, the few civvies left were alone in a sea of zombies. We pushed through the crowd with whatever we could. Just when I thought I’d run out of compatriots to shove into the straining arms of the hordes, I discovered something incredible.

Tomorrow, the amazing tale of how I managed to preserve my voluminous brain; the secret to keeping zombies off you. You’re not gonna wanna miss it!

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The shop owner (Japanese, I think) registered my order, a “BAH-nana MUPPIN!”, with the cashier. She was young, maybe fourteen, and visibly burdened with an awkwardness that was probably compounded by her own mangled English.

There was something unsettling about her presence in the coffee shop during school hours. That was, until I realized that this is the first week of March break. Then came the super (and much worse), realization that this girl would probably be spending her March break working in her dad’s coffee shop.

To all of you flying south for alcohol-fueled hijinks, allow me to express my disdain. Mostly because I never got to go.

To all of you valiant teenage soldiers holding down the home front this year, and anyone else who doesn’t get a break when, let’s face it, we should all be relaxing, let me raise a muppin top in salute. You do me proud. And breakfast.