Radical Libertarian CSU President Calls Do-Nothing Year “Unmitigated Success”
Doing Nothing Was Plan All Along, Woodsman Claims
The Concordia Student Union spent an unprecedented two months this year without a president.
For some, it was the drowning gasp of an organization that for months had been floundering in a sea of infighting and bad management.
But for outgoing CSU president and radical libertarian Lambert Woodsman, everything went according to plan.
“There’s no government like no government, and by that standard I think we did a heck of a job,” Woodsman told The Broken Mirror in an exclusive interview last week.
“At first, the plan was to get elected, fire everyone, strip the union for parts and sell anything that wasn’t nailed down, then cut each and every student a cheque to refund their dues,” Woodsman said.
But after winning the election, the scheme faltered.
“Bylaws. Damn bylaws,” he said.
That’s when he enacted his backup plan, Woodsman claimed. “We had to destroy the union to save it. Every one of those executives was hand-picked to do one job—filibuster themselves,” he said.
Marathon council meetings, bylaw and procedural SNAFUs, relentless bickering and occasional eruptions of blind rage—this year’s governmental woes were the result of Woodsman’s “nuclear option,” he said proudly.
“Think about it. What did we do this year? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Even the website was designed to be completely useless. Beautiful. If it were up to me, we’d run the whole country like this,” he said.
Seated on a crate of .30-06 rifle ammunition inside a dimly-lit basement apartment somewhere in Pointe-Saint-Charles, which Woodsman calls his “bolt-hole,” the former CSU president said he agreed to the interview because he wanted to “set the record straight” on his controversial term.
“I knew what I was doing the whole time,” he insisted. “Unions are a communist cash grab, and if it were up to me, we wouldn’t have one at all,” Woodsman said.
“Most services would be better provided by enterprising students operating in the free market,” he added. “The government’s way too big as it is, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a part of it. As a good citizen it’s my job to help choke the life out of it as much as I can.”
The housing and job bank, which helps students find work and stable housing, is unnecessary, Woodsman said.
“Why should I pay to help you deadbeats find a job? If you’re too lazy to get work it’s your own fault, hippie,” he said.
The union’s counselling and advocacy centre would have to go, too.
“Need a friend? Get a dog,” Woodsman said. To the legal services clinic, “Get a gun.”
Woodsman, who had traded his usual tailored suit for a camouflage ball cap and a ragged “Don’t Tread On Me” T-shirt when he met with The Broken Mirror last week, said he was happy to have left the union mired in distrust and political deadlock.
“They’ll be cleaning this up for years,” he said with a satisfied chuckle as he uncapped a jerry can full of moonshine and poured himself a glass.
“The landlord keeps gettin’ after me for cooking this stuff up in the back, but I’m sure he’ll be knocking on the door for a taste when I’m the only guy after the crash who’s got any liquor. Country boy can survive, know what I mean?” he said, offering this reporter a swig.
“History will judge me favourably. If we’d let the CSU keep on governing, who knows where it would’ve stopped?” Woodsman asked, downing the glass in one gulp.
“First they try to tell you what to do with your own money—buying a student centre or something. Then it’ll be no more stockpiling ammo and growing your own tobacco in university res, and next thing you know there’s black helicopters everywhere and no one’s allowed to take a piss unless the United Nations says so,” Woodsman said, his voice rising.
“Listen, I’m not saying [former CSU president] Gillian Jacobs is a shape-shifting Indonesian Muslim reptile creature sent from the future to take away our rights, but I think the facts speak for themselves,” he said.
“Wake up, sheeple. Ron Paul 2016.”
NOTE: This is spoof content. All characters and events in this article—even those based on real people—are entirely fictional.
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