The Waiting Game
Full Text of my request to the bastards at Quebec Youth Protection, sent 26th of July:
Please find attached a copy of my Medicare card.
Pursuant to such confirmation of my identity, I hereby request access to any and all records pertaining to my and my children’s dossier, opened in 2021, and of the case file in its entirety, included, but not limited to, any and all written correspondence between individuals involved in the case, social assessments for all parties, intervention notes for all parties, and any and all related correspondence, reports and other documentation not listed herein.
The children’s names are:
Obi-Wan Karmazenuk, BB 2010
Leia Karmazenuk, BB 2013
Luke Karmazenuk, BB 2013
I understand you have twenty (20) calendar days to respond to this request. Should you refuse, either directly or de facto, please take care to note that I shall, immediately and regrettably, escalate the matter with the Commission d’acces a l’information du Quebec, and, given the level of discrimination, denial of dignity and harm caused to me, and outright abuse of power that I have regrettably and undeniably suffered, should the CAI refuse my appeal, I will be taking it to the Commission des droits de la personne et des droits de jeunesse du Quebec. Please note that I have conducted a thorough review of my rights as enshrined in both provincial legislation and Constitutional protections, and I am in no mood for, nor under any legal obligation to indulge with any capering, antics, larks or shenanigans regarding this request.
Do please take care that, ideally, I would prefer to receive a paper copy of the file via mail, but a complete set of PDFs of all information will nevertheless be considered an acceptable substitution.
I am still waiting for a reply – or for that matter a confirmation from Youth Protection.
Meanwhile, back at the Ranch, The DYP bitches in charge of this case, MS and HS (No relation) are emotionally blackmailing me and refusing to answer my questions.
Text in full:
Good day.
It is Monday, August the 4th; 5:09 PM.
You have yet to send a reply to a very serious question that I have asked you, and the nonanswer you provided last week was, undoubtedly, an inefficacious attempt to obfuscate rather than elucidate.
So, I ask again: Why should I trust that any information my psychiatrist provides you will not be selectively edited to fit your narrative of painting me as an unfit father?
Now, I see my psychiatrist again next Wednesday, the 13th of August, at 3:00 PM.
I expect an answer from you, this week
I was ready to let go; I was ready to accept that I had to wait until the Twins were 14 before I’d hear from them, or that I couldn’t reach out to Obi until he’s 18.
I was ready to stop looking at every 12 to 15 year old, searching their face for something that I recognize. Do you have any IDEA what kind of HELL it is to not even know what your OWN CHILDREN LOOK LIKE?
I wish you did; truly. Maybe the Rite I performed will see to that; who knows. But yeah, the curse I put on you lot stands. You can’t have me arrested for Witchcraft, either; religious freedom. It’s my religious right to throw bad juju at you.
In any event, until you phoned me to emotionally blackmail me with “Don’t you want to see Leia again BEFORE then?” I was ready to walk away.
Now, here I am, like an imbecile ready to trust you again, and you cannot even provide a satisfactory answer to my above question – I’ve already CAUGHT YOU IN THE ACT of lying about the report before a fucking JUDGE.
Even Judge Dipshit would be pissed if he heard about that shit. You’ve spent years selectively editing the facts of my life to paint the picture you want of me.
So, if I haven’t heard a satisfactory response from you within 24 hours of my psychiatrist’s appointment next week, I will walk away. Comme on dit en bon kebequoi, that will be it, that will be all, and I will close with a GFY that would impress the late Vulgarian comedians, George Carlin and Lenny Bruce.
And when, in time I finally get to answer Anya’s question of “Why don’t you cooperate?” I will tell her the unvarnished truth: You are not trustworthy.
Now it is upon your shoulders to convince me otherwise.
Have the week you deserve.
I am so fucking sick of these bastards, and they have the gall to wonder why I have such a deep-seeded hatred of them. They can’t suffer enough to satisfy me.
