What’s a CZ worth to you? Is it worth the seemingly endless hours that unpaid indigenous workers spend crafting the sparkling simulations? Is it worth the childhood that countless Canadian babies miss out on due to their indentured servitude in the CZ factories? Is it worth the blood of those children?
Next time your boyfriend, Rico “Classy” Suave, decides to bless your neckline with some thirty dollar bling from Wal-Mart, make sure he knows exactly where that finely crafted jewelry started out. I’ve been to the factories; I know what goes on there. Trust me; it’s not something that any god fearing human being should ever have to endure.
As you walk into the 180 degree factory, you see Canadian children forced to man the furnaces which produce the 2700+ degrees of heat required to forge the brilliant
cubic zirconium from mere chemicals. The children are under constant surveillance by a roving squadron of elite Mounties on horseback, wielding Indiana Jones-like whips and boom boxes, the latter constantly blasting “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion. Ironically, the music is not meant to be torturous, it is there to remind the children that if their hearts stop beating, even for a second, they will be whipped.
I was able to infiltrate this surprisingly sparsely guarded death fortress by growing a mustache and claiming I was Canadian. You see, that’s the most awful part of this entire sad, sad tale: the Canadians themselves don’t see anything wrong with the system. They are born into a life of servitude where all they know is the gritty existence of a CZ forger. The slaves don’t even realize that their overbearing foremen are becoming wealthy beyond their wildest dreams while the lowly worker is whipped and ridiculed. You should hear the verbal abuse the Canadian children have to endure from the Mounties while they work.
- “Work faster, tit waffle!”
- “Stop sweating you hairy breakfast sandwich!”
I shan’t go on, but you are beginning to grasp the kind of hell these CZ laborers put up with on a daily basis.
Under the guise of my elegantly trimmed mustache, I was able to blend right in with the Canadian slave drivers and even managed to snag an interview with one of them, claiming I worked for the popular Canadian magazine, “Pot Roast Monthly.” Be forewarned, the cavalier attitude this Canadian heathen took towards the treatment of his slaves may shock you. We’ll call the slave driver “Paul Frederickson” and we’ll call me “Jeff Beck” in order to protect the identities of all parties involved.
Jeff Beck: Hello, Paul Frederickson is it?
Paul Frederickson: That’s me eh. And who might you be?
Jeff Beck: My name’s Jeff Beck. I work with “Pot Roast Monthly,” perhaps you’ve heard of our periodical, hmm? I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your work.
Paul Frederickson: I love pot roast! Fuckin’ eh! I read your magazine cover to cover every month, it never gets old! Ask away my friend, what would you like to know about the CZ factory?
Jeff Beck: How long have you been employed by the death squad Mounties that patrol the factory?
Paul Frederickson: Oh goin’ on about twelve years now. I love my job. I get to listen to Celine Dion all day while I ride my horse and it’s not exactly difficult to whip the kids when they start slackin’ off eh? (Laughs)
Jeff Beck: So you readily admit to whipping children?
Paul Frederickson: Well shit what else am I supposed to do when they start acting up eh? I’ve got a whip, a boom box, a horse, and a fuzzy hat. What would YOU hit the kids with?
Jeff Beck: I probably wouldn’t hit the kids.
Paul Frederickson: Fuckin’ eh, if you don’t whip em they’re not gunna work because we sure as hell aren’t payin’ em!
Jeff Beck: I see. Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps Western society puts to much value on Cubic Zirconium? Haven’t you ever thought that what you’re doing to those kids is wrong?
Paul Frederickson: What magazine do you work for again? I thought we were gunna talk aboot pot roast.
Jeff Beck: Never mind, I’ve got some important Canadian citizen stuff to go do.
And with that I proceeded to run for my life.
As you can see, these Canadian warlords, pimps, child slavers, and demon lovers will stop at nothing to produce the
cubic zirconium that we as Westerners gobble up like so much candy. It is up to us as a society to stop buying conflict CZ. Ask the clerk at Sears if they can verify that the CZ you’re interested in buying was produced in a conflict-free, preferably non-Canadian factory, because if not, you might as well be buying the blood of Canadian children. (Which is actually cheaper than a well-cut
cubic zirconium crystal, so there wouldn’t be much point in that, now would there?)
