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      $$$P    `$$P   $P   $P  $$P $P  $P  $$P  `$$P  `$$$P' $P     $$  $$P

      The Neo-Comintern Electronic Magazine  --  Installment Number 214
 .... .. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . .. ....
    `""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
      
                  Subversive Literature for Subverted People

                  Date:                    November 24, 2002

                  Editor:                                BMC

                  Writers:                       Pepe Marart
                                                 Rank Swiney
                                                        Jobe
                                                         ada
                                                      Heckat
                                                         BMC



  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                      Featured in this installment:                     .b
 $                                                                          $
 $                       Steal This Town - Pepe Marart                      $
 $              Squirrel Lovin' in New Brunswick - Rank Swiney              $
 $                      Fredericton Fairy Tales - Jobe                      $
 $                       my trip to fredericton - ada                       $
 $                            Some Ghoul - Heckat                           $
 $                          Fredericton Coins - BMC                         $
 `q                                                                        p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'

                                EDITOR'S NOTE
                      (please do not read the following)

  Heckat and I have recently moved from Saskatoon to Fredericton and taken
  The Neo-Comintern with us.  Well not really, since the magazine can be
  accessed worldwide via internet from a server that's located in Saskatoon,
  but there is something of the Neo-Comintern that we have taken with us.  I
  believe that something is us.  And a huge stack of print issues.  Let me
  know if you want to order back issues.

  Anyway, Neo-Comintern HQ is now in Fredericton, New Brunswick, just a few
  metres away from the world's longest pedestrian bridge.  And as Heckat and
  I walk across that bridge daily, contemplating writing, socialism, and the
  essence of the Fredericton incarnation of The Neo-Comintern, we think it
  might just be better to cut all ties to the rest of the world and have the
  Neo-Comintern just be a Fredericton-based magazine from now on.  And maybe
  we'll only accept articles from writers in Fredericton!  HAhHAhAHHAH!

  So here we go, issue one of the new series, just talkin about Fredericton
  and how fucking awesome it is.

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                          Steal This Town                            ,$$
 $$:                            by Pepe Marart                           ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  Here's a something.  A tired rant.  An ambient rant ... It's not so far,
  only some green, melted sand and cork, from here to Rio de Plata,
  Mendoza.

  Hallucinating again: This is a nice place for what it is -- what?  Has a
  lot for its size -- what?  Small city.  University and government town.
  Fifty per cent more people that Rome's Londinium.  But it's fucked
  something subtle.  Not a Lumberton, but there's something in the ultra
  green river valley, the big river, the stately elms (once "The City
  of ...")

  Might be something in the water, in the aquifer in the river valley under
  the river a second river, a lake or pond, in the gravel bed.  Deep
  artesian wells pulling up our water, drinking and washing water,
  potable ...

  Lampers in the river.  A few lifetimes of riverboat garbage.  Big river.
  Wide.  Unused for commerce or transport 'cept for an ex-mayor's Cape Cod
  fishing boat converted to two deck tour boat.  A joke of a boat dock these
  days behind the fake lighthouse. For motor boats to Grand Lake and back.
  No sailboats unless their masts hinge 'cause the swing bridge don't swing
  no more -- domesticated railway bridge now sodium arc light walking trail,
  trans-canaduh ...

  Tired.  So tired.  All this running around and still here.  All these
  years of been pushing my stone up the hill.  Up Hanwell Road.  Up Smythe
  Street.  Up York Street to the black kats lair.  Up Regent Street to where
  glacier scraped rock still lies bare these thousands of years since
  retreat or meltdown.  Up through the university campus, campuses or campi,
  past the archives and bookstore, past the birch grove, past the black box.
  Does this hill ever end?

  Still confused that South is uphill, doesn't make sense.  South seems like
  it should be downhill, like the weekend from Wednesday.

  Zero aesthetic in the Planning Dept.  Planning their retirement funds more 
  likely.  Burying brooks, springs, streams... Frogmoor Pond going under 
  railyard, under a just approved (S)obey(s) "ready to serve" grocery+
  store.

  Might be something in the air.  Told about so now know that sickening
  sweet St Nackawic pulp mill air, scent, smell, odour.  St Nackawic an hour
  upriver at the upper end of the Mactaquac headpond.  Smell it!  Can you
  smell that smell?  that's the smell of weather, some sort of weather --
  snow, rain -- some storm curling and coming our way.  Smell it and you
  don't want to be here.

  So what is here?  Don't know if the place has a name for itself or even 
  understands.  Point Ste-Anne, F'ton.  Freddy Beach.  Fredneckton.
  Fredrectum.  Fredberg.  Frederection.  Fredddyville.  Frederichill.
  Fredericopoulos.  Fredtomb.

  Gotta get outta here.  Moving south. Moving southwest.  Gonna slip across
  a few lawns, jaywalk a few streets -- it's too dangerous waiting at
  crosswalks and intersections.  Slip across a border or two.  Try to get
  away.  Try getting away.  Getting some distance.  Gaining perspective. 

  Off in the distance.  Distant.  There I am.  Gone.

  Can't continue.  Look out the window and just stop writing, Just stop ...
  Steal this rant.  Seal this town.  Pepe Marart, over, and out.

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'   Squirrel Lovin' in New Brunswick; Confessions of an Animal Lover  ,$$
 $$:                            by Rank Swiney                           ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  "I may be recognized as a typically maritime poet or a Canadian poet, but
  what I really want to be remembered for is my devotion to the Fredericton
  squirrels."  -Milton Acorn

  Under a great huge acorn tree I met this hot squirrel.  She flipped her
  tail, winked at me, chewed on her acorn.  She's got spunk.  Way out of my
  league.  Not like the lean and mean prairie squirrels with the "fuck you"
  tiny paw in the air "everybody hates me attitude" that don't translate
  well in Fredericton (not only with squirrels but people as well).  I was
  just reading Marx (Karl Marx), being a student, preparing myself for the
  future leadership of the people.  I already knew if I became the leader of
  the country I would ensnare all of the UNB (University of New Brunswick)
  creative writing graduates, lock them in one building and make them
  translate Japanese TV manuals so they'd come to their senses.

  In the meantime this squirrel in front of Carleton hall was brazen and
  playful.  More and more her sexy two front teeth and a mischievous smile
  distracted me from my political education.  There are was something
  charming about the way she kept darting up the tree limb to escape my
  attention for a minute and returning as if she could not deny the natural
  chemistry between us.  Her front paws athletic, as strong as her back
  paws.  I found myself wondering what would her soft underbelly feel like
  or the soft brushing of her tail as she slipped past me.  Finally she
  returned sat up and I realized there was a piece of paper in her mouth.  I
  thought 'no fucking way' the hottest squirrel in Fredericton is giving me
  her phone number.  She dropped the piece of paper and disappeared.

  "www.squirrels.ca" it said. 

  As it turned out this squirrel was a complicated anarchist.  She had
  infiltrated the traditionally based and well-funded, loyalist organization
  in Fredericton that shared her anti American tendencies.  But she was also
  working on a scheme to bring down the postcolonial, imperialist masters of
  Britain.  She was greatly influenced by the writings of Milton Acorn (the
  poet of the people).  Her scheme was complicated involving acorn trade and
  Tony Blair.  It was too complicated for me to follow especially since I
  was just learning squirrel language.  I suggested George W. Bush as a more
  likely target with her knowledge of nuts and his obvious weakness for corn
  nuts.  And despite my cosmopolitanism I believed one should start locally
  build nationally and then expend internationally.  I couldn't see the
  relevance of her struggle to mine.  I was infiltrating the UNB English
  aka Creative Writing Department.  "All you writers are cocksucking,
  good-for-nothing, useless pacifist editors of mediocre literary fiction
  written by a dull Canadian public," she said.  Even though I knew this to
  be true I felt the need to stand up for my kind, and myself.  "Not all of
  us are pacifists, you know."  It was useless trying to argue with a
  squirrel.  I was deeply attracted to her deep brown eyes and swishy tail.
  It was never going to work.  She was a revolutionary and had action and
  dynamics of power on her mind I just wanted to cuddle.

  In conclusion you don't need to be a squirrel to love a squirrel.
  Especially a Fredericton squirrel.  I am speaking from experience.  But
  you have to be a little suspicious of pleasing and plumb squirrels that
  spout revolutionary ideals.  With plentiful abundance of acorns, the
  Fredericton squirrel would never starve.  Watching her munch away at this
  and that, her hunger and passion can't compare to the squirrels of the
  prairies.  Even with their inferiority complexes and diabolic ambition I
  know where I stand with those lean and mean specimens.  The prairies are
  where my heart is.  As for all the cocksucking, good-for-nothing, useless
  pacifist editors of mediocre literary fiction written by the dull Canadian
  public, I think we deserve what we get.

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                      Fredericton Fairy Tales                        ,$$
 $$:                               by Jobe                               ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  Back in the halcyon days of Fredericton's youth, before the Daily Gleaner
  printed its first erroneous story, before Lord Beaverbrook-otherwise known
  as Max Aitken-dropped out of St. John Law School, even before the
  Loyalists spilled their seed upon the hallowed grounds of the University
  of New Brunswick, christening what would one day become the site of the
  all-male residence now known as Jones House, there lived a race of tiny
  river people.  These river people possessed gills and fins, and fed for
  centuries on baby squirrels, fish heads and dragonflies in order to
  survive.  This was a time of innocence and opportunity in the land we call
  Fredericton, when large groups of Maliseet and Micmac Indians could still
  be seen hunting and fishing and occasionally defending their families
  against attacks from the white man.  Where the Maliseet and Micmac tribes
  roamed, the river people were never far behind, scavenging on whatever
  scraps the Indian people left behind.

  There was much merriment among the river people for several generations,
  as food and water were plentiful while predators were few.  As a result,
  they could often be seen dancing and frolicking around sandbars until well
  after sunrise, and when they awoke on most mornings, there would often be
  several darling new river babies in their midst.  For you see, the river
  people were hermaphrodites and they were reputed to become quite amorous
  after eating baby squirrels.  It wasn't long before these river people
  were seen all along the Saint John River.

  Until one day, an evil menace, nay a heartless parasite, a creature more
  wicked than Lucifer himself whom we will refer to only as Irving, invaded
  the province of New Brunswick with his band of sulfur-breathing demons.
  These demons immediately began scattering across the province and formed
  alliances in order to protect New Brunswick's greatest resource, the hemp
  plant.  Irving feared that the river people were stealing these hemp
  plants and had his demons cast a foul discharge upon the Saint John River.
  The river people who lived in the northern part of the province headed
  south while those in the south traveled north, congregating in the village
  of Fredericton, the land where they originated.

  However, this discharge had deleterious effects, depleting the fish stocks
  and rendering the oldest and weakest of the river people sterile.  The
  river people's population declined, causing the squirrel population of
  Fredericton to explode.  Meanwhile, the river became virtually
  uninhabitable.  The few surviving river people that remained built a raft
  made from bamboo and Leo Tolstoy novels discarded by UNB English grad
  students and moved to the sewers.  Some of the river people managed to
  adapt to an exclusive diet of raw sewage, but they pined for the good old
  days of yore.

  After some time passed, the smartest members of the race devised a plan to
  sabotage the drainage pumps inside the homes of some of the villagers
  before the first big snowfall of the year so that they could live in the
  villagers' basements and forage on whatever scraps they came across.  Sure
  enough, during the first major snowfall of 2002, drainage pumps failed en
  masse.  Basements throughout the village were flooded and began teeming
  with tiny river people, who rejoiced and celebrated with a feast grander
  than any other generation had known, a feast of spiders, pizza crusts and
  dryer lint.  But they didn't stop there.  Once they had consumed all of
  these things, they moved on to bed sheets, polyester shirts and Victorian
  novels, and soon they had destroyed everything in their path

  And the villagers grew angry.  Yet they didn't take their anger and
  frustration out on the evil Irving, who was the true source of this
  plague; instead, they sought revenge on the river people.  They gathered
  the strongest vacuums and fans that money could buy in order to suck up
  all the floodwater and blow the river people into the darkest, driest
  corners of their houses, where they would suffocate and die.

  To this day, you can still see the boorish Irving and his malicious demons
  protecting the acres of hemp plants that grace the soils of New Brunswick
  from future races of land and river people.

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                       my trip to fredericton                        ,$$
 $$:                                by ada                               ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  my trip to fredericton

  I took the bus from toronto to fredericton to visit bmc and heckat.  this
  proved to be an interesting trip.  heckat met me at the bus station at
  eleven in the morning after I had been traveling for almost thirty hours.
  I was very happy to see her.  I enjoyed fredericton quite a bit, mostly
  because it looked pleasant.  I got to do my laundry at a coin laundry
  place.  that was pretty cool.  I also got to tour the university, the
  pubs, and meet a new friend at the liquor store when bmc and I went to buy
  beer.  I very much enjoyed alpine beer.  my favorite moment was when the
  queen drove by....that was the highlight of my trip.



  my trip to fredericton

  I fucking hate the bus I hate the bus this bus this bus I hate this
  goddamn fucking bus I may hijack it if I can't get off soon and stretch my
  legs my legs my legs that women eating potato salad in front of me is
  going to be strangled by the cord of my walkman that just ran out of
  batteries half an hour outside of montreal and ten hours away from nowhere
  I no longer understand the concept of mobility may kill myself soon if
  this stupid bus won't stop stop stop driving hate driving highways and
  grids and routes and time and swerving swerving in the dark.



  my trip to fredericton

  well hello rahula, and whom will we be stalking today?  bmc and heckat's
  unidentifiable animated being darts from room to room, and is quite
  possibly the most active part of the home.  she is an undercover agent,
  probably reporting back to secret headquarters.  The time spent alone in
  this apartment I am aware that I am never really alone.  I am considered
  both an unwelcome guest and an expected ally as she makes her daily
  rounds.



  my trip to fredericton

  sandwiches, lentil stew, popcorn, chocolate soymilk, quesadillas, hummus
  and pita, beer, chinese food, tacos, popcorn, beer, fajitas.



  my trip to fredericton

  the buildings are beautiful here.  the word for this city is quaint.  I am
  curious about the world on the other side of the river.  why does no one
  go there?  what is beyond the river?



  my trip to fredericton

  what struck me about fredericton is how much focus there is on independent
  publications.  this could be because of the people I was meeting, but it
  seems as though everyone is very proactive when it comes to self
  publishing and collaborating ideas.  fredericton seems to have a really
  positive community of writers who support and encourage each other in
  every kind of creative process.  this is inspirational to me as a writer
  and I give fredericton my own personal thumbs up!


 
  my trip to fredericton

  you sing from an understanding that if you don't, you will wither away.
  you sing on the pedestrian bridge half a block away from your house.  you
  sing apart the night and blow the air as if blowing softly on a wound.
  you sing and disguise it as crying.  you sing with a lemon wedge in your
  throat.  you sing with unidentified paranoia.  you sing for the stranger
  who tucks her head down in her collar.  you sing when the water isn't
  helping

  when the waves blow you sing out a strong courage you sing frightened eyes
  you sing with searing pain in your voice that grows roots, you sing
  stinging and my bones are shivering you sing and your head is melting you
  sing because you are drunk you sing because you are worthy you sing as
  though grafting voice over body, you sing when words are galloping
  gazelles that leap out of your mouth, startled by the frozen air.



  my trip to fredericton

  I love old fashioned sodas.  whoever thought that ice cream mixed with
  soda could be so satisfying.  heckat asks me who I hope will ask me to the
  sock hop.  it is an appropriate question.



  my trip to fredericton

  what is there left to say.

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                             Some Ghoul                              ,$$
 $$:                               by Heckat                             ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  When I arrived in Fredericton there was a spider's web in the corner of
  the door frame of my new apartment.  It read: Some Ghoul.  I should have
  recognized that the resident Charlotte was warning me about my landlord,
  Gideon, or Gidiot, as he shall be named hereafter.

  Gidiot made his entrance in a horse-and-buggy wearing an old-fashioned top
  hat that hid his pointy ears and Chaplin pants that hid his forked tail.
  He ushered us into a world of debauchery when he hauled us up beside him
  in the wagon and took us on a tour of town.  Tim Horton's, it turned out,
  was the first, and only, stop on his guided circuit.

  It was October 31st, and a woman dressed in red waldo pajamas and a
  witch's hat sat drinking coffee in the Tim Horton's window.  My life
  flashed before my eyes.  I fainted.  Gidiot splashed cold Tim Horton's
  coffee in my face to revive me.

  Back at the apartment, my cat had already found five spiders.  They were
  lying in a pile in the middle of the empty livingroom floor.  It rained
  all day and hasn't stopped raining since.

  I blame Gidiot for all the times my laundry stayed dirty because I
  couldn't finish washing within the fascist hours he's dictated.  I blame
  Gidiot for the leaking pipes, the smoke detector without a battery, the
  dirty dirty oven, and the greasy dust balls in the corners.

  Gidiot has cursed this wretched town but he won't succeed in bringing me
  down.  I go dancing at the only psychedelic bar in town every Saturday
  night.  I sleep until noon.  I eat Mr. Noodles for supper and wash the pot
  immediately.  I use whiz-bang font.

  Metallica has only been right once.  Gidiot, I'm watching you, even in my
  sleep.
                                                       
                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                          Fredericton Coins                          ,$$
 $$:                                by BMC                               ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  Dear readers,

  It has recently been my pleasure to move to Fredericton (and I do not use
  the word "pleasure" lightly, for it has been a pleasure indeed).  Some of
  the experiences I have had to-date include thoroughly traumatizing the
  cat by transporting her via airplane cargo bay, taking a two-hour stroll
  through what can only be called a monsoon, and getting into a fight with
  beloved roomate, girlfriend, and N-Com writer, Heckat.  Regardless of
  these things, there has been a more-than-slight amount of things to see
  and do here in Atlantica.  The maritimes are just as I imagined (see issue
  80).  Despite the fact that Fredericton is landlocked, there seems to be
  no shortage of unemployed fishermen, or fishers of men, as Christ called
  them.  What a wordsmith that Christ was, even though his native language
  was Hebrew and not English.

  The End.


  Part II

  The most amazing part of living in Fredericton is the amazing coins they
  have here.  Of all of the countries I have traveled to in my life, I have
  only seen comparably wonderful coins in Britain and the European Union.
  But forget about those countries and let me tell you something more of
  these amazing coins that I have already begun to collect.  There are four
  categories: the copper category, the silvery category, the brassy
  category, and the multi-metal category.  Most of these categories are so
  succinct as to only include one coin each, but the silvery category
  contains an unprecedented 5 coins, a record for any country I have heard
  of.  Only three of Fredericton's silvery coins can be acquired in common
  street transactions, too, so remember that.  The other two are wonderful
  and beautiful, but I will not mention those at the present time.  Don't
  you worry, they will be discussed at some length before the conclusion of
  this article!


  Part III - The Copper Coins

  There is a penny.  It is worth one cent. It is worth nothing.  One Cent =
  Nothing.  If you go to Fredericton, do not ever use this coin because it
  is a great waste of time and energy and it will only slow you down.
  However, if you are full of energy and also a wastrel, then please use
  this coin all the time, especially when it is the most unnecessary.

  Belgium and Fredericton both have one-cent coins, thus making them
  sister-cities of a sort.

  The one cent coin says 1 CENT on it, and the 1 and the CENT are so close
  that they look like the same word (1CENT).  There is a maple leaf on it,
  which is the official leaf of Fredericton.  I have even seen them on the
  sidewalk when walking down the sidewalk because it is fall and the maple
  leaves are falling on the sidewalk.  On the back of the 1CENT there is a
  picture of the Queen Elizabeth who drove past my house in Fredericton
  while Prince Phillip waved at me and Heckat and ada.  Queen Elizabeth is
  very smart and very beautiful.


  Part IV - The Silvery Sect

  Then there is the 5 cents coin which has a beaver on a dam.  It is funny
  because it has a dam on it, which is a swear (Dam you, you stupid idiot!)!
  Ha ha.  There are more maple leaves on it, which are different because
  they are small and silvery and I like them.  This coin also has Queen
  Elizabeth on the back.  In fact, all of the coins do.

  There is a coin of the ten cent denomination.  It is my favourite by
  far.  This is the cutest and most perfect coin in Fredericton.  It is the
  equivalent of the 20 Euro cent coin in an aesthetic sense, and also in my
  good book.  It has a big boat on it.  The 10 cent is also the smallest
  coin, so if you swallow one by accident you are at the lowest risk of
  asphyxiating.  But instead of eating them, I would suggest that you spend
  them or save them.

  The quarter is aptly named because it is worth one quarter of a dollar,
  the standard unit of currency!  Fear not, I will be further describing
  the dollar later in this article.  But, since we are currently discussing
  the quarter, let me state for the record that it has a caribou on it and
  it is worth twenty-five cents.  I like the quarter, especially when it
  comes time to entertain myself.  When it comes to video games, only the
  quarter will do.  My quarter has little notches all around the outside and
  it was made in 1980.

  The 50-cent coin is not available in regular circulation, so I don't know
  what it looks like really.  I like them.

  I think there is a silver one-dollar coin.


  V - The Brassy Birds

  There is a one dollar coin made of brassies called a "Loony" by
  Fredericton inhabitants.  It has a picture of a loon on it and it is worth
  a dollar.  So as not to be confused with the never-seen and possibly
  non-existent silver dollar, it is called a "Loony."  It is not
  particularly interesting or attractive and it is best used for spending
  purposes as opposed to admiring purposes.  But boy is this coin ever
  crazy.  So crazy that you could say it is "Loony."  I heard that these
  coins are available in Moncton and Cape Tormentine too, but I'm not sure
  if this is true or not.


  VI - Multi-Metal Mania

  Didn't think the one dollar coin was "Loony" enough?  Fredericton's two
  dollar coin is "Twony!"  The outside border of the coin is silvery, but
  the inside of the coin is brassy!  There is a big and scary polar bear on
  the coin, but don't worry - it will not hurt you.  And don't worry about
  my safety in this polar bear infested region.  I have not seen anything
  big and scary here except for a giant hill that the city was built on.
  But don't worry - it's not so big and scary either.  I even walked up it
  once.


  Well, I think that may be all there is to say about the coins of
  Fredericton in a completely objective and informative manner.  But all in
  all, I could talk about the entire set for hours and hours and hours.  I
  won't do this, you know - but I could.  Just call me or email me at any
  time and we can discuss the 1967 centennial set, the varied-metal 5-cent
  coins of the mid 1940s, or even the 1931 "dot" penny.  Or we could just
  shoot the shiz about whatever you'd like.  I have a tremendous excess of
  time on my hands.

  BMC 


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