Canada seems to imagine that the people who live outside of it's borders are less valuable than those who live within it. A little twisted.
Canada has had white-asbestos banned from being an ingredient in the construction of homes, offices, factories (indeed, anything being built at all) for nearly a whole generation. This is because of the link between extraction and direct contact with the chemical and the acquisition of rare cancers.
But, somehow the numerous asbestos mines that dot Canada's Eastern regions have remained opening, operating, and frighteningly prosperous.
The customers of Canada's banned, carcinogenic, white-asbestos are those who live in countries who do not have building restrictions including the use of asbestos. So, we are no longer using our own cancer causing agents, but sending them elsewhere, so that we may profit from the product without having to witness its numerous detrimental effects. We also don't have to pay for the treatment.
They are poor. They are black/red/yellow/orange/not-white. They are not Canadians.
They are attempting to build up their infrastructure. It only seems fair that we give them a little bit of disease in the process. (Oh, how I love living very well off)
And I've thought about this (a great deal?). Just as I feel that companies should be forced to pay for the environmental effects of garbage and litter caused by their packaging (and poor stewardship), I think companies that expose people (employees and otherwise) to dangerous chemicals must be prepared to subsidize and pay for the treatment. I am certain this would have numerous detrimental effects that I haven't thought through, but I would like to imagine a world where the retail market makes up for its numerous mistakes.
But, I do need to put more effort into avoiding dreams.
On a side note - and speaking of dreaming...
Alex now walks around my house without a shirt on. He is just in the process of having hairs spurt out of his chest.
I don't think I can count how many times I have caught myself imagining my teeth nibbling his nipples as I traverse the canyon of his chest on my journey from his mouth to his ________ (fill in the blank), using my tongue as a rudder feeling the currents of his body beneath the ship of my body.
He makes comments that could only be understood as double-entendre by a monster as talented in manipulation as I am. I struggle not the blush.
And put every effort that I can into not blurting out my dastardly, exploratory intentions for his body.
Thank god he has irritable bowel syndrome. Aside from being unattractive, I'd hate to pleasure him so much that he would lose control...