Have you ever seen something that you just knew wasn’t going to be good for you. You knew where it came from. You’d had terrible experiences with this same thing before. But you asked yourself anyway – against all logic – maybe it’ll be different this time?

Afterward, you slapped your forehead muttering to yourself: Why? Why? Why do I bother?

Margaret Wente is like that with me; like a cheap box of mixed chocolates that are long past the expiry date.

I love chocolates so I hope against hope that her offering each time will satisfy some craving. Maybe just a nibble, I tell myself. Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe it’ll actually make me smile. But – no – it’s the same as before. Stale, lousy aftertaste and generally yucky.

To wit, I submit to my fellow chocolate lovers today’s column in the Globe and Mail entitled “Montreal massacre death cult.” It uses the killing spree 20 years ago by a man who deliberately singled out 14 women for slaughter at Montreal’s Polytechnique as a hook for Wente’s own brand of opinion writing; a style that seems designed to inflame and incite rather than provoke considered thought or reasoned debate.

Nuff sed.