Good news
- gaymen2
- Sep 20
- 4 min read
He didn’t buy a mansion or a yacht. Instead, he looked at his hometown of Fredericton, Canada, and saw a problem that money alone usually doesn’t fix.
More than 1,800 people had experienced homelessness in just one year. Most wealthy people would write a check and move on. Marcel asked a different question: What if we gave people not just shelter, but a real chance to rebuild their lives ? That question became 12 Neighbours, a community of tiny homes designed to restore dignity and hope.
Marcel didn’t just build houses—he built a neighborhood. Each of the 99 homes has a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and even solar panels. But the most thoughtful detail is the front porch. A porch is not only wood and nails—it’s a place to wave to your neighbor, a place that says, you belong here. At the heart of the village is a business hub with workshops, training programs, and real job opportunities. The goal was never charity. The goal was empowerment.
Stability. Community. Hope.
Marcel invested 4 million dollars of his own money, and that bold step inspired 12 million more from the government. Now, this model is spreading across Canada. The results speak for themselves: people who once lived on the street now have addresses, jobs, and futures. Families are reconnecting.
Lives are being rebuilt.
Marcel often says: “I won the lottery of parents, the lottery of education, the lottery of country. A lot of my success was received, not earned.”
In a world where wealth often builds walls, Marcel chose to build bridges. In a society where homelessness is seen as someone else’s problem, he showed what can happen when we treat people as neighbors, not statistics.
Today, 99 families have more than just roofs over their heads. They have stability.
They have dignity. They have hope. And Marcel LeBrun has something greater than wealth—he has a legacy that will inspire for generations.
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Nursed him back to health, and set him free. The next morning, the family swooped down, past me, in gratitude. A couple of years later, I awoke to find the next generation, a parent of this bird, waiting for me on the terrace, his wing seemed broken. I picked him up and examined him. He never flinched, and stared deeply into my eyes.
A thorn had locked his wing from operating. I pulled it out, and set him free.
Without fail, he passes my window every day at the same time, crying out to me.
This baby, sat in the tree, eye to eye with me, then flew directly to my hand, and sat there for several minutes, before flying away. Intuition, compassion, good intent, those essences of love, was all we had.
Pure, unspoken. An energy that has no end, and passes silently onward, much further than we can imagine.
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I came accross an animal with its head stuck up it's own ass.
I came across this wild animal recently and it had it's head firmly stuck up its own arse, and was wandering around making a great deal of noise that - to be honest, everyone bar a very few were ignoring. Those who did pay attention stated it was deliberate and truthful and was the way it was meant to be, but I knew differently. I could see straight away that this over fed dumpling was in need of some serious help, not just to get its head from out of its own arse but so that it will not happen again and it will start to look for the truth and not the shit - look for honesty instead of bullshit and create a safe and happy environment to live in, rather than pushing everyone around and being the bird known generally as a CUNTY BIRDY.
Well this story has a sad ending as when I helped pull his head out of his ass, he refused to wipe the shit from his eyes and mouth and continued trying to bury his head up his ass again and spewing shit out of his mouth and the only thing was to restrain him.
I called the vet and was advised the only safe and sane way of treating such a cuntry animal in this state, was to leave it as it was. It was the kindest thing to do for all concerned. It was old and senile - grossly over weight and in need of a lot of medical attention and ego pampering, - masses of ego stroking - so we did the kindest thing for the whole planet. We let it suffocate in its own stinky arsehole and as his enormous bloated frame went limp in front of us and he belched his last - a huge burp from one end and a stinky smelly fart erupted from the other and the stink of dead rotten flesh and putrid brain fluids was really chronic. Something had been dead inside for a very long time, or at east slowly rotting away and the smell hit the back of the throat and clinged, it was that appalling and you could taste the rot.
No one came bar a few other chronic animals who wore red hats and whose wild mating call was ' MAGA MAGA - MAGA MAGA.' as they ran around in circles unsure WTF to do now, but as this is part of a species now hopefully is going extinct - THANK GOD - we'll leave these Maga's to themselves and see how long they last without the fat cunty bird to guide them.
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