The feast of Stephen
But this morning, they will all be staring at an empty chair and hearing his political enemies blorg on about what a great guy Jackie was, and how Canada’s democratic process will be the poorer for his death.
Me, I’m just depressed.
I was reading the Globe and Mail today and the Tories were talking about adding more seats to House of Commons from English-speaking Canada — the places where people elected Harperites — and Peter Van Loan was saying they needed to get ready for the next election.
Holy Mother of God.
I will be nearly 60 when we finally get a chance to toss out the Terrible Tories. Wheels, who isn’t even born yet, will be getting ready to go to Junior Kindergarten. My two boys will be entering their 30s.
Please God, take me now. I’m not sure I can endure a majority Conservative government with virtually no opposition. I looked at the Citizen today and there was a photograph of two kids hitting the books, but they weren’t high schoolers at all; it turned out those kids in the photograph were NDP MPs!
What is Canada going to look like by 2015?
By all accounts, Harper’s ready to make a lot more changes than swapping out the photographs in Canadian embassies for head shots of the Queen. The first thing to go will be the long gun registry, which must fill RCMP hearts with great joy. I bet the ones up in Northern Canada just can’t wait to get domestic calls when they have no idea what lurks behind the black tarred walls of some of those rural houses. Best they can do is take their little mirrors and gingerly slip them under the door before drunken Hillbillies make their heads explode.
And the lock ‘em up and throw away the key agenda is going to guarantee Russ Williams and the boys have added playmates for the long haul.
Have you noticed, since the election, Harper and his buddy boy Baird, the poster boy for McDonald’s new Third Pounder, have started throwing their considerable poundage around on the world stage? It’s pretty evident that Steve is looking to play some hard ball, to get Canada noticed, to make up for his laughing stock performance in the last Parliament.
Clearly, he’s enjoying his role as one of the elder statesmen in the Big Boys’ Club — especially now that Barry O’bama has become one of the stinky kids.
The biggest excitement, as far as I’m concerned, will be over the dustup he’s having with Walter What’s His Name, the chief of the defence staff who is racking up the Air Miles travelling to and fro, getting the government to pick up his private jet tab. Harper says, “hey Walt, pay up”, but Walt’s having none of it. Who does he think he is? John Travolta?
I’m predicting that if Freddy the Freeloader doesn’t pay his fuel and nuts tab, he’ll be gone baby gone.
Maybe Harper will send him up to the Peace Tower and cut off his head.
That’s what other kings like to do when they are defied by their subjects.
Maybe Steve will take a page from Conrad Black’s latest tome, and start wearing an ermine cape and jewels mined from the Arctic, his favorite spot.
I cannot bear it. I’m cancelling my newspaper. I’m turning off the television.
I’m going to start building a bomb shelter.
Best to advice for all his subjects: keep your nose clean and your head down.