Hello world, it’s Canada. We’re back!

I awoke this morning from the most glorious dream.
It was 1967 all over again. Or maybe the Vancouver Olympics.
All was right with the world.
The Jays were making a spectacular comeback.
It was a beautiful day in the Nation’s capital.
And all my faith was restored.
Wait a minute. Wait a solid minute.
What the?
It wasn’t a dream after all?
I am so energized that I feel like buying the world a Coke.
And a deep-fried Mars bar.
I’m not worried about my cholesterol, or my aching knee.
I am just so grateful to be alive living in this glorious country.
People are starting to care again. They are clacking their heels as they walk to the bus stop. And I believe I saw somebody riding a bicycle in shorts.
Welcome to the 2015s, or whatever.
It’s a brand new day, and Canada has a brand new brand.
We actually have a leader who would look good in LuLu Lemon yoga pants. A leader who isn’t at all worried about this prostate. And he has a banging yogini by his side, clutching her heart praying to Buddha or some such.
Aren’t they adorable?
But as we see from the Obama experience, adorable is simply not enough.
The country won’t run itself, and the young Trudeau can’t go off running to Steve to ask his advice.
So get to work, Justin.
Yeah, you heard that right. I called him Justin.
I like calling him Justin.
It makes me feel justified.
Here are your marching orders, young man.
Pick up the phone and call General Hilliard. Tell him to send a mess of boats to Syria and pick up some refugees. Stat!
Put Marc Garneau in charge of Science and the Census.
Put Andrew Leslie in charge of the friggin’ frigates.
Untie all of the bureaucrats that are rotting in the basement over in Tunney’s –they’ve got talking to do.
Hello world! We are back and we are young, smart and able.
We can do anything now that we are free to be you and me.
Let’s blaze one and get on with our future.
I have to admit, I’m pumped.


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