Category Archives: Humour

THE NUTSHELL: Bush, Bettman, Flutie, and Popsicle Sticks

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A weekly feature, with a collection of random thoughts on random things.

SPORTS

  • If this Winnipeg deal ever gets done, I’ve some ideas as to how Gary Bettman should make his grand re-entrance to Winnipeg. If he wants to keep it simple, may I suggest he just step onto the escalator at the airport and, as he descends, spread his arms wide and bellow “I’m back, baby! Miss me?” Parachuting in to Portage and Main would be way cool, but would come with the possible hazard of the good folk of Winnipeg converging and beating the living hell out of him for taking their team away in the first place. Best to keep one’s distance. So, being carried to the dais at the media conference, in a giant egg, and bursting forth in latex would seem to be the ticket. It would prove he’s hip with the pop culture of the day, and also keep him protected from the masses for as long as possible.

  • While watching Hockey Night in Canada, I heard the comment that Wayne Gretzky was one of the best ever at dumping the puck in. High praise, indeed. Got me to thinking: What other superstars were really good at mundane sports chores? For my money, nobody in the history of baseball issued an intentional walk better than Nolan Ryan. I’ve never seen a quarterback take a knee like Doug Flutie. I know, I know, Joe Montana was really good at it, too. I just think Flutie was a little better. No argument about this one: No racer ever followed a pace car like Mario Andretti.

POLITICS

  • Just another reason to bemoan the passing of Donald Trump’s presidential ambition: Trump/Busey would have been one hell of a ticket. Had they actually won, Gary Busey would have become probably the 2nd craziest Vice President in U.S. history, right behind Dick Cheney.

  • The NDP trotted out its “shadow cabinet” this week. Or, as the Tories call it, “cute.” Leader Jack Layton has vowed that his team will not heckle government speakers. But, I didn’t hear him rule out dressing in orange spandex bodysuits and dancing up on them.

  • Bob Rae accepted the job of Interim Liberal Leader. He was, at a caucus meeting, asked  if he had any skeletons in his closet. He joked: “I said I don’t have any skeletons in my cupboard; they’re in my living room.” Actually, there are skeletons littering most ridings across Canada, all wearing “Ignatieff 2011” buttons.

POP CULTURE

  • So long, Oprah. Your extended goodbye was so long. So… so… long.
  • There’s the growing notion that China’s factories are feeling the energy squeeze and that some of them are becoming too expensive to run. Global Sticks, manufacturer of wooden popsicle sticks, is relocating from China, to Thunder Bay.I just hope they’re not ever bought out by one of those fancy-dan composite popsicle stick manufacturers. Call me old school, but I like my popsicles on good ol’ sticks of wood, not those crappy, new-fangled carbon fibre deals. Sure, they’re lighter and make it easier to lift a popsicle to your mouth, but they shatter too easily when you try to bust your popsicle in half on the counter. Not to mention that $49.95 seems a little steep for a popsicle.

    A worker at Harpo Productions cat naps on some of the materials used to build Oprah’s self-indulgence.
  • Porter Airlines can dress up their little raccoon mascot all they want. It’s just like a defence attorney getting his client a haircut and new suit before trial. Because, no matter how often I see their commercial with that respectable, well-behaved raccoon walking through the terminal in a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase, I know – I KNOW- that little felon dumped my green bin all over my front yard before the airport limo came by to pick him up.
  • Bob Dylan turned 70 this week. Apparently, friends took him to Dairy Queen to celebrate with an ice cream cake. It was there that Dylan told the young woman behind the counter: “Ya gotta soft-serve somebody.”

 

FINAL THOUGHT

People in Toronto won’t cheer for the Vancouver Canucks because the west dumps on Toronto all the time. Because of this, people in Vancouver will dump on Toronto. Because of that, people in Toronto won’t root for the Canucks. Because of that… (cue Elton john singing “Circle of Life.”)

 

[box border=”full”]Previously, in THE NUTSHELL[/box]

 

[box border=”full”]To read the next “THE NUTSHELL,” click here. [/box]

 

Rookie MP Guidebook Part 3: Behaviour in the House

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The third installment in my behind-the-scenes look at a top-secret guidebook given to all 105 rookie MPs on Parliament Hill.

The House Of Commons: Those high ceilings make it tempting. But, please, no beach balls.

Today, some highlights from the guide’s rules of appropriate behaviour in the House of Commons:

As you first set foot in the House of Commons, you will notice the plush, green carpet under your feet. Please treat it with great care, as it is only steam-cleaned once per day (twice, if  Stephane Dion’s Parliament Hill Fight Club has met). Proper footwear is required at all times. Going barefoot is not allowed and has not been since Pierre Trudeau had the carpet replaced with a deep, luxurious shag, for one session in 1974.

When you take your seat, you will notice a few things: There are 3 headset jacks. One is for English translation, the second is for french translation and the third is hardwired into the Galaxie Music Network. Be careful not to get too involved in enjoying the music when the opposition is speaking as nodding your head to the beat may be falsely construed as you being in total agreement with the member. Those listening to the heavy metal channel are asked to refrain from smacking their heads on their desk. Again, this may be misconstrued as support for the member who has the floor.

The Speakers’ Chair is OFF-LIMITS. We do not believe we have to explain that any further. But in case it’s not clear, please refer to the “Inappropriate Behaviour” section, subsection: “After Hours Visitors”, sub-sub-section: “Maxime Bernier.”

“Mr. Speaker, this is an affront to all Canadians. My audio feed should have an all-Chilliwack channel.”

House of Commons Pages are there to assist you. They may relay messages, research precedent and refill water glasses. They may not “go for smokes,”  throw rose petals at your feet as you enter, or sit in for you “for this lame-ass vote on amendments to the Parks Canada procedural guide.”

At the request of the Prime Minister, trap doors have been installed under the seats of all MPs. They are connected to a switch at his desk. Do not be alarmed by a sudden free-fall out of the chamber. Stay calm, curl tightly into a ball and attempt to roll as you land. You will be greeted by a Party Whip, who will inform you as to your House re-admittance time, or escort you to the Parliamentary Library, where you will spend the rest of the session with a rag and a can of “Pledge.”

“Hear, hear,” accompanied by a pounding of your desktop is an acceptable utterance of agreement. “Eat it, Bee-atch!” accompanied by “Double-gunning” of “Devil’s hands” is not. NOTE: One exception to this rule is if John Baird makes a righteous smackdown of an opposition MP.

“Shame,” or  “outrageous” are acceptable forms of derision in the House. Giving “the raspberry” is not, unless you are in the front row, where your spittle will not affect the member seated directly in front of you, and can be effectively removed by the carpet cleaners that evening.

When the Speaker adjourns for the lunch session, leave in a calm, orderly fashion. Do not push or run. The shortage of fajitas in the Parliament Hill Cafeteria has been addressed. There will be plenty for all.

In answer to the most frequently asked question we’ve had from rookie MPs: Yes. When you rise for your first question, ever, in the House, you may take out your iphone and snap a self-portrait of yourself. Be aware, however, that Marc Garneau is quite adept at “photo bombing” new members at this moment.

Finally, no “tweeting” while you are in session, unless it is a blurb about official government business. “OMG, this place smells like old people! #boring” is not official government business.

Enjoy the House Of Commons. It’s like being in a class you really hate, but don’t even have to listen, because some nerd (CPAC) is taking notes for you.

[box type=”info” border=”full”]Previously: Handling The Media[/box]

 

THE NUTSHELL: Gaga, Arnold, Bettman and the Gremlin.

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A weekly feature, with a collection of random thoughts on random things. This is the first edition.

POP CULTURE

Lady Gaga: If she’s so powerful, how come not everyone goes to work in a giant egg?
  • Lady Gaga (I prefer to pronounce it with the emphasis on the last syllable, by the way. Try it, it’s fun!) has just been named, by Forbes Magazine, the world’s most powerful celebrity, bumping Oprah Winfrey to number two. If that gets you a little down. Ms. Winfrey, just do what I do and try to buy your way out of that depression. For me, it might mean new shoes, or tickets to a game. With your spending power, it might mean, oh, I don’t know, a state, say. “Oprahoma” has a nice ring to it.
  • Someone needed to tell Arnold Schwarzenegger that non-natives can’t be President of the United States. Then he wouldn’t have tried so hard to be like Thomas Jefferson.
  • Downside: An 89 year old pastor in the U.S. predicts the end of the world this weekend. Upside: The “Glee” 3D movie will never see the light of day.

 

SPORTS

  • The NHL was given the League OF The Year Award, Wednesday, by Sports Business Journal. Nice get. I can see how they’d beat the NFL, NBA, CFL and MLB. But beating The Justice League of America, well, that’s very impressive. Commissioner Gordon? He couldn’t carry Gary Bettman’s codpiece.
  • The State of Ohio has passed legislation making it a-okay to carry concealed weapons in places such as bars and open-air sports stadiums. David Letterman used to make a joke about “Hard Liquor and Handgun Night” at Yankees’ games. Nice to know that some of those level-headed, mask-wearing drunks in the Dog Pound at Browns’ games might now be packing.
    “Why can’t I get Ben Eager’s deal?”
  • That now-infamous moment in Game Two of the Canucks – Sharks series where a young woman flashed ’em at the penalty box? Wasn’t she showing she was, in fact, more eager, than Ben? And about as smart?
  • My Argos season tickets arrived today. If you’re a season ticket holder of any team, in any league, you know the unbridled joy and pure, pure giddiness this inspires. Honestly. What is it about the arrival of my season tickets that makes me feel like I’m 10 years old, it’s Christmas, and I just this moment opened a package with my brand new “Super-Slider Sno-Skates” in it?
  • Those Honda Civic ads I see over and over and over AND OVER on Hockey Night In Canada make me pine for the days when I saw those “Roll Up The Rim” ads over and over and over AND OVER again, during The Brier. Not sure who I’m supposed to be most like. The zombie? The masked avenger? (The Avenger, now there was a good car) The troll putting on make-up? The cartoon samurai girl come to life? The trans-gendered lumberjack? Well, at least the accompanying tune is cool. But I need some sort of gimmick before I get a Civic.

 

POLITICS

  • Here’s a little nugget from Jane Taber’s Ottawa Notebook in the Globe and Mail, re: Stephen Harper’s ridiculous Senate appointments: “One of Mr. Harper’s MPs suggested that the Prime Minister is no longer trying to kill the Liberal Party but has instead decided to become the Liberal Party.” Ouch. Wonder who that was. Doubt it was Peter Kent, who doubled back on criticism of The Party during the campaign after waking, one morning, with a horse’s head in his bed. Well, whoever you are, GREAT line. The hell of it is, you’ll never get credit for it, if you know what’s good for you.
    Stornoway: Check for bed bugs. And any ex-Liberal MPs who may be squatting.
  • Michael Ignatieff has moved out of Stornoway. Now, I’m not saying Jack Layton and Olivia Chow face a huge mess when they first open the front door. But I do know that if the place is in half as bad a shape as the Liberal Party he left behind, Iggy ain’t getting his security deposit back.
  • Donald Trump has decided NOT to run for President. Too bad. Pretty sure he would have tried to take a chunk out of the national debt by building a lavish casino in the West Wing. Then, inviting Chinese President Ma Ying-jeour to the place and comp’ing him the Lincoln Bedroom, all the while ensuring he takes a bath at the tables.

FINAL THOUGHT

They’ve brought back the Volkswagen Beetle. They’ve brought back the Mini-Cooper. Now, dammit, it’s time. bring back the AMC Gremlin. Stylish, affordable and way cool. Tell me it isn’t prettier than the Nissan Cube.

Harper Cabinet Shuffle: Swedish for Common Sense Revolution

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The Prime Minister’s cabinet retooling is complete. Funny how the loss of a key member or three (Lawrence Cannon, Josee Verner, Jean-Pierre Blackburn) can set up a really high stakes version of musical chairs. Sources say that’s EXACTLY how it happened, by the way, with Tory MPs gathered in a room with 39 chairs. They all circled them nervously, while the Prime Minister played Nick Lowe’s “Cruel To Be Kind” on the piano. When he stopped — Yahtzee! Maxime Bernier had successfully knocked Rob Moore to the ground, and taken his seat as Minister of State for Small Business and Tourism.

Maxime Bernier: “Hon, you haven’t seen the Allen key, have you?

It was Bernier who’d made musical chairs necessary in the first place. He’d bought the Prime Minister’s new cabinet at the IKEA outlet in Nepean last night, but forgot the instructions at his girlfriend’s house when he left in haste this morning. By the way, IKEA  has an excellent selection of parliamentary cabinets, including the popular “Sinterblok,” as well as the twin-cabinets, the “Deef” and “Bakker.” Prime Minister Harper was hoping for the high-end, well-appointed “Sennit,” but Tony Clement, who’d had a premonition he was going to be seated in the “President of the Treasury Board” chair, asked that the Prime Minister relent and settle for the cheapest cabinet available, the finely trimmed “Budjitt.”

But, back to musical chairs. Bev Oda never did get up from her seat and remains Minister For Term Paper Grading International Co-operation Minister. John Baird flexed his considerable muscles of diplomacy and convinced a harried Julian Fantino to “get the hell out of my seat, you glorified mall cop!” Fantino shifted his buns one seat over, to become Assistant Minister of Defence. Uh, Assistant to the Minister of Defence.

Among others to find chairs they’d already been seated in were Jim Flaherty (Finance) and Peter MacKay (Defence). They both hovered over the Finance Minister’s chair, but Flaherty’s newly re-soled budget shoes gave him the agility of Hines Ward to MacKay’s Ralph Macchio. (Proud to say, I had to look that last reference up)

Magnanimously, the PM glanced up from the piano and waited for a couple of Toronto-area MPs to hover over vacant seats, proving that, while he won’t dance to Toronto’s tune, Toronto can damn well stop dancing and sit when he commands.

All in all, a nice, big shiny cabinet. Apparently, it ties the record shared by Brian Mulroney and Paul Martin. Maybe on the next trip to IKEA, they can set the stage for a record membership, by buying the Deluxe “Kokkis.”

Rookie MP Guidebook Part 2: Handling The Media

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Today, a further look at the top-secret guidebook given to each and every one of Parliament Hill’s 105 rookie MPs.

In this installment, excerpts from the guidebook’s tips on handling the media.

Media scrums can be intimidating for a new MP.

As you make your way through the wonder of your first federal political term, you will find there are times when you are inevitably faced with the scrutiny of our friends in the media. These tips will help you survive these encounters, perhaps even find them enjoyable.

Be cordial. Smile. Offer them a mini-Toblerone from your jacket pocket. DO NOT offer them a mini-Toblerone from your PANTS pocket.

Compliment a reporter on past work. “I really enjoyed your piece on the budgetary fallout from the (insert applicable subject matter here).  It read just like a chapter from All The President’s Men!“, can go a long way toward blinding a journalist to your simmering disdain for them and their entire lot.

Dangle the possibility of a patronage appointment. Say something like: “Damn if you don’t remind me of a young Pamela Wallin. If you wore more leopard prints, I’d swear you were already a senator!”

When faced with a situation in which you do not under any circumstances wish to comment, DO NOT say “no comment.” “No comment” now actually means “you got me,” or, “you know more than I do at this point,” or, “I didn’t know I couldn’t use government stationary to prank my university buddy into thinking he was being audited over his distribution of campus weed.”

Instead, offer up one of these newly-minted phrases designed to avoid a straight answer:

Rex Murphy. I believe this is a headshot from the time he starred on the TV series “Room 222.”

1.  “Good question. It’s one I’d certainly like to hear answered by the Honourable Member from South Simcoe-Dunder-Mifflin-Galt. They certainly have some explaining to do.” Then duck out the nearest door while the reporter pulls out their blackberry to find out who that is.

2. “Answer a question? Here? Now? What are you, from the Stone Age? Check my Twitter feed.”

3. “Look! Rick Mercer and a camera crew just followed Rona Ambrose into the ladies’ room!”

If being interviewed by Rex Murphy, do not look directly at him. He WILL hypnotize you. Usually, it’s just to get a straight answer. But he has been known to make the occasional rookie MP behave like they are the Minister of Silly Walks for an entire day, just for his own enjoyment.

An appearance on “Power & Politics” may be in the offing, at some point. If so, be sure not to tell CBC’s Evan Solomon that he’s “kinda like the journalism version of Doogie Howser.” He’s actually much older than he looks.

Conservative rookies are reminded NOT to greet members of SunMedia with the secret handshake, in public. A healthy slap on the back and a rousing “dude” will suffice.

NDP rookies are reminded NOT to greet members of the Toronto Star with the secret handshake, in public. A nurturing hug and a whispered “friend” will suffice.

Liberal and Bloc rookies: You are instructed NOT to greet ANYONE with any handshake of any kind, as you may still be contagious.

Green party rookies are rookie is reminded not to greet members of High Times with the secret handshake, in public. They won’t remember it, anyway.

Although it may be difficult not to, please remember that napping during an appearance on CTV’s “Question Period” is not actually acceptable for anyone other than Craig Oliver.

Avoid scrums, if possible, at all times. A group of Parliament Hill reporters will often take on the dynamic of the diseased victims in the “Resident Evil” film franchise. Although they will not eat the flesh of veteran politicians, you, as a rookie are susceptible, as your skin has not yet built up protective layers of cynicism and bitterness. Seriously, you’ll be like veal to these people.

Enjoy your relationship with Parliament Hill media! However, do everything humanly possible to sidestep an encounter with Chantal Hebert. She’s smarter than you. She’s smarter than all of us. Beware.

[box]Previously: Rookie Mp Guidebook Part 1[/box]

[box border=”full”]Next: Rookie MP Guidebook Part 3[/box]

Unveiled: Top Secret Rookie MP Guidebook

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The Parliament Hill Cafeteria Can Be a Scary Place For a Newcomer

With 105 rookie Members of Parliament being sworn in on The Hill, there’s bound to be some concern, confusion and consternation among them. Kind of like the first day of high school, without the threat of being hung, by your underwear, on your locker hook. At least, I don’t think they have to worry about that, although John Baird strikes me as someone who’d find that funny.

Rookie MPs: Almost exactly as depicted.

To ease the first day jitters of the fresh meat – er, wide-eyed, super-intelligent, rookies ready to inject a fresh, new energy to their caucus – the Clerk of the Speaker of the House of Commons sends them each a guide to rules and regulations of parliamentary life. It’s not meant to be seen by non – parliamentarians, however, I’ve managed to secure a copy and will give you some of the more important guidelines.

Today, I’ll focus on the rules of the Parliament Hill cafeteria. Here are some verbatim highlights:

 

As you make your way into the cafeteria for the first time, you’ll be handed two trays. One is for you, the other, for the veteran MP you’ve been assigned to serve. In some cases, NEITHER tray is for you. This means you’ve been assigned a senator. After bringing the tray, or trays, to your designated Luncheon Lord, or Lady, stand quietly, hands clasped behind your back. Wait, silently, until a request for napkin dabbing is made, or you are waved away contemptuously.

Sit in ROOKIE DESIGNATED AREA  ONLY. If you have trouble finding it, as it is not clearly marked, just follow the unmistakable smell of innocence and idealism dying.

“At my signal, unleash butterscotch pudding hell!”

If the Prime Minister enters after you are already in the cafeteria, you have TWO choices: Stand up immediately, or dive under your table until the threat of him seeing you has passed  (This does not apply to opposition members of Parliament, as there is no possibility of the Prime Minister actually noticing you). Do NOT make eye contact with the Prime Minister. If eye contact is inadvertently made, your dessert will automatically be forfeited to backbench scavengers.

Delivery of food items is available for members of the governing party ONLY. First time MPs will do the delivering. It will be guaranteed in 10 minutes. To assist you in speedy delivery, The Honourable Jack Layton has determined that his hip is sufficiently healed, and he no longer needs his EZ-Go cart. He has graciously donated it to Delivery Services. NOTE: Cart availability is subject to suspension, based on how energetic Senator Mike Duffy is feeling that day.  Plan ahead.

Food fights are not uncommon, but are to be started by governing party members ONLY. You will know that one is imminent, if The Honourable Jim Flaherty enters wearing a toga.

Seating arrangements are based on election results. Conservatives and members of the NDP in the main dining hall, Liberal Party members at the kiddie tables in the Centre Block Daycare. The Honourable Leader of the Green Party has not opted in to a meal plan, based on the unavailability of bean sprouts and willow bark tea.

Menu changes: With the securing of a majority government, it has been determined that “Pro-rogies” will no longer be available. One item has been added to the breakfast menu: Sausage, inside a rolled pancake. However, instead of being called “Piggies in a Blanket,” a Royal Commission on cafeteria foodstuffs has determined that they will be known as “Pork In A Barrel.” Not all food items will be available; the menu is subject to change, at any time, at the whim of The Honourable Bev Oda.

Finally, make sure to fill out the “How’d We Do?” comment cards after each and every cafeteria visit. As a newcomer to the Hill, your fresh perspective and new ideas on how the Government of Canada commissary is serving you are very important, and greatly valued. The Harper Government Action Plan Eatery is tired of having too many cooks in the kitchen. Just eat your food and get out.

[box type=”info” border=”full”]Next: Part 2: Handling the Media[/box]

Franchise Merry Go Round: Bring Back The Kenora Thistles

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Dying franchises. Franchises on artificial respiration. “False” markets. Markets that could be the “Lourdes” for any of them, if the NHL bothered to revisit the protocols at Head Office, the way it did for head trauma. Dark, quiet room. No distractions. Come on, guys, you can do this. Sit very still, and let the healing (if uncomfortably icy) waters of the game’s cradle pour over you. No? Obvious economic answers not doing it for you?

Begs the question: Where do teams belong? Not just financially speaking but, rather, esthetically?

 

Give Oakland Back It’s Hockey Team. But, first, Where Are They, Again?

I don’t think the good people of Winnipeg would really care, one way or the other. They just want a hockey team to fill up the nights when they aren’t curling. But, in the interest of all being right with the universe, it’s the Coyotes that belong there. Who doesn’t like a good “you can go home, again” story? Here’s an idea: Move the Atlanta Thrashers to Phoenix. Then let the Coyotes go back to where they rightfully belong. What does it matter to the NHL which team they’re traipsing around in Arizona like it was the corpse in “Weekend At Bernie’s,” as long as they’ve got a body to prop up?

 

For the folks in Atlanta, well, if you can ever get your hockey act together again, you can always take back the Flames. We can move the Blue Jackets to Alberta. After this last (and pretty much every other) federal election, blue is an entirely appropriate colour for a team in Calgary. Columbus can pick up the Florida Panthers, when the time comes. Got a name picked out and everything: “Ohio State Puckeyes.” No? How about “Ohio Players?” Google that, if you’re under 40.

I’ve often thought that the NFL should do a little franchise carousel, to set things right with the football gods. When the Colts left Baltimore, that city took Cleveland’s Browns, a few years later, as replacement. Soon after that, the city of Cleveland was granted an expansion franchise which, rightfully, belongs in Indianapolis. This is too easy: The Colts move back to Baltimore, from Indy. The Ravens move back to Cleveland and “re-become” the Browns. The “new” Browns shift over to Indianapolis and can be called the , um, hell, I don’t know. The “Ravens,” I guess, would be available. No! The “Birds!” Obviously.

While we’re at it, how soon can we move the Owen Sound attack back to Guelph and rename them the “Platers?”

Vive Las Vegas

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Much ado about the so-called “Ghost MP” who’s yet to surface in the riding of Berthier – Maskinongé.  First of all, Ghost MP? It’s a misnomer. Frankly, I think, if anyone had the opportunity to vote for an NDP ghost, they’d almost all opt for Tommy Douglas, wouldn’t they?

Ruth Ellen Brosseau has not been seen or heard from since her landslide victory of  May 2nd. Which is in keeping with her profile, of course. She barely, if ever, set foot in the riding during the campaign, even taking a trip to Las Vegas. Why hang back and partake in the ritualistic slinging of the mud when you can hang out in a mud bath at the spa in the Mirage Hotel? Then, later, be dazzled by a Cirque du Soleil show? Incidentally, by most reports, her limited ability to parlais vous en Francais may have allowed her to fit right in, when she approached the box office and asked for tickets to “The Cir-cue do So-LEEL.” If she did, in fact, learn how to say Cirque du Soleil while there, maybe she can write off the entire trip as a French immersion class.

Ruth Ellen Brosseau: Really, and I mean REALLY, putting the “New” in “New Democrat.”

There’s blame to go around here. It’s true that the NDP should be embarrassed for fielding a candidate (or candidates, actually) with very few tangible qualifications. I know, they really thought they had no chance in many of these ridings, but you at least have to leave the impression you take the thing more seriously than a run at Student Council Treasurer.

To the people of Berthier – Maskinongé: Turn your outrage back at yourselves, just a touch. Did any of you check out even her Lavalife profile, never mind just a cursory glance at her actual, I don’t know, credentials? Or investigate her, oh, what do they call them? Umm… Oh, yeah. Her views on issues? Honestly, I’ve seen a rusted-out transmission on a junkyard Chevy Nova that was more engaged than you were in this election.

Not sure how much I blame Brosseau, herself. For all I know, she’s actually an intelligent young lady with lots of political upside. We’ll see. Elections Canada has cleared her of any wrongdoing in the possible fraudulent behaviours surrounding her nomination papers. So her culpability probably only rises to the level of thinking it’d be pretty neat to tell people she ran in a federal election once. Great ice-breaker at one of those way cool parties where young people gather to put much too much Miracle Whip on their sandwiches.

Maybe the real issue I have with her is jealousy. I don’t speak much French. I’m not all that up on the issues of the day in Berthier – Maskinongé. Like her, I never once set foot there during the campaign. Where’s MY plum job with the big salary and Parliament Hill perks?

Oh, and another thing she’s got on me: I’ve never been to Vegas. How do you say? C’est dommage, Don. C’est dommage.

Election 2011: Let The Chips Fall Where They Elizabeth May

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“Dude. That’s My Brador In The Fridge.”

Last night, I dreamed of Stephen Harper. No lie, no joke. I actually had a dream with the PM front and centre (er, centre block?). No, it wasn’t a nightmare, per se, but it didn’t end well, with a group of Conservative children chasing me down a street. The really odd thing about it was that former U.S. Republican Chair, Michael Steele, was leading them. What the first part means, I have my theory. The second part just probably means that I watch a lot of The Colbert Report and The Daily Show. I recall thinking, in the dream, that I sure wish Jack Layton would do his job and officially oppose the rampaging Tory gang. He didn’t, and my dream was denied a Layton-inspired happy ending. Suppose I should be grateful for that.

After some reflection (and a few glasses of Dubonnet), I believe I may have cracked the code of this particular subconscious theatre.

The rampaging Tory kids most likely represent my fear that our new government is about to embark on a 5 year mission of tracking down moderates and giving them super-wedgie after super-wedgie, politically speaking. Despite the conciliatory words of the Prime Minister in the wake of his big majority win, I don’t believe him. He barely was made to share the toys in the sandbox when he was forced to. Now that he holds sway over the entire playground, I fully expect him to be about as magnanimous as was Daniel Day-Lewis in Gangs of New York.

Jack Layton. May Or May Not Be An Accurate Depiction.

Hoping the NDP would show up to roll-block the Tory kids, but being disappointed…that’s an easy one, I think. It’s a nice feather in Jack Layton’s cap to become the Leader of the Official Opposition. However, he’s really powerless to do anything about, well, anything. When facing a determined majority on the other side of the aisle, the Leader of the Opposition is much like an NHL Goal Judge. Sure, he can get some attention by turning on his little red light, but it’s just symbolic, really. At least he gets a swell seat to watch all the action.

One more thing I should mention about this dream. At the outset, I got all up in The Prime Minister’s face when he interrupted a Michael Ignatieff speech. After I quickly admonished the PM I turned and Ignatieff was gone. Vanished. He’d had merely a cameo in this whole thing.

Not hard to interpret that.

Obama’s Trump Schtick: More Than Just For Laughs

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“Excuse me, Don, but that’s my Titleist caught in your Feskiw.”

 

Stokes The Super-Ego for Evil.

One of those little, itsy-bitsy moments of glee came my way over the weekend, from an unexpected source: U.S. President Barack Obama bringing the funny at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. Pretty good material and, not surprisingly, nice execution from a guy who’s proven he’s pretty damn good at public speaking.

Obama, I’m sure, had much more serious things on his mind – like an impending raid of Osama Bin Laden’s compound, in Pakistan. But you’d never know it. He looked like Dean Martin on the dais, all relaxed and rat-pack devil-may-care. Maybe it’s because he knew he’d soon be uttering those most magical War On Terror words: “We got Bin Laden.” Or, just maybe, it’s because he knew he had Trump in a barrel, with his gag gun cocked and ready for action.

No doubt, The President had had enough of Trump’s ridiculous birther charade, and wanted to make him pay. Must have felt damn good. I know I enjoyed the cutaway shots of a much less than amused Trump, at his table, looking like he wished that incomparable mop of hair of his would just get it over with and finally swallow him whole.

But I think there was more to this than just a few good jokes to blow off some frustrated steam. Obama was ensuring that Trump will run for President, thereby ensuring the Republican search for a presidential candidate will be soaked in embarrassment. Let’s face it, the only place Trump would make a good presidential candidate might be on an episode of Family Guy. And even then he’d make Peter Griffin look like John F. Kennedy. Obama and the Democrats know it. They need to ensure that Trump will carry on his comical bid. So they played to his enormous, enormous ego, making sure to embarrass him in humiliating, public fashion. Because they know Trump will come back with atomic-level hubris. No way he takes this lying down. He’ll be absolutely certain that he can have the last laugh, by beating Obama in 2012. The pin has been pulled on the Trump grenade.

Not a bad weekend, Obama. 2 for 2. Destroy Bin Laden. Ensure Trump will do the same to the Republican primaries.