Today Maureen came back from the wandering the aisles of the IGA trying to run down something for supper, slack-jawed (something she does pretty often, by her own admission) with a plastic bag which contained a pack of 3 large Mennonite sausages, a can of niblets and two bags of perogies. There was a special on, 2 for 1.
I can only surmise that Hansens are sending a subversive message to Ted Menzies our MP, by keeping the issue alive as a laughing stock in some of the kitchens anyway for 20 or so miles around.
I was immediately amused but trepidated — I got a stomach flu on Saturday morning that has had me doing nothing more for sustenance than nibbling crackers and politely spooning bits of canned peaches gingerly onto my tongue. This flu’s been to our house twice now, the first visit occurring Xmas Day. How I stepped into its path the second time I’m not sure… so it goes I guess.
But I digress — those sad, behind-the-times acolytes of the failed New American Century! Those sorry sons of nickel-a-throw mattress backs! I don’t think of myself as particularly political when it comes right down to it. It’s a big World and there is a huge lot of other neat-o things to explore without focusing solely on what is constantly couched as the only game in town, so dolts like our not-so-esteemed leader and his scheming clutch of spelling bee rejects can bask in the glow of our collective attention, at a safe distance with the microphones switched off, again.
But, roused I am. Even me.
I hope the people of this land rise up and swallow our currently not-sitting PM whole like poor unfortunate Port-O-Prince. They got the wrong guys, those behemoth stone gods of Hubris, when they started stumbling around looking for the fool that’s been disturbing their slumber. And Michaelle Jean — complicit whore that she seems — I can’t help but wonder if she experienced just a momentary, fleeting twinge when she heard about the earthquake. Did she have to gulp back a split-second long realization that it was she who had brought ruin not only onto her country of choice but to her own birthlands and people? That it was a message from Papa Legba, from the Vodou Loa, pointing out that she had made the mistake not once but twice; “Why did you say yes again to the usurper Stephen Harper?”
From the wan look he held for the camera that the CBC used to bejewel the news item about the cabinet shuffle today, I’d say Harpdog knows big time he blew it. Last thing the guy wanted to do was have to hug the tears away from our surrogate queen who has the gaunt, grey and haunted faces of 100,000 freshly dead people steadily gnawing their way into his conscience, once they’ve finished with hers. Then, to actually have to send aid money into what I’m sure he considers a bottomless Third-World pit, one without even the prisons they built with our tax money now, meant to hold the people crushed by their very walls, at a time when it was a gentle coast down to the Vanc. Games and then on to a humble majority. Now that’s gotta hurt.
Well, it’s not a clean downhill run anymore. And Christ it’s so ironic, how could anybody miss it?
No comments:
Post a Comment