Poor little bluebyrd- she is so entitled- she wants a bunch of those "birdie num nums from that old movie called "The Party"! She has her nickers in a twist because her beloved LIE-berals are flaming out!
And- because its Halloween- here is a little tale to consider- for those who wondered why Our idiot Boy Justin refuses to move out of Stornoway and into 24 Sussex Drive- the truth is he DID spend one scary Halloween night there and refuses to return! Here is why:
On this All Hallows Eve it seems proper to explain the REAL reason why Justin Trudope will NOT move into 24 Sussex Drive and prefers to remain at Stornoway- the traditional home of leaders of the opposition party. Its nothing to do with neglected renovations- its because 24 Sussex is HAUNTED by malevolent spirits that scare Our idiot Boy so badly his nice hair will go grey or fall out if he stays at 24 Sussex!
Our idiot Boy Justin is a master of small magic- how else to explain his ability to once again mesmerize and persuade civil service Working Family Hogs to TRUST ANOTHER set of lie-beral promises and buy another set of LIE-beral IOU`s- when the previous ones are already in default! One would think Hogs could have learned from experience in Ontari-owe that LIE-berals cannot honour their wild and extravagant promises- but no- hope springs eternal in the mesmerized Hog mind!
I pointed out prior to the 2015 election, that if Trudope was elected prime minister, he would perform a magic trick-he would make our jobs and money and civil service Hog pensions disappear! He is on track for that by the way. But Our idiot Boy miscalculated and was not aware of just how many VERY malevolent spirits were being held in check by Conservative Necromancy! Harper is gone- his influence faded and NOW the SPIRITS are loose!
It is whispered in some circles and staunchly denied in others- that Our idiot Boy DID spend one terrible Halloween night at 24 Sussex- and here is what happened:
The sun had set hours before and the Trudope children had been washed and brushed and put to bed after a joyful evening of trick or treat fun and Justin and Sophie were relaxing after another long day with Justin worn out from a day of making promises he will never remember. Sophie tired from a long day making lists of servants required and examining the qualifications of possible servants who might have the ability to be hired to honour self appointed royalty in a proper way.
As bed time approaches, it seems the wind is rising- howling through the eaves and echoing around the old mansion and through the grounds. Yet a glance through the leaded windows reveals the trees are not moving- the air is calm. It is puzzling and disturbing for no logical reason that Our idiot Boy can explain. Near midnight, the sound of marching feet grows from a vague shuffle to a mighty thunder-a great horde of spectral lichs is shambling up the drive. They are led by the rotten and worm eaten shade of Darryl Bean.
Bean was head of the Letter Carriers union in 1969 and he was foolish (and ARROGANT) enough to come on a radio interview to boast, after a particularly bruising mail strike, that Cdn letter carriers were now the best paid and most ENTITLED civil servants on the planet! Many foul and inventive curses where rained upon his head and now he does not rest easy in his grave....or anyplace else either!
Behind Bean comes all manner of vile and rotten shades and worm eaten things risen from the grave by the power of un-natural ENTITLEMENT! The shades march and wave signs printed with ancient union slogans-barely legible beneath the layers of unclean earth laced with the rotten leavings of the grave. And the creatures call out an unearthly chant: money, wages, jobs, entitlements, GRAVY; as they march up the drive!!!!
Sophie explodes in anger: “damn it Justin, do something! Those fiends will wake the kids”!
Justin can only shrug- he has seen the scarlet clad figures of his security detail galloping off into the distance- the Mounties are sworn to protect the prime minister from all earthly evil- but things from beyond the grave are not in their job description! And as good Catholics should when confronted with evil, the two nannies who should be taking care of the Trudope children, have decided they are entitled to take time off to seek sanctuary in the nearest house of God and will not return till daylight- the Trudopes are on their own!
As they are entitled- the spectral Hogs assemble in prominent places on the lawn. The foul fiends sing and chant and mock all LIE-berals. The light of un-natural GREED is in their eyes and the smell of corruption is strong in the air! And they are joined by other shades of the evil, un-hallowed night, each one representing another special interest group who will NOT REST until their un-natural greed- so long un satisfied is finally rewarded! Each of the evil dead calls upon Our idiot Boy to give in and grant ALL their desires and allow them to rest quiet in the grave! They make it clear there will be no peace until he does as he has promised!
These spectral Hogs are not the only spirits abroad on this night of restless undead. Away in the distance a great clamour arises from another horde of lost souls. Their cries of rage and horror are not understood by Justin or Sophie. Some cry out in Spanish, while others call in Mandarin and Cantonese and other Chinese dialects. Sophie gives in to despair and whines “what do those other ones want of you”? “They don’t even sound Cdn”? The marching throngs of non English speakers gather behind the spectral ranks of union Hogs as Justin shrugs and admits- “I don’t know what they are saying or what they want”.
A lich shambles forward- elbowing his way through the ranks of undead Hogs till he stands beside the house and glares up at Our idiot Boy. “Hola” the unclean thing calls and “buenos dias as well”.
“Who are you Justin asks, I don’t recall promising anything to you or your pals”?
The spectre smiles and it is not a nice thing to see. “I am Jacobo Timmerman, the creature exclaims. I am one of the many victims of your very great friend Fidel Castro”!
“What is the matter with your leg’ says Sophie. Cuba has a national health care system so why is your leg so mis-shapen”?
Jacobo smiles another fearsome smile with no humour in it and explains: Once I owned a newspaper in Havana. My great crime was in pointing out- in my editorials- the faults and failings of our great leader Castro and it did not help that I pointed out ways of mitigating the economic disasters that had our poor Cuban population on the edge of starvation thanks to the many failings of th socialist system that is beloved of your oh so greedy hubby! Malnutrition is not a thing that can be cured by penicillin you know!
As the faults of Soviet socialism became ver more apparent, Castro lashed out at his critics. Fidel is of a temperament rather similar to your Justin- he also believes it is his ENTITLEMENT to lead! Castro sent out his secret police and rounded up people such as myself and sent us to the Isle of Pines- a terrible place originally constructed by the Spanish a couple of centuries ago! Starvation, regular beatings and solitary confinement are the lot of those who live on The Pines! I limp because my leg was broken during “re-education” and no doctor ever set it and now it has healed in this distorted form.
Life at The Pines is a desperate thing. Much of my time there was spent in a black hole at the base of the old Spanish fortress- a dungeon that flooded with sea water at each high tide so that I was forced to struggle, with my broken leg, to avoid drowning. Conditions were made worse by the darkness and by the rats and scorpions that crawled over me seeking escape from the rising waters! On this Hallowe eve I am permitted to return to the world of the living to give testimony to the evil choices of your family friends.
“And who are those others that you seem to speak for” snarls Our idiot Boy. “What do they want with me”?
“Oh, they also are victims of your great family friend Castro”! Jacobo waves a gaunt and worm eaten hand and a shambling line of corpses passes beneath the window like rotting troops on review. Sophie gasps in disgust but Justin holds his ground- surely he would carry no blame for these ones? Some lichs are desperately pale and broken bones from beatings and horrible gunshot wounds from the firing squads are clearly visible!
Jacobo explains: “These are political prisoners who Castro had ordered to be executed- AFTER they have had 80-90 percent of the blood drained from their bodies. Cuban doctors have become very skilled at draining virtually all the blood from a victim- but not so much that the victim will faint and be unconscious when faced with the firing squad! It is the desire of the Leader that all enemies of the State should look Socialist Justice full in the face- so these ones were drained of blood- but left fully aware of the firing squad taking aim at them! And the blood was sold to countries such as Viet Nam- to aid its wounded soldiers fighting the Yankees” Castro profited nicely from murdering his political opponents!
Sophie cannot see the disgusting lich but she can hear his words and she is appalled at this selling of blood! It sounds like such a Capitalist thing to do? How can good socialists engage in such a trade? Surely Jacobo is LYING? But no, Jacobo produces several news articles- from Cdn media sources- in the air before her startled eyes- verifying the disgusting truth!
Our idiot Boy has no words for the fearsome specters, no assurances that will persuade them to pass by. HE KNOWS he spewed fake news about so many things! He knows there is no appeasing the dreadful spirits. He knows there is not enough gravy in the world to appease such as them. He knows that the Hog pensions are DOOMED because cdns do not have the resources. He knows that he MUST give with one hand and TAKE MORE with the other-this is the nature of the enchantment that he is under! He knows that debt is a form of slow poison and he has promised and SWORN to drink a FULL DRAFT! And to SHARE that disgusting drink with ALL Cdns!
The idiot Boy can run, can fight, can hide but always he is followed by the haunted specters risen and given vile and un-natural life by the power of his endless, unobtainable, impractical promises. In the dark of night with the cries of the restless dead echoing in his ears, the idiot Boy ponders: I will have to argue all this bullsh+t out again; come up with a convincing new line of bullsh+t in four years at the next election-people are counting on me-while union Hogs squeal of betrayal and THIS is the reward I get for WINNING the election?
And in the far distance...could it be the spectral, scornful laughter of Harris, Harper Ford and Manning? They knew-if you are a leader then sooner or later you MUST be called to account for your promises! Make too many promises, as did Our idiot Boy and the burden of proof can be a KILLER!
And now the night is growing old and the worst haunting has yet to appear. In the far distance a car engine howls- the deep bass rumble of a v-8 echoes through the land, the tires squeal on sharp corners, the horn blares an blasphemous sound and in the distance there is a flash of silver as the monstrous driver down shifts and turns into the driveway. Up the drive comes an antique Mercedes sports car, scattering gravel upon the restless dead, driven by the most decayed and rotten lich of all. The lich is so rotten it is hard to identify who it might have been in life but there are signs for the wise to see. The old gull wing car is one of only a few-the best known one having been once in the hands of Our PET-Pierre-the father of Justin! And just for effect the spectral lich calls a furious “FUDDLE DUDDLE” to his enemies, near and far, alive and dead, and hands out worm riddled Salmon Arm salutes to all and sundry!
In the passenger seat sits another shade that looks very much like Joe Clark. It certainly sounds like him. The miserable spirit whines constantly: I COULD have been a leader, I could have had it all, all I had to do was sell out and sell just a little bullsh+t the voters....but NOOOOO....I had to be halfway honest and got screwed for it! I got replaced by MULRONEY of all people and he was an exception to the Conservative rule- he was a bigger liar than any LIE-beral! And what sort of lesson is that for a politician anyway? Do Cdns REALLY want fresh, ripe BULLSH+T on a platter served up by their leaders? WHY did not more people come out to vote? They certainly bitched loud enough when Our Pet raised their taxes way beyond anything I had planned! And they cried just as loud when Our Pet was replaced by that dork Mulroney! There is a lesson in there some place- if only I could see it- Clark subsides into silent misery-lost in bewildered thought.
The Mercedes sprays gravel and lepas forward- only to squeal to a stop in front of Darryl Bean, and our PET gestures, its late, its time to go, my bullsh+t Boy needs his rest if he is to properly ruin the country. My idiot Boy is the legacy I bequeath to Canada! It was my dream to lead Canada from the past into the future via the route of radical socialism but the people proved resistant- and wiser than I expected! In the distance, the shade of that notorious Commie hater Lubor Zink capers wildly; “SEE! I told you so, the shade squeals, our PET was a fcuking COMMIE, just like I said! HAHAHAHA”!
The marching shades all know the power of the master of bullsh+t and they begin entering the car. More and more and more of the shades, like some sort of supernatural clown car, the shades and lichs keep crowding in until the lawn is clear of spectral things and yet the car is not crowded- it is a door to that other world that we fear to enter-its portal leads to the basement of LIE-beral headquarters where so much of truth and logic goes to die!
The mouldy lich waves to the house and grins at his shocked son; keep up your courage son and remember: BULLSH+T baffles brains and there are a LOT of stupid people in the civil service unions! Good luck boy! And remember- Don’t step in your own sh+t! With a click and a clack the car is shifted into gear and goes roaring off through the gate and disappears. And for Justin and Sophie? One evening at 24 Sussex and suddenly life at the `Cottage` looks a lot better!
