Thursday April 17 , 2014

Good Con/Bad Con

So a Conservative senator is getting a bit of press these days arguing with a former auditor general about the merits of the Conservative Party’s Fair Elections Act.

I don’t know but it seems to me that all we really need to know about the Fair Elections Act is that it was drafted by the same Conservative Party that allowed inappropriate access to its database so that persons still unknown (except by the Conservative Party) could commit the electoral fraud that resulted in a Conservative Party majority government in 2011.

And, you know, I’m tired of the Segals of the Conservative Party playing good Conservative when it suits them but otherwise going along with the bad Conservatives who have essentially made a mockery of our Parliamentary democracy, which they’ve done easily and handily and mostly thanks to all the good Conservatives who aided and abetted them from behind the scenes.

I mean, it’s not like we don’t know that the Conservative Party can easily track who has accessed its database to commit electoral fraud because Dmitri Soudas did it and BOOM – banished from the Garden of Stephen.

(And suddenly another Conservative lady is outed as an unconscionable diva. Funny how the Conservative Party attracts the crazy ladies, eh? Too bad Stephen Harper’s dad doesn’t have their backs like he’s got Rob Anders’.)

We know for a fact that the Conservative Party has all the who/when/where details with regard to the illegal access of its database to commit the electoral fraud in 2011 that three years later brings us  the Fair Elections Act by Pierre Poilievre, the former squeeze of Stephen Harper’s 2011 campaign manager, Jenni Byrne.

Nothing that the government has done from the point of its election in 2011 is legitimate, because the Conservative Party broke our electoral laws in order to get a majority. I know that. You know that. So Hugh Segal knows that, too.

But my working theory now is that the Conservative Party wanted us to know all that – before it got co-opted by the very government it claimed to loathe and despise – because the fact that we really and truly can’t trust our own government anymore feeds directly into the ideology of Stephen Harper et al, the bad Conservatives who made this big mess – deliberately and without looking back.

Aided and abetted all the way by good Conservatives following orders.

 

Dmitri We Hardly Knew Ye…

Just read a piece pointing out that the Conservative Party gave up Dmitri Soudas for inappropriate use of CIMS but it still hasn’t given up whoever was behind the electoral fraud of 2011.

 

Omifuckinggawd

I bet that’s what Justin Trudeau said when he heard that the OPP are backing off the case Toronto Chief Blair called them in to help investigate because, just like Doug Ford kept telling everybody, Rob Ford is the REAL victim here.

That’s right, according to the OPP, two things cannot be true at once, and the gangsters Rob Ford was hanging out with the night he was videotaped by them smoking crack were the extorters, not Rob Ford. Rob Ford was the extortee.

Just you never mind if the other way around is also true because two things cannot be true at once.Ford Nation is right, you pinko socialist pansy cyclists.

Now get out there and re-elect Rob Ford. You owe him, dammit!

Ford More Years! Ford More Years! Ford More Years!

 

Timing

Why are budgets secret anyway? I was pleased to learn that the provincial government plans to retire our payment of Ontario Hydro’s debt. Including that payment on our monthly hydro bill discourages individual conservation, because no matter what we do, it’s nothing compared to that debt repayment.

By the way, if you worked at Ontario Hydro in the ’80s – fuck you, brownshirt.

I’m excited for spring to come because we need to get a tiny crack in our foundation repaired and eaves troughs put up to stop the water that comes off the roof in one corner from dribbling into our basement. It heads to the drain, though, so that’s good, at least, right?

I don’t believe in finished basements but I do believe in dry basements so once we get a guy in to chisel out and plug in, I can relax and enjoy life again. Until then, I’m afraid I’ll have to complain a lot about unrelated matters because I’m obsessive compulsive that way.

Well, I say guy but I suppose a lesbian could do it, too.

Speaking of which, thanks for finally picking up my point about Stephen Harper and travel, Peter Mansbridge, you non-credit-giving-point-stealer.

(In case you’re new here, that was me who pointed out what a fibber Tom Flanagan was about Stephen Harper’s likes and dislikes, not that there were any likes. Tom claimed that Stephen doesn’t care about money and doesn’t like to travel, but if you were looking closely, as I was, you’d notice that his eyes were crossed when he said it, because, of course, Stephen Harper likes money: expensive suits + personal stylist = likes money; and likes travel: more trips than any other prime minister ever on behalf of Tarsands Inc – which is also all about money. Anyway, Peter Mansbridge finally said as much last night to that Tuesday night panel that really has no reason to be, but whatever.)

I shouldn’t mislead people about our lives here where I live. We’re okay. You can stop sending money now. My partner is eking a living out of his brain and back when times were better we threatened the red bank that if it didn’t give us a mortgage we’d go to the green bank, so we have a house.

It’s all good. I get off on frugality, too, so it’s even better, if I really stop and think about it, which I just did. My thing is I don’t like working for money because it’s just time away from doing what I like to do, which is this.

Also, sitting on the couch with the dog and looking out the window. I like doing that. A lot. Seriously. When the kids were little they’d come to me where I was sitting looking out the window and occasionally, very occasionally because they were very self-sufficient, complain about being bored.

“Bored? Really? Okay, well, why not take my place sitting here looking out the window while I go make myself another cup of coffee.”

Then I’d go sit somewhere else and look out the window. You’ll be pleased to hear that I didn’t drink in those days, either. Sober as a judge from age 28 to age 40, I was, so you can put down the phone to Children’s Aid.

Or did we threaten the blue bank and then go to the orange bank? The other shade of blue bank? I can’t remember. Our real estate agent did the threatening, actually. I suspect she also got the bidding war going, but so it goes. It was worth a little more than they were asking, and she made it all a fun experience except for her office being out in the middle of nowhere as far as car-less we were concerned.

Sell your car. Just do it. You’ll be amazed at how much younger you’ll feel.

I don’t usually give free advice, either, so you’re lucky.

Ooh, just realized how well that turned out. We almost bought a house that would have caused us a lot of distress, after we stopped and thought about it, which was after we bought the house we’re in now.

There. Something to be grateful for.

But grateful to whom? That’s the thing. And whenever someone says, “oh just be grateful you have a job”, which no one says to me anymore because I’m not a term in the government, I’m a part-time minimum wage retail worker, I ask that person, “grateful to whom”?

If Stephen Harper announced that he was bringing in a guaranteed annual income, even if it was just $10,000/year, I’d vote for him.

Okay, no I wouldn’t, but you get my point, Peter Mansbridge. Now do something about it, please. A guaranteed annual income would solve so many problems it’s a no-brainer is what it is.

In AA whenever anyone interprets the slogan, “live and let live”, they apply it to others. So the other week I applied it to myself and I believe I felt my shoulders loosen a bit.

Don’t worry, just because I’m in AA doesn’t mean I’ll become a sanctimonious twat, although you’ll have to excuse me if I fake it sometimes. AA for all the good it does is also a cult, no doubt about it, but that’s okay. It’s free therapy, too.

I’ve decided how I’m going to write my book so that it actually gets written. I’m going to write anecdotes and send them to my mother – who knows how to do email, yes she does – so she can do a read through and then delete them.

But after she does that, she’ll tell two friends, and they’ll tell two friends, and so on and so forth and more of the same etc etc.

That’s still a maybe, but I figure she’s the sort of task master (also, like me, she basks in reflected glory) who could actually get the thing going.

We all need something we do, and like my super successful friend in social media puts it, or means it, work (for money) should be what we do because we want to do it.

I believe Leah McLaren put it that way in a column once, too, which did actually make an impression on me, having the job that I want as she does.

Too funny, my mother bugs us for emailed photos of events, which we imagine her printing up to put on the wall, but when they arrive she just looks at them for a second, and deletes them. She likes an empty inbox.

And she likes her own paintings on the wall. Birds. She paints birds. Lots and lots of birds. Also, we used to be better looking then we are now. She hasn’t said that directly to us, but I noticed we’re less in evidence in her apartment these days. Like I said about reflected glory.

My friend B. believes that I married my ex so that my children would be smart and she married her ex so that her children would be good looking. But children inherit their intelligence from their mothers and both her children and mine are smart and good looking.

My first story that I’m going to send to my mother is called “Genius”. It stars my ex, fictionalized, of course, but includes the moment when I realized genius is all in the eye of the beholder.

It’s funny, partly because it’s so unfairly one-dimensional. Don’t tell him, though. He’s very sensitive – teenaged girl sensitive – so just leave him alone to his make belief world in which he stars as Alvin Fernald, please.

It really was me, wasn’t it. And timing. Timing is everything. I mean, I could live happily ever after with anyone now that I realize it’s simply not possible for anyone else to be a bigger fan of me than me.

My Beau makes a big show of being my #2 fan, though, so kudos to him. And my boss praised me not too long ago for snagging a bit of arm candy so kudos to him again.

So ironic, time. That will be the end of irony, when it’s the end of time. Hard to believe that once upon a time Graydon Carter actually thought 9/11 brought about the end of irony as opposed to the beginning of a lot of conspiracy theories.

Is it really a conspiracy theory, though, if it’s plausible?

Still, funny how conspiracy theorists overlook incompetence as the most likely cause of pretty much everything.

That and kooks who deliberately fly planes into buildings.

See what I mean about time being ironic?

I just slogged through “Turtle Diary” by Russell Hoban for our book club. I do recommend it if you’re looking for an off-beat slog, as it had lots of little gems in it.

What does it say about me that I like depressed characters? Thwap suggested I’m depressed, once upon a time. I’m really not, but I’m thankful that Barbara Ehrenreich is. And Chris Hedges.

Once you’ve read one sermon by Chris Hedges, though, do you really need to read another?

On the way back to Ottawa we listened to music in the car and “Get Back” by the Beatles came on and I decided to get back to where I once belonged. I’m not sure how I’ll do it but there was that brief time, 43 years ago when I had insight.

Oh wow, 43, the age at which I stopped daydreaming.

I was talking to a childhood friend at my mom’s birthday party on the weekend. He was commenting on my partner, how much he likes him, and I told him about the daydreaming thing.

Oh wait, I never blogged about that, did I. Okay, well, long story short, for the first 43 years of my life I lived on daydreams. Then I met my Beau. Now I don’t daydream anymore.

That, coincidentally, is more or less when I started blogging, too, although by blogging I mean burst into cyber space to become a fucking superstar.

I think Justin Trudeau should put fucking in all his speeches now. Drive Sun Media nuts when Peter Mansbridge starts doing it, too. “Next up is the fucking At Issue panel and then Rex Murphy will be going on about fucking something or other.”

C’mon, do it. It’ll be fucking funny. And what is there left to do but laugh?

 

 

 

“Happy Fucking 90th Birthday!”

Lots of April Fool’s jokes circulating the internet today I finally noticed.

Really, it’s become increasingly harder to tell what’s an actual news item and what’s an April Fool’s joke, hasn’t it?

And wasn’t it just April Fool’s Day last year? Cripes. Turn around, turn around…

I’m getting lots of 90th birthday greetings on Facebook today. That’s right, I used my mother’s birthdate when I signed up.

Bite me, suckers. You’re not my real friends anyway. You’re just Facebook friends. Real friends give me money on my mother’s birthday.

Even my mother gives me money on her birthday. It’s a tradition, a family tradition on account of she owes me, dammit.

Just tell her Hitler would have made a better mother and maybe your mother will start ponying up on her birthday, too. Try it. Seriously. Your mother will just gamble your inheritance or pay it all in rent to Chartwell anyway.

You’re worth it.

My shift was canceled yesterday because it was in the afternoon. The managers of the store I work in have to go by a new system now that pits wage costs against predicted sales, erring on the side of fewer hours per employee (who already don’t get enough hours).

For a store whose reputation relies on customer service and the quality of its merchandise, the private equity firm that owns it sure is playing fast and loose with the staff that’s supposed to provide the customer service.

The quality is long gone according to the old-timers who come in just to shoot the shit about how everything sucks now.

Heads up, wrinklies, when you walk into a store nowadays, chances are you’ve been counted as a customer and the management of that store has to justify why there were X number of customers but only Y number of sales.

Then they cut more staff hours.

Seriously, fuck off, browsers. You walk into a store you’d sure as hell better buy something or no kidding – we’ll cut you.

Just kidding. We don’t give a shit what you do. The other day I even told a customer NOT to buy something, even though I would have made my goal if she had.

There is no point, none, in taking paid work seriously because if it’s really worth doing, you’d do it for free.

If I depended on this job to feed myself, I’d be on a strict diet of tea and toast. Luckily, I still have some savings left over from when I lived with my friend between break-ups and worked for Bob Rae (et cetera) the leader of the Ontario NDP.

Thank you once again OPSEU Local 593. You are the reason why I can afford to shelter and feed myself in Harper Canada.

It was so disappointing to see Andrea Horvath (Horwath?) and the NDP walk out of the Ontario legislature yesterday instead of Thomas Mulcair and Justin Trudeau and their respective parties walk out of the House of Commons.

If there’s an enemy in the Ontario legislature it sure as hell isn’t Kathleen Wynne.

It was time some time ago for the federal Opposition to walk out but it’s definitely time now. There is no point, none, in showing up to play ball while the Conservative Party plays Ruination.

We had a 90th birthday bash for my mother in the Sault over the weekend. Really, a person is too old at 90 to appreciate such a grand gesture. It was much better when I showed up as a surprise at her 85th birthday bash (total lie, she was expecting me, and when I got there I realized it was also her birthday – surprise!).

Oh, and she got the birthday greeting I ordered from Justin Trudeau’s office, too, so thank you, lowly drone who got it done.

“Happy 90th fucking birthday, Sooey’s Mom!”

Well put, JT. Old ladies love an F bomb.

I scored an excellent dinner out at Cesira’s on her 85th. But really, Fresca’s is good, too. In fact, there isn’t an Italian restaurant in the Sault that isn’t better than anything you’ll find anywhere, although I’m not really very well traveled. I’m always amazed, too, how often they’re full. It’s a real eat-out town, I guess. I dunno, maybe Italian mamas have slacked off over the years and the food’s only good enough for the big bambinos who still live with them if it’s cooked by professionals.

A childhood friend and neighbour works at Cesira’s so if you go there for dinner tell him Sooey sent you. He won’t know what you’re talking about because he doesn’t even have a computer, he’s so keepin’ it real.

But I came to one of my increasingly back-to-back late bloomer realizations over the weekend – my mother’s now a mother in name only, which makes me a daughter in name only, too.

And no, I don’t mean that the way it reads if you read it to mean something bad or sad. It just is. And don’t try to tell me it isn’t, that a son’s a son ’til he takes him a wife, a daughter’s a daughter the rest of her life, because I no longer live by rhyming verse.

I don’t just know it to be true, I feel it to be true. My mother is very old and reasonably tired and pretty much past caring, especially or specifically, about the people she grew such a long time ago now that enough already.

She slipped me a cheque, though, so we’re good.

The real surprise guest, the one she was most happy to see, was a fellow she worked with on many campaigns to elect Liberals from the Sault, himself a former MP ready to take another run at the job. His mother was there, too, and he joked right in front of our hard of hearing mothers about how it was they could sit together and chat.

He’s very funny and did a gesture with his arms crossing past each other about how the conversation must have gone, which I guess he forgot they could see, although not very well.

His mother looked a bit irked.

Sons get away with that with mothers, though, don’t they. And really, they shouldn’t be trusted because they’ll do the convenient thing in the end, they absolutely will. It’s as if old mothers forget all the lessons their young mothers taught them about men.

My brother made a little speech to kick off the celebration that would have really irked my mother if she’d heard it. It was pretty funny, though, I have to admit. Pretty accurate as to how her 90th birthday party snowballed into a bit of a command performance, too, if you ask me, which I guess he did, but still.

I wonder if Stephen Harper’s mother says about climate change, “Oh well, I’m glad I won’t be around to see it”. My mother says that, as if it isn’t happening right outside her window. Here it is April and the snowbanks in the Sault are so high and the roads so narrow and pot-holed that even old people don’t like to go out in their cars and drive slowly somewhere close by for no reason because they really don’t need anything they don’t already have or can’t have delivered.

We stayed with my mother’s friend who is someone else’s mother but I’m going to pretend now that she’s mine. She even suggested I go into real estate because she’s concerned about my financial future. She’s so concerned, in fact, that she may not even vote Conservative in the next federal election.

Who knows, maybe Stephen Harper’s mother won’t, either.

Of course by then he’ll have figured it out, that even old people are turning on him, and slipped mandatory euthanasia at age 75 into an omnibus bill that the Opposition will show up in the House to debate before it is passed into law.

 

 

 

The Church of Our Holy Tarsands

There’s a story today in the Toronto Star (no, it’s not about the mayor of Toronto, Norm Kelly) featuring Nathan Cullen trying to get answers from our lying lie-faced liar Conservative Party of Canada government about millions of tax dollars doled out to various and sundry to advertise a certain product to reluctant markets.

You guessed it, more of our hard-earned tax dollars donated by our Conservative Party of Canada government to the Church of Our Holy Tarsands.

Cripes, can you imagine how much energy, security, and prosperity we’d have if we didn’t subsidize this sinkhole of a for-profit charity?

Anyway, I already blogged about this so my apologies to my regulars but a while back I went for an interview on a deserted office floor in downtown Ottawa that we’re paying for no one to work in apparently.

I was prepared for weirdness because the night before the interview I googled the task force that would be interviewing me “Energy, Security and Prosperity” (which is related to the Major Projects Management Office which is related to Natural Resources Canada) and came up pretty much empty.

So I should have been prepared for emptiness, I guess, because really, the whole government’s a front for the Church of Our Holy Tarsands.

By the way, Natural Resources Canada should not be confused with Canadian Natural Resources Inc, the company responsible for the massive underground oil leak now bubbling to the surface and contaminating huge swaths of Alberta and its groundwater that no one, least of all anyone from Canadian Natural Resources Inc, knows how to stop.

I guess no one from Natural Resources Canada knows how to stop it either.

I dunno, maybe Natural Resources Canada and Canadian Natural Resources Inc are one and the same now and I’m the fool for thinking that one’s a business and one’s the government department that should be regulating it.

Or would that be the pretty much no longer in operation Environment Canada?

Wrong! The government of Alberta is responsible for regulating Canadian Natural Resources Inc! So good luck with all that, Albertans!

Anyway, Major Projects Management Office was set up by the Harper Government (TM) to act as sort of a money laundering/slush fund operation for your and my hard-earned tax dollars because the Church of Our Holy Tarsands needs a lot of money, honey.

I can say that and not get sued if it’s true, right?

Oh cripes, I can get hauled before a Canadian Human Rights Commission for questioning religion, though, can’t I.

Say, I wonder if the Church of Our Holy Tarsands gets advertising money from the Office for Religious Freedom, too?

So yes, it was difficult to get any real information about the “Energy, Security and Prosperity” task force by googling it which I did the night before my interview, but I did find a speech by a former Deputy Minister (it was Deputy Minister-less at the time of my interview) down in Pennsylvania (or was it across in Transylvania…) to a class of university students.

He pointed out to them that the coal mined in Pennsylvania or Transylvania (who can remember anything in this global village and does it even matter anymore anyway now that the oceans are too warm and we’re about to be capsized by a massive storm wave) causes way more greenhouse gas emissions than does tarsands development.

Ah, I thought, handy. I shall use this random possibly true factoid to bolster my case that I am the person they want to hire for whatever this job is that I’m being interviewed for tomorrow.

To cut to the chase, I think, they were looking for someone to help them evaluate proposals from government departments as to how to spend the millions of dollars they were expecting to receive any day now (this is last… fall?) to advertise the Church of Our Holy Tarsands to a disbelieving world.

Then they asked me what I thought of the Conservative Party of Canada government’s advertising of the Church of Our Holy Tarsands so far and I refrained from exclaiming “Why the fuck is the government using my tax dollars to advertise Tarsands Inc?!!” to suggest that it was sorely lacking in refinement.

I wasn’t making a pun, at the time.

Also, they didn’t say Conservative Party of Canada government or Church of Our Holy Tarsands and neither did I, although I choked a bit when I said oilsands and said something like “taroilsands”, which may have cost me the job.

“I dunno, but, I don’t think slandering people concerned about climate change and bragging about our human rights record compared to Saudi Arabia’s is doing the trick. I think more positivity and less negativity, i.e. flies with honey, is a better strategy.”

I put that in quotes here because it is pretty much verbatim what I recall saying because by that point I realized I would not be able to take the oath let alone keep it.

The job stunk to high heaven, no offense to my interviewers, who were just doing theirs.

Then I told them about the speech by their ex-Deputy Minister and they were dutifully impressed but not enough to hire me when they realized I didn’t already work for the government and they’d have to go through a whole rigamarole to get the dirty deed done.

Also, I wasn’t even remotely qualified to do it.

Long story short, I never heard back, so fuck ‘em, you’re welcome, whoever reads this. Tell ‘em Sooey sent ya.

No wait, don’t. You never know when the job might come around again. My part-time minimum wage experience in retail could swing it my way this time.

 

I Ho, I Ho, It’s Off To Work I Go…

That’s just a little prostitution humour. I’ve been turning this trick of an entry, or what I think will be this entry (but who knows what it will be – I blog in real time) over in my head for a couple of days.

It’s so much harder to write an inner monologue than I imagine it will be at the time I’m having it. I’m brilliant in my head, you know. In French, too. You should hear me speak French in my head.

And funny. Omigawd. Don’t get me started.

Really, it would pay to talk into a recorder, like Mr. Strong used to do, then have me type it up, like he used to do, too.

I so hated being a secretary. Very demeaning, working for a man. I could have been a secretary to a woman, no problem, but men should have to work for men, women should not have to work for men.

Vote for me and I’ll make it a law. (It’s okay, I’m not running.)

We had some knock ‘em down, drag ‘em out arguments, Mr. Strong and I did. But he was really quite generous in the end. He understood about paying the workers. I’m telling tales now but for a while there he was working on a book, a romance/thriller.

On second thought, I don’t want to talk about it. And no, not because I signed a non-disclosure agreement, because I didn’t. I just don’t want to talk about it.

Stop asking me about Mr. Strong.

That’s the thing about writing, everybody thinks they can do it, and those of us who actually can think we have to write a book. Or at least write for money.

Blogging is killing my writing for money career because blogging is writing for instant gratification, which is really seductive for attention seekers.

I had the idea that I should have an offline pseudonym that I go by when I write (hopefully) for money. I’ve resurrected the idea of writing a book of anecdotes because I know I could make at least as much money from the launch concert I’m planning as I do from my retail job.

Apparently, our non-government’s latest employment news, which is at odds with Stats Canada’s latest employment news, comes from Kijiji.

I’m not kidding.

You get what you pay for, I guess.

My friend AZ (you know who she is, dammit!) is a writer but also an activist advocate for sex workers and the decriminalization of sex work. I don’t read all the stuff she posts on her Facebook page but that doesn’t stop me from commenting on it.

Just kidding. But I’m not commenting anymore on the subject because I’ve said my piece, which turned out to have the stamp of Miss Prudeypants about it, but so be it.

Someone reporting on Putin the other night used the expression “so be it” and I thought he said “Soviet”. I laughed out loud because it was so rude.

Hm… maybe Putin just invaded Crimea to get us over the gays…

Speaking of which, I laughed out loud during Obama’s speech, excerpts of which were on the National tonight, calling for a united front against Putin’s imperialism. It isn’t so much ironic as lame now. And Harper just sounds crazy, doesn’t he. Like he wants to go to war against Russia.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m in favour of legalizing prostitution, but full on, bring it, none of this half-assed decriminalizing bullshit. I’m also in favour of calling sex workers prostitutes because sex workers sounds way too Soviet, if you ask me, which you’ll no doubt be relieved to hear no one ever does.

I don’t even get calls from the Conservative Party asking me how I’m planning on voting so they can call me later to tell me my polling location has changed.

Last week I blew off an exam for a government job and this week I got an apology for having wasted my time writing the exam because the competition was canceled.

Phew. Sometimes I really know how to call them. I was expecting one of those follow-up emails where you’re reminded that having blown off a government exam you are now disqualified from the competition.

I hate those follow-up emails.

I think prostitution should be legalized and prostitutes should become part of our healthcare system. Then we should give them a new title: Sex Practitioners.

Clients (i.e. johns) would just be patients.

Okay, now that I read that back I realize that, no, I think prostitution should be decriminalized. Yes, that’s right, I’m doing a 180 on prostitution. It’s none of my business or yours if someone wants to be a prostitute.

Unfortunately, I think the legitimate johns want intimacy, not sex, but you can’t buy intimacy. Meanwhile, the illegitimate johns are predators.

Legitimate johns and illegitimate johns are two different animals, though, and any measures to regulate (or not) prostitution will just affect legitimate johns who really aren’t the problem.

And prostitutes definitely aren’t the problem. Prostitutes pose no problem, not to me, and I’m a real Miss Prudeypants.

No, illegitimate johns are the problem. They’re always the problem. Men who play by their own rules, as they say of the leading man in every cop drama ever.

“He’s a cop who plays by his own rules.”

Well then he’s not a very good cop, is he, because cops are supposed to enforce the law, not play by their own rules. He’s a very bad cop. Not unlike an illegitimate john.

Anyway, I’ve enjoyed writing this entry because I like to imagine important men read Sooey Says and I want them to take my advice and decriminalize prostitution.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I know “But Sooey, then prostitutes won’t have to pay income taxes.” Well, I don’t care. They pay taxes on their boas and ticklers and whatnot. But I kind of like the idea of these women (because let’s get real here, when we’re talking about prostitutes we’re talking about women) who are practicing capitalism in its purest form, trading sex for cash from men who think they can buy intimacy, getting a free ride from the taxman.

 

 

Consider Your Ass Bitten, Mr. Liepert

According to a CBC article I just read, a Conservative challenger to Rob Anders, Ron Liepert, is complaining that the Anders campaign is calling constituents and pretending to be from his campaign.

How does he know this, you ask?

Well, when suspicious constituents call back, they get the Anders campaign office.

Some tweets practically write themselves: Then when he called the Minister for Democratic Reform to complain a Mr Poutine told him the nomination mtg had been cancelled.

Sorry, Mr. Liepert, but a wannabe governing Conservative politician falling victim to a governing Conservative politician’s dirty tricks campaign is going to have a hard time nudging past the death of Fred Phelps on my care-o-meter.

 

Sooey’s Brain Fart of the Day

You know, if you really stop and think about it, Stephen Harper seems to be rebelling against Justin Trudeau’s parents, while Justin Trudeau doesn’t seem to be rebelling at all, which to me makes Stephen Harper more like who his supporters claim Justin Trudeau is and Justin Trudeau more like who Stephen Harper’s supporters claim Stephen Harper is.

Thomas Mulcair seems to have been born a middle-aged orphan. Not to be mean, because I want him to be elected Prime Minister because he’s by far the best man for the job, but I have no idea if he even has parents.

That was Sooey’s brain fart of the day.

 

Resigning, CAPP in Hand

Gosh, I’m so excited to have an old man finance minister.

There’s nothing like an old man to know how it is.

Old men really get it, how it is now, especially old men from the world of investment banking.

Cripes, I feel like my brain is going to explode from all that sarcasm. Ouch, baby. Mean much, Sooey? Well, don’t mind if I do, actually, because if it was up to me, Joe Oliver would have been put on an ice floe two decades ago.

But I pay taxes to cover the salaries of men like Joe Oliver, who, in turn are supposed to govern for me and they don’t, not at all, not even a bit. Joe Oliver is a lobbyist for the oil and gas industry. He doesn’t work for me, or you, or anybody I know. In fact, he works against me, loudly, deliberately, like a public master, not a public servant.

Alison Redford just resigned over expensive airfares. Meanwhile, Stephen Harper is still taking up office space in the PMO in spite of his personal security bill having ballooned to grabillions. All to make it appear as if he’s in danger from people like me, of course.

Either that or he’s got big trouble with the mafia or bikers or gangs of some sort, in which case he should just call on his fishing buddy, Rob Ford, for a little muscle.

It’s so tiresome, isn’t it? Politicians being elected to waste everybody’s money on bullshit covered in bullshit because Conservative Canadians are so bloody stupid they think that people like me are the problem.

I’m not the one with the off shore account, you bunch of numbnutted nutters. And I’m not the one who turned a surplus into a deficit and then sold off all our assets to break us even. And I’m not the one flying all my kooky friends over to Israel to stake out my position for The Rapture. I’m not the enemy, I’m a fourth (fifth?) generation Canadian taxpayer watching incredulously as people who call themselves Conservative elect politicians to raid the public purse and line their personal pockets – over and over and over again.

Thanks for no jobs left and no social safety net, either, you numbskulls.

And why is a province like Alberta, a province that should be glowing with public health and well-being, “partnering” with oilmen, like some kind of dirtroad backwater, CAPP in hand, so to speak, to teach its children what’s what in the modern world.

It’s okay. You don’t have to answer that question. We know why – Conservatives.

Anyway, here’s hoping Stephen Harper will beat CAPP to it and take advantage of this golden opportunity while Alberta is Premierless to install himself as its “interim” Premier so he can fulfill his lifelong dream of building a separatist firewall around it.

He shouldn’t need a grabillion dollars of security while surrounded by friends, as he will be, so, woohoo, maybe we can start replacing that missing $3 billion you’d think Conservative voters would be upset about before the next round of electoral fraud in 2015 elects Prime Minister Pierre Poutine.