Don't plant tansy (resembles MJ) May 8/13

Good thing Harper’s gang weren’t in WW2

                                                      by Robert LaFrance

 

            I have seen a few of those ‘attack ads’ that the federal Tory party (and probably we taxpayers) have produced and, take it from me, they are a great thing. We Canadians should be proud.

            All across the country for the past decade at least we have been trying to stop bullying, especially in schools, and these Harper Government television ads have finally helped Canadians make a breakthrough. (NOTE: Tobique-Mactaquac Tory MP Mike Allen has publicly disagreed with his party’s decision to run attack ads.)

We see before us a bully picking on someone else, someone with less power (at the moment) and it ain’t pretty. If the government could only find a YouTube video showing Justin Trudeau spitting on the sidewalk, refusing to help an old lady cross the street, or kicking a dog, they could entertain us even more.

            “This is great for us,” commented Zeb Padolski, Executive Director of the Anti-Bullying League of Canada. “Every time one of those stupid attack ads comes on the TV I get a hundred calls from people who want to sign up.”

            “Even better for us,” uttered Gendin Padolski (no relation), a director of the Liberal Party of Canada. “Those ads are so juvenile and so stupid – not necessarily the same thing – that people are joining the party in droves. By the time the next election rolls around in 2015, we’ll have twenty million members.”

            As long as Justin Trudeau ‘takes the high road’ he can sit back and watch the federal Tories shoot themselves in the foot. Every time one of the ads appears, his name is prominently displayed and, as the late Marilyn Monroe once observed: “I don’t care what you say about me as long as you spell my name right”.

            The weird part of it all is that the Liberals aren’t even the Official Opposition in Parliament. If I were NDP leader Tom Mulcair, the actual leader of the OO, I would be getting rather upset at the lack of attention.

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            My friend Flug was writing feverishly when I visited him last evening, feverish because he had had some sort of flu bug for a week and his temperature was still 102F. (You’re on your own for conversion to metric.)

            “I’ve got to do something,” he said as he went over to the fridge for refreshments. I declined – first time in 2013 – because I didn’t want any of his germs, bacteria, viruses, etc. “This sitting around is driving me crazy. I know,” he said as I started to speak, “you’re going to say that sitting around is a specialty with me, but THIS sitting around is forced. Look, only 48 bottles of lemonade (beer) left and that has to do me until this is over. It could be three more days!”

            I asked what he was writing – feverishly – and he said he was making a list of some of the worst decisions ever made by human beings. I suggested Napoleon’s and Hitler’s invasions of Russia, and the decision of the Titanic captain to keep on going at full speed in an iceberg field.

            “No, I mean important stuff,” he said impatiently. “Like my first six marriages.” Remembering some of those choices, I couldn’t help but agree. Sophie Lemand came to mind. Compared to Flug’s decision to marry her, those Russian adventures by Napoleon and Hitler were mere escapades.

 

             I mean really. She invited the Hell’s Angels as weekend guests. To be fair though, she meant to invite a fishing club, Hell’s Anglers. I shouldn’t condemn her for a spelling mistake, but those motorcycles sure made a mess of my garden. I never planted tansy again, because it looks just like a plant called cannabis which the police get all worked up about.

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            This sunny spring weather reminds me that some folks in the far north where I used to live are just getting used to the sun after total darkness for months. Tough. What it really reminded me of were some nicknames we used.

            For example, Gene Kininski was one of the guys who worked at Alert weather station with me. Because he was born in exactly the country he sounded as if he had been born in, we called him The North Pole. Another guy – this fellow working in a station far to the south, along the Mackenzie River, Norman Wells – was called Billy by his friends, but I called him Will. You see, his last name was Power.

 

            Speaking of will power, a month ago I was telling George at the club that, except for one instance in my entire existence, I had none. After smoking for nine years, I quit cold turkey in 1973. George is trying to quit. At the age of 95, he feels that he would lead a healthier life without the noxious weed. However, he can’t quit.

           “I can’t do ANYTHING that requires will power,” he said. “If you ever see me using will power, that same day you will see Jock MacPherson's dog climb a tree.”

           Naturally Flug and Simon couldn't let that pass. On the way home they put Jock's poodle Cluff in a low branch of Jock's lawn poplar tree and after making sure he was well secured and safe, they called the club and reported this fact to George.

           Of course he dashed over, and the word is that he hasn't tasted tobacco since.
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