Stephen
Harper is my evil twin
by
Robert LaFrance
I guess my secret is out. Flug
opened his big fat mouth at the club last evening and said: “Guys, did any of
you ever remember seeing Bob and Stephen Harper in the same photo?”
People aren’t ready for this I know,
but I am Stephen Harper’s good twin. That only leaves him to be the evil one
since by definition twins are made up of two people.
Those same people must also be
wondering where he’s been lately, while the Mike Duffy-Pamela Wallin debacle
has been swirling around his chair high atop the House of Commons. He’s been
here, sleeping in our garage. I took him out some toast this morning. He used
our garden hose to take a shower.
“I wonder where he’s been?” asked
Wolf, the bartender at the club. “He should be on the attack, telling those
pesky reporters that it was all a mistake. Those fat cat senators (lots of evil
twins there) were really Liberals who had somehow infiltrated the Tory caucus,
maybe while the Minister of Patronage was on a smoke break.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Wolf,” I
agreed, being agreeable. “We should send out a couple of Chinook helicopters to
search for him. He could be unconscious, or even conscious, somewhere, like in
a garage.”
He looked at me sharply. “What do
you know about this?”
I somehow slithered out of that, but
when I arrived home – on foot, which is like walking – I went to the garage.
“Evil twin,” I said. “It’s time. You have to go to Ottawa and give people the
facts.”
“How can I do that?” he blubbered.
“I’ve got Tory senators whose expense claims since January would finance a
space shuttle and a chief of staff – a former chief of staff – who gave Mike
Duffy ninety thousand dollars out of the goodness of his heart. I have to persuade
people that I had nothing to do with that cheque and do it with a straight
face.”
“Here,” I said, handing him a jar of
shellac. “Just before you go to the podium, slatherate this onto your face
while you’re smiling and it will set it like cement, but be careful about
putting it on your mouth because you have to speak. And remember, keep both
sides of your mouth un-shellacked. You’re Stephen Harper after all.”
*****************************
Closer to home, while it saddens me
to see a building being destroyed, I am always fascinated by the work of the
equipment operator who goes under the name of Arthur Walton, because that’s his
name.
I was watching the demolition of the
old Armstrong Building along Perth’s main street. Arthur was operating a
Birmingham Construction excavator and I doubt if a brain surgeon would have a
much more delicate touch. The bucket of that piece of machinery is big enough
to hold a party in, but you’d think it was a scalpel to watch Arthur do his
work.
One second the bucket was smashing the roof in and
the next he was manoeuvring a single board, stick or piece of wire to a better
place on the back of the truck that would haul away the debris.
I would say that in a world where there so much
misleading information around, whoever chose the name Arthur for this Upper
Kent gentleman hit it right on the nose. The first three letters tell the whole
story.
****************************
While I am not a fan of Rex Murphy when he hosts CBC
Radio’s Cross Country Checkup, I enjoy his comments on the National CBC-TV
program. On the radio show he tends to interrupt callers just as they’re about
to make their point, which is rather annoying to the listener.
I don’t think I have ever heard anyone quite so good
with words as Rex Murphy (unless it was my wife when I got home from the
grocery store at 4:00 am) and I am here to report just one of his many
hilarious phrases. There are many words for stupid (and I’ve been called most
of them, especially at 4:00 am) but I think Rex has come up with a phrase that
couldn’t have explained it better. “The socially and intellectually anorexic”.
He HAS been photographed with
Stephen Harper.
*****************************
My final subject in today’s
dissertation has to do with grass, the legal kind.
My neighbour Jackson on the opposite
side from Flug’s place is a lawn nut. The Shick Superblade could not cut any
closer than Jackson’s lawn is cut. I swear on Martha Stewart’s Guide to Pot
Roasts that I saw him this morning with a magnifying glass. He was checking out
the length of the grass in one certain area.
He is totally insane, so when will
be get his Senate call?
Another issue about grass is this:
what genius decided that garden hoses should be green, coincidentally the same
colour as my lawn? In other words, I now have to buy a new garden hose. When
Grammy went to town to buy hose it was hosiery. The world is changing too
quickly.
-end-
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