Oh Canada!

Meet Prime Minister Zoolander

October 20, 2015

Multiple Pages
Meet Prime Minister Zoolander

Conservative Party of Canada - 44.6%
Liberal Party of Canada - 32.7%
New Democratic Party - 13.1%

Hey, you Americans are thinking, are those the results from last night’s Canadian federal election? (That is, those Americans who aren’t thinking, “What election where now?”)

And the answer is:

HAAAAAHAA HAAAA HAAAAH!! FUCK NO!! I WISH!

Because last night, Canada kicked Conservative Prime Minister Stephen Harper out of office after almost ten years of “tumbling debt, falling taxes, low crime, [and] secure borders,” and elected Liberal leader Justin Trudeau, alias “The Dauphin,” alias the “ridiculous ballerina,” alias “Zoolander.”

And not just “kicked out” and “elected,” but, rather, “flushed down the toilet while laughing maniacally” and “handed a massive parliamentary majority.”

“My eyes started welling up around the time the Ontario results started coming in. Forced to type this, they’re doing it again.”

As our own Gavin McInnes tweeted last night after I shudder to think how many drinks (and before a few more, I imagine):

WTF? Justin Trudeau is the Prime Minister of Canada!? He has Down Syndrome. What the fuck have you idiots done!?!?!!?

Justin Trudeau is often compared to Barack Obama, but, particularly in terms of both achievement and testosterone levels, Justin Trudeau makes Barack Obama look like Teddy Roosevelt.

No, those percentages above were taken from a press release I got last week from a company called SeekingArrangment.com, “the world’s largest online-dating website that matches wealthy benefactors seeking ‘mutually beneficial relationships’ with attractive members.” I was going to write this week’s column about their new “poll” finding that “Canadian Sugar Daddies commonly identify as Conservatives”:

The men on SeekingArrangement are some of the wealthiest in Canada, often operating their own businesses as CEOs. Sugar Daddies would be hard hit by Liberal proposed taxes, which may contribute to the nature of the results.

Surely, I thought, I could knead this fairly promising material into 800 or so entertaining and perhaps even thought-provoking words.

And I remain convinced that there’s still a joke in there somewhere. But—you’re way ahead of me—I’m having a hard time laughing, thinking, or even typing right now.

Due to the nature of My Real Job, I was obligated to stay up far past my usual toddler-worthy bedtime and stare at the river of Liberal red relentlessly washing over Canada like that elevator scene in The Shining.

It has been a couple of decades since I’ve endured a day like this one: being at work after getting little sleep, my fingers falling on all the wrong keys, unable to see straight, and, weirdly, freezing.

Except back then I’d have at least gotten myself into that condition after having what I kept trying to convince myself was something resembling “fun.” Last night was not fun. My eyes started welling up around the time the Ontario results started coming in. Forced to type this, they’re doing it again.

I’ve told you about Justin Trudeau before. I’ve shared some of this millionaire playboy–turned–part-time substitute drama teacher’s (you think I’m kidding) greatest “hits”:

Proclaiming that we must “rethink elements as basic as space and time.”

And that he admired China’s “basic dictatorship.”

And…

You know what? Those of you who hate how many hyperlinks I usually stick into my columns should be thrilled because, frankly, I just—as the kids say these days—“can’t even right now.”

Since entering public life on the day of his father’s funeral, Justin has gone from being “The Next Prime Minister of Canada!” to “The Utterly, Absolutely, Guaranteed Unelectable Human Punchline” to “The Next Prime Minister of Canada!”—a cycle that has repeated again and again during the previous decade, until suddenly screeching to (at least as far as millions of us are concerned) the wrong stop.

It’s left me dizzy and nauseous. I’ve met deadlines while I was about-to-barf drunk, and dumped and heartbroken, and clasped in demonic grasp of a three-day nicotine fit—but “dizzy and nauseous” is my writerly undoing.

So I’ll wind this up a few hundred words short. After his brother died in a skiing accident, I took to joking, every time Justin Trudeau uttered yet another risible, hair-raising stupidity, that “there’s never an avalanche around when you need one.”

Well, now the joke—and all that goddamn snow—is on me. I don’t know which direction to start digging myself out, or if I even want to bother.

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