Canticles of the Unhomed
Friday, January 20, 2006
Politics
Okay, so I guess we have an election or something coming up, so I thought I would enter the foray. This is going to be the only time you will ever hear me wax political on this blog, at least inasfar as Canadian political parties are concerned.
My buddy Cortney passed this along...
Our Prime Minister in one of his better moments.
---
While vacationing on a ranch, Paul Martin gets thrown from his horse, lands on a rattlesnake, gets bitten and dies because the emergency room at the nearest hospital is too understaffed to treat him in time. So his soul arrives in Heaven and he is met by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.
"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a Liberal around these parts, so we're not sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in; I'm a believer." says Martin.
"I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from the Man Himself. He says you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you'll live for eternity."
"But, I've already made up my mind, I want to be in Heaven," replied Martin.
"I'm sorry, but we have our rules. "And with that, St. Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course; the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature a perfect 72 degrees. In the distance is a beautiful clubhouse. Standing in front of it is his Dad, and thousands of other Liberals who had helped him out over the years---Pierre Trudeau, Jean Marchand, Pelletier, St Laurent etc. The whole of the "right" was there, everyone laughing, happy, and casually but expensively dressed. They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of 'suckers and peasants. 'They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.
The Devil himself comes up to Martin with a frosty drink, "Have a Margarita and relax, Paul!"
"Uh, I can't drink anymore; I took a pledge," says Martin, dejectedly.
"This is Hell, son. You can drink and eat all you want and not worry, and it just gets better from there!"
Martin takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he thinks is a really very friendly guy who tells funny jokes like himself, and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like they pulled on the GST and Free Trade promises. They are having such a great time that, before he realizes it, it's time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Martin steps on the elevator and heads upward.
When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and St. Peter is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man says, opening the gate. So for 24 hours Martin is made to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money, and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or frat boy joke among them; no fancy country clubs and, while the food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor, he doesn't see anybody he knows, and he isn't even treated like someone special!
"Whoa," he says uncomfortably to himself. "Pierre Trudeau never prepared me for this!"
The day done, St. Peter returns and says, "Well, you've spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for eternity."
With the 'Jeopardy' theme playing softly in the background, Martin reflects for a minute, then answers: "Well, I would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all -- but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends."
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell. The doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial waste, kind of like Sudbury. He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime.
The Devil comes over to Martin and puts an arm around his shoulder.
"I don't understand," stammers a shocked Martin, "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a clubhouse and we ate lobster and caviar, drank booze. We lazed around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!"
The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly, and purrs, "Yesterday we were campaigning; today you voted for us!"
---
[snicker]
Paul Martin in hell...
[snicker]
My buddy Cortney passed this along...
Our Prime Minister in one of his better moments.
---
While vacationing on a ranch, Paul Martin gets thrown from his horse, lands on a rattlesnake, gets bitten and dies because the emergency room at the nearest hospital is too understaffed to treat him in time. So his soul arrives in Heaven and he is met by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.
"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a Liberal around these parts, so we're not sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in; I'm a believer." says Martin.
"I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from the Man Himself. He says you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you'll live for eternity."
"But, I've already made up my mind, I want to be in Heaven," replied Martin.
"I'm sorry, but we have our rules. "And with that, St. Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course; the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature a perfect 72 degrees. In the distance is a beautiful clubhouse. Standing in front of it is his Dad, and thousands of other Liberals who had helped him out over the years---Pierre Trudeau, Jean Marchand, Pelletier, St Laurent etc. The whole of the "right" was there, everyone laughing, happy, and casually but expensively dressed. They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of 'suckers and peasants. 'They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.
The Devil himself comes up to Martin with a frosty drink, "Have a Margarita and relax, Paul!"
"Uh, I can't drink anymore; I took a pledge," says Martin, dejectedly.
"This is Hell, son. You can drink and eat all you want and not worry, and it just gets better from there!"
Martin takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he thinks is a really very friendly guy who tells funny jokes like himself, and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like they pulled on the GST and Free Trade promises. They are having such a great time that, before he realizes it, it's time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Martin steps on the elevator and heads upward.
When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and St. Peter is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man says, opening the gate. So for 24 hours Martin is made to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money, and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or frat boy joke among them; no fancy country clubs and, while the food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor, he doesn't see anybody he knows, and he isn't even treated like someone special!
"Whoa," he says uncomfortably to himself. "Pierre Trudeau never prepared me for this!"
The day done, St. Peter returns and says, "Well, you've spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for eternity."
With the 'Jeopardy' theme playing softly in the background, Martin reflects for a minute, then answers: "Well, I would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all -- but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends."
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell. The doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial waste, kind of like Sudbury. He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime.
The Devil comes over to Martin and puts an arm around his shoulder.
"I don't understand," stammers a shocked Martin, "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a clubhouse and we ate lobster and caviar, drank booze. We lazed around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!"
The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly, and purrs, "Yesterday we were campaigning; today you voted for us!"
---
[snicker]
[snicker]
:: written by Matt Thompson, 6:32 PM
15 Comments:
amusing to say the least...
The Renegade Army grows....
Join us.....
Admiral Funk.
Join us.....
Admiral Funk.
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Matt Thompson
At SMS.ac you can meet new friends, find that special someone to flirt with or exchange messages via the Web with millions of users worldwide.
Here's who's currently waiting for you:
Matt Thompson
I like you a lot Matt but I want to make it perfectly clear that I have absolutely NO interest in flirting with you.
So... Um...
The election is over.
Next.
The election is over.
Next.
uh yeah, like how can you call your self "emergent" and "missional" and you don't even blog anymore. tsk tsk tsk...what's that? more important things to do? hu? what?
So, how about those worms?
Well I would comment on the worms, but apparently last time I did that some were offended. So I will not allow myself to be drawn in to another discussion about worms.
How can you avoid it - the vermiculture maelstrom is approaching!!
Is Matt dead again? Because it's getting old.
Matt is dead.
Did someone just say something? Oh, didn't think so, thats right!
Now that three months has passed I think the coroner will be releasing the official death certificate for Matt. Who's going to take care of funeral arrangements?
I think Matt would want to be launched out of a photon torpedo tube into space. The real question is who are the pallbearers
That's actually pretty good, over-long mebbe but yaa ... huh huh ... I anticipated something about selling shares, but yaaaa haaahaha.
Nice to meet you; I lost the URL to Paul Seburn's blog (just left a comment there) and google's results caught this in the sein.
cheers
ben
p.s. I worked my first federal campaign when I was 14 (Liberal, back then ... the familiy tradition) and almost every one from '74 - 2000. In the end *shrug* I kept getting the feeling that our way of doing things was actually propagating a political culture far more effectively than any policy positions, and that culture was not only homogenous across party boundaries but, well, reprehensible. "Humane governance", yuh know?
^5
Nice to meet you; I lost the URL to Paul Seburn's blog (just left a comment there) and google's results caught this in the sein.
cheers
ben
p.s. I worked my first federal campaign when I was 14 (Liberal, back then ... the familiy tradition) and almost every one from '74 - 2000. In the end *shrug* I kept getting the feeling that our way of doing things was actually propagating a political culture far more effectively than any policy positions, and that culture was not only homogenous across party boundaries but, well, reprehensible. "Humane governance", yuh know?
^5
