Dousing the lights on a lost decade

So HarperCo finally ends. Not with a bang, but with a concession speech full of rivet-gunned, recycled campaign boilerplate, all emotion carefully hollowed out of it.

Oh. And a flat little resignation letter to the titular brass of his party, released as an afterthought he saw unfit to mention to his few die-hards in Calgary, Monday night.

It was a microcosm of the parliamentary ummm, style, of the most divisive prime minister in Canadian history -- riding a rail of pre-scripted partisan bullshit talking points that admitted to no ill and willfully hid the main fact. So, as ever, contemptuous of most of his party and of the Canadian public.

Certain apologists tried to spin it as a classy move. It was not. It was an expedient way for him to avoid facing objective fact, unpleasantness and discomfit in public. He always had a hapless designated flunky answer for all bad stuff that happened on his watch in parliament, so he wouldn't have to.

It's been a long decade. The man broke a lot of stuff for the sake of breaking it, and because he could. He was uninterested in what he was breaking, or why it might be important. He tried to break more, but the courts stopped the most unconstitutional of it.

He never had much of a vision for the country once he got in, except to cater to The Base, also an ornery and smallminded bunch. They called themselves conservatives, but really, they weren't like any conservatives who came before. If they were conservatives at all, rather than some random posse who ganked a once-respected brand to sell snake oil.

A lot of reasonably intelligent pundits and media types, and the Canadian public, took an unconscionably long time to figure that out. I'm just glad that when they did, most of 'em knew what to do.

In common with almost all of the quasi-populist right-wing political movements out of southern and central Alberta -- the United Farmers, Social Credit, the Western Canada Concept, Reform, Wild Rose, ad infinitum, Harper greased himself into power on a toxic sludge of regional grudges. Unfortunately for for the rest of the country, he slid in further than anybody else ever had. As unfortunately, many of the grudges were rooted in willful ignorance and outright lunacy.

Most unfortunate of all, Harper, like Ted Byfield, that lunatic old King Lear of western alienation, wasn't actually born in the west at all. We semimythical coyotes are not sure what infinitely weird vapours lace the heady air of The Land Of Our People, but they seem to affect the johnny-come-lately immigrants -- who haven't been immunized since birth against their mania -- most grievously of all. I have seen a lotta crazy goin' down in the old stomping grounds in my six-thousand-odd years, but none more than among the newly-converted.

Just so ya understand why I was so appalled when Harper got his first minority ten years back. I know those guys. I know just how batshit insane they are...

Now, it is reported, the ex-PM and his wife will build a retirement bunker on property in the foothills near Cochrane, just west of Calgary. Good riddance. I hope they keep to themselves.

But since I am not without my fair share of imaginative schadenfreude, it tickles me to know he's where I can keep a baleful, glow-red-in-the-dark eye on him. And to imagine that he bought prime river-valley real estate. Say, on the mountain runoff flood plain that his own stubborn unwillingness to concede the fact of global warming has opened up to more of what used to be wallopin' 100-year floods. Now once a decade... until the Rockies lose their historic snow pack, anyway.

Not that I hold any kinda grudge.

All we need...

We get rid of Stephen Harper and the CBC reports we have a new invasion of pesky critters. "The eastern coyote is not quite a wolf, but not quite a coyote, either."

Apparently they're over on the Quebec side, but I'm sure it won't be long until they figure out how to use that abandoned railway bridge to get over here.


An End to Fear, Loathing, And All That...?

What a hell of an election campaign. Bearing down hard on the "hell".

Despite the fact that we semimythical coyotes watched our 6,000th birthday skitter away on the slipstream in the rearview awhile back, and thus have an, ummm, elastic take on time and reality, we're glad the rotten neverending thing is near barbecued. And if common wisdom says HarperCo counts on voter disengagement to haywire together an ill-earned plurality in parliament, most of the late signs look good for the rest of us.

But there's no denying that I'll feel more secure if we can slog ghrough Monday without those last poll figures upending, or rampant yet strangely untraceable dirty tricks arising, or in the aftermath, some evilly twisted, desperate attempt at a constitution- and/or convention-flouting end-run occurs. You know, to hang onto the keys to the PMO far longer than is seemly or legal, because Canada was supposed to be locked in as a Conservative satrap, and losing now would obviously mean The End Times.

Oh. And it'd be nice to see notarized witness statements attesting that a wood tent peg has been hammered through whatever passes for a certain rat-bastard heart. Without those, we who do not share whatever passes for Conservative "values" these days are gonna need a vintage red convertible trunkload of booze and random hallucinogenics -- including the ether -- to claw our way through the next four years. Because it has transpired that the soon-to-be-ex PM has an even more startlingly irresponsible take on, ummm, reality than I...

That I even consider any the above might come to pass disturbs me profoundly. Well, except for the private polling firm screwup scenario. Enough thinly-veiled partisan upstarts now exploit that loophole in the telecommunications legislation that the Coyotephone's call display started smokin' from overuse weeks ago. The pollsters can be wrong any way they like, as long as it doesn't get the Cons another majority. Then they can go back to the ring of hell (heh...) reserved especially for all telemarketers and phone solicitors.

I digress. It's an old habit. Cut me a little slack! At the moment, the sweet smell of blessed change seems to be starting to dispel the black, sulfurous reek of flopsweat, desperation and despair billowing from the Tory war room's smokestacks. And since I've become well-practiced during most of the last decade, I'm pretty sure I can hold my doggy nose long enough to suck in purer air sometime real soon.

Now, for crissakes: Dunno if all those big black flittering nightmares swirling round the Peace Tower are flying monkeys or just big freakin' bats -- but help me whack 'em away before I hafta scream...


Newsflash: Con campaign (finally) concedes Harper not perfect. Grudgingly.

Very grudgingly. They still cling, though, against a great deal of strong evidence, to their quaint illusion that their Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Guy is some kinda economic genius. And also to that wobbly alternate-reality bubble, inside which they're not wrong, all the rest of us are. . .

The Kool Aid in there must be getting awful warm and yucky by now...


On the Heartburn Campaign Trail...

Day four of former Prime Ministerial Chief of Staff Nigel Wright's testimony at the Senator Mike Duffy Trial:

...and yes, that is Comic Sans in the caption. He deserves it.



Meanwhile to the south, Trumpenstein slouches toward Washington. . .

Ta-Duh!!!!! Presenting the Trumpenstein Monster... because, well, hell, us coyotes are lazy and unoriginal (really lazy... did I mention lazy...?), so always ready to pile onto a semi-clever trope...enstein...

Although in this case we may just sail outside the tropical bounds and relabel him as a Trumpenstain. Because well, hell, us coyotes are meta-punny, ummm, funny that way.