The Winter of Our Dys-CONS Tent

Ah, the five dimensional chess game of our uber-logistician Prime Minister. It's all clear to me now. His geeeeenius plan to destroy the Senate of Canada was cunning as a weasel tied to the underbelly of the diving chickenhawk taunting the eagle as it startled the bear out of the tree. Sabotage the sober second thought lounge by handpicking loyalists to populate its greenery, convince them they could do no wrong, (pay no attention to the little man behind the heavy velvet curtains muttering darkly about legality) and lead them down the Hill Garden Path where His PMinence would leave them to hang, monkeys on sticks, swinging in the mighty wind He could use to change Parliament ever more to his whimsical liking.

But then came the near-Ides of June Flood and the triumphal Conservative march through the Olympic Arch at the mouth of the Calgary School was stalled, unable to cross the RoBowCalln. Not even a Very Concerned speech upon the Hills above, enrobed in Imperial Flight Jacket, caused the waters to recede, and the throne of CONut was dragged ashore to await a drier season. Some things even He could not turn back with a command.

And so comes that delayed season of the wolf.  Over Samhain, when the veils between the worlds thin and those that should be dead walk among the living.  Cold, unwarmed by hurried passage of PMperial laws and the smothered breath of Canadians that would question laws laid in place to authorize the placing of a favorite among the senior jurists of Democracy, He and His descend upon this place, promising a bump in merchants' depleted coffers and solace to the urban councilors that would support them had the hoi polloi but been better solicited.

But what are these? Are there men (and women) with swords upon which they have not loyally fallen yet? Shall they not join the others who leave crimson the street under the wheels of His bus? Will their tongues prove sharper than blades? Is Cicero finally at the Gates, damning speeches in hand, louder than Hannibal's elephants?

Nah, likely not, as it doesn't matter how low my expectations get, the Conservatives under Harper limbo beneath them, but the Circus is definitely in town, replete with horse...talk. I expect Sophisticated (look it up, it's not a compliment) rhetorical flourishes on Black is White Jobs Lawn Order Flags War of 1812 God Save Us All Competition Free Enterprise Foreign Investment Enemies of Liberty Assimilate and likely entertaining intermissions of throwing scientists and their heretical Facts to the young PMO hyenas in civilian drag on a gazebo-shaped stage.

I leave the final imperial word to "This Hour Has 22 Minutes". This is how you do satire. Close to the bone. Close to painful, painful bone.  We need more of it.

Lorde Parody "Tories"