Monday, September 14, 2009


It is not often that the front page gives us three chewable morsels, but today is just such a day:

1. That heat-seeking missile known as Jack "I have no idea" Layton is delighting in the spotlight as he and Iggy Pop strive for The Election That No Person in This Country Wants. Read John Ibbitson's column dissecting the idiocy that substitutes for political discourse these days in Canerda.

2. The Canadian military and the Canadian embassy are giving up on their Great Firecracker Scheme. Thank God for small mercies.

In case you missed it, some genius decided that Americans weren't appreciating enough our wonderful efforts in Afghanistan. The way to get their attention, genius surmised, was to build a fake Afghan village in the backyard of the Canucklehead embassy in Washington, D.C. and, using Hollywood pyrotechnics, blow the things up with much gusto and noise.

It has taken Defense Minister Peter McKay to rush to the rescue of these fools and point out that blowing things up and causing smoke and noise a few blocks from the White House just days after September 11th is not exactly the swiftest of all possible party plans.

Perhaps you think I am making up all of this. Read, read.

3. Snivel serpents at Transpo Can have now spent close to $11 Million on nothing.

Yes, that's right.

They are billing many fun expenses on a project that doesn't exist, even if the expenses have nothing to do with the imaginary project. Proximity will do. If your meal was anywhere within 500 kilometres of what might some day become the Mackenzie Valley pipeline, then hey, Helen, claim away!

The only problem with this little Monopoly game is that the dollars spent are...yes, real Canadian Tax dollars that you and I have earned and shelled over to these miscreants.

Will any ever be prosecuted?



Part of the process of individuation is making choices that distinguish us from our parents and families.

The banker can pretty much expect his son to become a rock drummer.

But little Jeffrey Bronfman has taken this notion to comically new heights.

In a story that could easily have been, or might yet become, a Hollywood script, we find JB, a Jew and the son of the largest whiskey sellers in history now running a "religion" in the wilds of New Mexico that is part Christianity, part psychedelic tea and zero consumption of alcohol.


Really, you can't write material like this.

But, if for no other reason than to prove that your jaw is still working this morning (It will drop as you read.), you should try consuming this little fable.