Having upped stakes and relocated the pulpit--if not yet the entire family--to the Royal City and having started a new job as a night watchman at a place that makes a heckuva buggy whip, I've been too busy to write anything here even when I've had an Internet connection, but that doesn't mean I haven't been paying attention.
Poor, poor Lady Barbarella -- c'est tres triste, non?
Yes, as a matter of fact I am gloating, just like every other evil liberal journalist in the country, if not the English-speaking world. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I think I can live with it.
I will say this:
- Nice to see the universe shitting on the right people for a change
- "Her hair uncharacteristically dishevelled, Amiel stumbled on her snakeskin pumps as she was taken away." is my new favorite poem. The use of "snakeskin pump" in this context is the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning. It approaches haiku.
- "model prisoner" indeed
Such schadenfreude-laden fripperies aside, I have little to say. Canadian politics? Well, as much as the recent election was entertaining in a "wow, that mushroom cloud sure is pretty"-"We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when" kind of way, with a Harper majority, the NDP have become the political equivalent of the Toronto Maple Leafs Stanley Cup Parade Planning Committee. My approach at this low ebb is that of Mr. Elvis Costello.
More when I have time, reason, and something more constructive to say than
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