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“And now a few words from my dick…”

Today President Donald Trump leaves on his first official foreign trip since being fraudulently elected by an archaic system and with the help of Russian hacking. He’ll be visiting Vatican City, Saudi Arabia, and Israel and will be taking his teddy bear and night light since he doesn’t like not sleeping in his own bed. Trump is no doubt hoping for a respite from unending witch hunts at home, even though everyone including his enemies agree that he’s doing an amazing job and has all the best words, really.

What can we expect from the trip to the centres of Catholicism, Islam, and Judaism? Reports have surfaced of Trump’s wishlist for activities, although the feasibility of some has already been questioned. Here, from unnamed sources <cough, Comey! cough> is the President’s Holy Land(s) bucket list:

  • Take the Popemobile out for a spin in St. Peter’s Square; if possible, do some donuts
  • Land a helicopter on Masada, proving that the US Army is better than Rome’s
  • Kiss the Black Stone at the Kaaba, to get the “gift of the grab”
  • Solve the Arab-Israeli problem, if time allows also bring peace to entire Middle East
  • Pick up one of those Pope hats at the Vatican gift shop
  • Take that oil
  • Make a deal to build a hotel on Palestinian land, probably
  • Find out how Michelangelo painted all that stuff even though he’s just a turtle
  • Kiss Benjamin Netanyahu right on the lips
  • Have some protestors beat up, like that Erdogan guy did in Washington
  • Send postcards to Michael Flynn, a really great guy
  • Cause at least one international incident every day
  • Tweet out locations of Israel’s nuclear weapons
  • Make joke about how he hasn’t seen a sand trap this big since golfing at the beautiful Trump Mar-a-Lago course
  • Find out where the Vatican hides all its women; grab their pussies
  • Put ketchup on hummus
"Oh look over there! Canadian values!"

“Oh look over there! Canadian values!”

Oh, Kellie Leitch, you strange, unique, visionary xenophobe. I’ve been watching your video today. You know the one; everyone’s talking about it, and they’re not saying anything nice. In my favourite riff on this thing that you’ve unleashed on the world and that you no doubt believe is true and moving, someone has slowed it down by 40%, making you appear to talk like someone’s drunk aunt. And maybe that’s exactly what you are–no judgements here, because that would be mean and a barbaric cultural practice.

Kellie, you’ve been around for quite a while now, beating your drum about how Canada needs to have face-to-face interviews with every immigrant, refugee–and now you’re apparently adding visitors to that list?!–to screen for Canadian values. Do you have any other policies that the mainstream media isn’t reporting on because it’s fixated on this one batshit crazy one? I understand that you’re trying to carve out a space for yourself amongst too many candidates for the Conservative Party leadership, but won’t you need other ideas when you become Prime Minister? (By the way, it’s totally adorable that you think you’ll ever be Prime Minister, and please keep on saying you will be at every opportunity… I hope it’s the first thing you say when you wake up in the morning and the last thing you say before you drift off to sleep, perchance to dream about being Prime Minister, which as I said, is never going to happen.)

But Kellie, I notice you never really say–beyond meaningless buzz words and platitudes–what the Canadian values you hold so dear are. And so I’m here to help. Please feel free to use any or all of the following as examples of Canadian values.

  • Rolling up the rim
  • Knowing which parts of Alberta where it’s safe to cheer for the Oilers
  • How to correctly pronounce “about”
  • This Hour Has 22 Minutes used to be funnier
  • Feeling inferior to Americans while using humour to pretend we’re not
  • Margaret Atwood is a goddamn national treasure
  • Knowing that Windsor, ON is at the same latitude as Northern California
  • Canada has the real Niagara Falls
  • “50 Mission Cap” is the ultimate Tragically Hip song; “Wheat Kings” is also acceptable
  • Our beer is better than American beer
  • Knowing whether to vote for Kellie Leitch

Those are the values all real Canadians possess. Oh, and the last one? Real Canadians know the answer to that, too.

Tiny Cars for Tiny Hands?

Tiny Cars for Tiny Hands?

Reading Rainbow – encourages children to read books but never has an episode about The Art of the Deal. Sad!

Planned Parenthood – who needs to plan parenthood? Just grab ‘em by the pussy and whatever happens, happens. (Always have a rock-solid pre-nup though, since women are always after your money.)

The Shriners – Anti-American tiny cars. When did America stop winning? When we stopped having big cars. Also, those things don’t run on coal so they’re destroying American jobs!

4-H Club – Animal husbandry, are you kidding me? Marriage is supposed to be between one man and one woman, then another woman whenever he wants to switch things up.

The Democrats – Losers. Always whining about how they won the popular vote. Since when is being President a popularity contest? By the way, they didn’t actually win the popular vote, I did. If I’d wanted to win the popular vote I would have done it. Next time I will, believe me. Looking to beat Stalin’s record of 99.9% in 2020!

"I saved the world from the Nazi scourge, and I only get to be a Captain?"

“I saved the world from the Nazi scourge, and I only get to be a Captain?”

Some of the greatest heroes the world has ever known have had military ranks. Some of them have actually served in the military, notably Captain America, even though he seems to have been handed the rank of Captain straight away, rather than enlisting as Private America and being promoted, whether through merit or on the battlefield. Others, like the often-overlooked Sgt. Rock and the more-heralded Nick Fury, never got a commission, in spite of fighting their way across Nazi-occupied Europe.

Who appointed Captains Britain and Canuck to their ranks? They always seemed to be lone wolves. Maybe they got drummed out of their respective services for insubordination. Captain Marvel served in the Kree Army before saving the universe on more than one occasion, while the other Captain Marvel got all his powers from a magician and would almost certainly go by the name Shazam if saying the word wouldn’t turn him back into Billy Batson, who’s much too young to enlist.

But the real question is, with all of their heroics and freedom-fighting and leadership, why haven’t any of these heroes been promoted to higher ranks? Why no Major Mexico, Lieutenant Colonel Liechtenstein, Brigadier General Bolivia, or General Germany, for example? Dictators like Qaddafi and Noriega, who by all rights should have been defeated and disgraced by justice-seeking heroes, instead outranked all of them (to be fair Noriega appointed himself General, but if Captain America had ever become President, it’s almost certain he would have humbly remained a simple Captain).

Maybe part of being heroic and risking your life to save your country, the universe, or even just a cat caught in a tree is being modest enough to accept your rank in life, even when you’re more of a man than the rest of the Army put together.

come-from-awayWhat if 9/11 was planned by the people of Gander, Newfoundland in an a scheme to reroute airplanes and then make the entire world believe that they’re the kindest, most unselfish folks in the whole world? And then—and here’s the real endgame—capitalize on a smash Broadway musical? Horrifying if true! Bad enough to kill over three thousand people and destroy billions of dollars of property for favourable press coverage, good will, and Broadway box office receipts, but they surely couldn’t have known that 9/11 would also lead to invasions of Afghanistan, Iraq, and years of death and political turmoil? Surely all of the tragedy of the last fifteen years wasn’t part of the plan? All I can say is, Newfoundlanders are very social people, and tickets start at $47, so you do the math!

Although I am a middle-aged white North American male, I know the pain of being broken down solely on the basis of my looks, my entire personality rendered meaningless and subsumed by a single piece of my anatomy. In my case, it’s my hair. Specifically, my pony tail.

Since I was young I’ve always wanted long hair. As a child I was never allowed to grow it long, but when I became a teenager and had the faintest hint of independence in how I dressed and groomed, I started to let my hair grow. Unfortunately the fine, straight hair that I’d been blessed with started changing with the advent of puberty, and become wavy and unruly. Just when I had the freedom to let it flow, it had gained a mind of its own.

I hated my hair.

It refused to behave as I wanted it to, and so I went back to cutting it short. I was defeated.

But, years later, I decided to try again. In the meantime, I’d developed a minor phobia for going to the barber: I dreaded the expectation to make conversation and the odd intimacy of a stranger touching me and hovering around me as my locks were shorn. Also, I hated spending $15 for the traumatic experience. I stopped going to the barber.

If anything, my hair had become wavier, almost curly, but I discovered that if I let it grow long enough, I could tie it back in a pony tail, controlling its most chaotic urges. It might not have been the best look for me, but it was low maintenance, and free. I could go months without a haircut, and even when I decided my hair was too much to handle, I’d simply shave it all off and start from scratch. I’d never had much romantic success and, looking back, my hair probably didn’t help. But I was more at peace with it, after hating myself and the way I looked throughout adolescence and high school. I’d found a hairstyle that might not have been attractive, but at least it didn’t bother me any more.

Fast forward to years later, and I mostly have long hair that I tie back in public. It’s messy because I don’t even get it trimmed, but it’s sort of become my “look.” I know I’m starting to go bald on top, and I’m aware that I’ll eventually look like a stereotypical aging hippy (if I don’t already) but, for the most part, I don’t care. I used to be extremely self-conscious, worrying too much about what everyone thought of me, and whether they were judging me. I’m still self-conscious, and know I’m not good-looking, but I don’t worry about other people so much now; I’ve grown more comfortable in my flabby, pasty, hairy skin.

I’ve started to go to a new pub to watch Chelsea football games. It’s very nice, but they don’t know me by name yet, and there are a lot of us, so understandably they’re struggling a bit to get to know us and make sure the right person gets the right breakfast and bill. This weekend I learned that the bartender has his own tricks for keeping us straight. He’s picked out defining features, since telling the waitress to bring the Carlsberg to “the guy in the Chelsea shirt” won’t get them very far. My defining feature? My pony tail.

I kind of like that. It took me years to grow it, and now it’s sort of my “thing.” My only complaint is that somehow I became “pony2” on my bill, and I wonder how I lost out to “pony1.” Maybe I need to do what my family is always threatening to do to me, and cut off his pony tail. It might be the only way up in this tonsorial world.

"Why did I agree to do this horrible fucking movie?!"

“Why did I agree to do this horrible fucking movie?!”

Lots of people have said it much better than I ever could, and in many different ways, but Batman vs Superman was a really, really, epically horrible movie.

I could talk at length about why this is the case, but for brevity’s sake, I’ll just offer reason #3182:

You know what the most unbelievable thing about Batman vs Superman is?

It’s not that Superman’s bulletproof or can shoot laser beams out of his eyes.

It’s not the idea that Perry White is the editor-in-chief of a major newspaper but is sending Clark Kent to cover a local football team.

Those are nitpicky criticisms of poor writing or the absurdity of fantasy. I can suspend my disbelief about the laser beams.

It’s the notion that the United States would convene a Senate hearing on the deaths of innocent civilians in a third world country in order to bring Superman to justice. American soldiers kill civilians all over the world without a second thought from the vast majority of Americans. Zack Snyder presents a righteous vision of America that would only be familiar to the most blindly patriotic Republicans, and doesn’t exist in reality. It’s a vision of an America that puts itself out into the world in order to do the right thing every time, and is always looking out for the little guy. In reality the United States does exactly what Superman does: drops into volatile situations it doesn’t understand, throws its muscle around, protects a narrow version of American interests, and leaves without any concern for the chaos, destruction, and death it’s left behind.

"This desk is yuge!"

“This desk is yuge!”

 

“We’re going to build that wall and make the Mexicans pay for it and when they won’t we’re going to go down to the parking lot and wrassle up some labourers and put guns in their hands and make ’em fight the Mexicans. Think of the ratings!”

“Ugh, that Queen Elizabeth sure ain’t no Melania. Look at that face! Would you pledge allegiance to that?”

“Whaddaya mean you won’t sign the treaty? It’s got the best words!”

“Public enemy number one: Megyn Kelly.”

“We’re gonna work the word ‘classy’ somewhere into the Star-Spangled Banner.”

“Announcing the new judging nomination process: Supreme Court Apprentice.”

“Immediate rendition to Guantánamo for anyone making fun of my hair or tiny hands.”

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