First, Pass the Pancakes

Sophie Trudeau was humming in the kitchen as she brewed some coffee and got tea ready. It was Sunday, which meant the staff was given the day off and the family would sit down and have breakfast together. Normally, Sophie was in charge of the meal, and she would make either a quiche or a tourtiere for the morning meal. Today was different, however. Today Justin promised to make pancakes.

Justin strode into the room and walked over to his wife. Taking her by the waist, he firmly planted a kiss on her cheek. “Morning, sweetie” he said as he stared into her eyes.

“Morning, mon cheri. I am looking forward to breakfast. This is going to be quite a treat.”

“I know,” he replied as he released himself from the embrace and sat down at the table with the children. “I absolutely love your quiche and/or tourtiere.”

She stood there, mouth agape for a moment, trying to figure out what her husband was up to. “Perhaps you have forgotten, mon cheri, but you said earlier in the week that you’d be making pancakes. I was looking forward to, how do you say, taking my feet off this morning.”

Trudeau leaned forward, placing his hand on his chin. He nodded. “I understand that I said I would be making pancakes this morning. It was one of the issues brought to my attention when we decided to have breakfast. I truly believe my pancakes are in the best interests of everyone in our family. Unfortunately, after some polling, we haven’t been able to draw consensus on what we should be having for breakfast this morning. Currently, half of the family wants pancakes for breakfast, and that isn’t broad enough support to justify a change from the usual delicious quiche and/or tourtiere that you usually make.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Mon cheri, what are you talking about? Poll? Alright, let us take a vote right now. Xavier, do you want pancakes for breakfast?” The eldest Trudeau child nodded. “And you, Ella-Grace, do you want the normal quiche or do you want pancakes with syrup and whipped cream?” Ella-Grace nodded in agreement. “Yes, Mama, I want pancakes for breakfast.” Sophie began to smile. “Hadrian, do you want cakes for breakfast?” The youngest child, almost three, banged his plastic cutlery on the table. “Cakes, cakes, cakes. I want cakes!” Sophie smirked at her husband. “You see, Mr. Prime Minister, that is four against one. Looks like you are in charge of pancakes this morning, as you promised.”

Justin didn’t move. His hand was still on his chin, and he continued to nod. “I understand you are passionate about pancakes, and I want you to know that I am too. I’m committed to making this a great breakfast. Not only for us but for everyone. Although four out the five members of the family here agree pancakes should be for breakfast, not every member of the family are here. I sent out a poll yesterday to some of the other family members and they all agree that your quiche and/or tourtiere is far better than my pancakes.”

Sophie crossed her arms and put her weight on her right hip. Her words became far more pronounced and enunciated. “Who, exactly, did you send this poll out to?” she asked.

“I sent it to Alexandre, Zoe, and Margaret.” he replied.

Sophie’s shoulders thrust forward, her arms still crossed. “You sent this to your mother?” she shook her head. “Incredible. I can’t believe you would work this hard to get out of making pancakes.”

Justin looked over at the children. “Kids, can you cover your ears for a minute? Mommy and Daddy have to have a parent talk, okay?” The two eldest children nodded and covered their ears, the youngest was oblivious to the conversation. Justin looked back at his wife.

“I’ll level with you, sweetie. My pancakes aren’t very good. I’m a lot of things. I’m a great politician, a fantastic boxer, and an amazing lover.” Sophie started to cough loudly. “…but I’m not a good cook. At first, I thought making the pancakes would make me look better in the kids eyes, put me in the ‘cool dad’ books. The truth is, if they have my pancakes, I’ll drop a peg. It simply doesn’t benefit me to make pancakes at this stage anymore.”

Sophie’s face turned crimson, and she stamped her foot. “You promised me, though, you’d be making pancakes. You are breaking your promise.”

Trudeau gave her a shit-eating grin. “I know. But there needs to be consensus, sweetie. Now, if you could start making a quiche/tourtiere, that would be wonderful. I’m really hungry.”

Sophie spun around and started taking out the necessary hardware to make breakfast, slamming each one down on the counter. “I’m glad I only have to put up with your bullshit for another two years, mon cheri. Then you can go back to being a teacher and not a prick.”

“You mean another decade, sweetie.” he said.

He couldn’t see it, but she was rolling her eyes. “Of course, sure, whatever you say Mr. Prime Minister.”

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Pancakes are my least favorite cakes.

p.s.s. People might be saying, “But Mr. Charlton, what about Yellowcake?” My statement stands.

p.s.s.s. This is a Canadian thing if it doesn’t make sense.

Woe for Trudeau

Justin Trudeau sat at the edge of his bed, cup of coffee in hand, as his Filipino maid left the breakfast tray next to him on the mattress. He looked down at the mug, which was a cup with a gold trim lining the rim. It was a gift he had received as a child, when his father had taken them all to a quaint mansion owned by an old family friend in France. The coffee was rich and warm, and it too was a gift, from the son of the former president of Columbia. He let the smell of the coffee flow into his nostrils, then he sighed heavily.

Trudeau had just returned from his cross country bus trip. Ontario was a bit of a struggle, but the Maritimes were lovely as always, and then the trip across the prairies had been wonderful, until of course, he had hit Alberta. There was a large group of protesters in Medicine Hat, and the crowd had become so ruckus and unruly that there was no choice but to hop on a chartered plane and cross over Alberta in the air. When they landed in Cranbrook BC, they got back on a bus and finished the tour. Most of the media had been responsive to the tour, but the newspapers in Alberta were less than kind. The Calgary Sun had called his actions “cowardly”. The Lethbridge Herald called him “Spineless”. And the Rebel’s own Ezra Levant had posted a video, stating that Justin was “A Liberal Faggot”.

He put his coffee down and looked over at Maria, the maid. “Maria, I’ve got a question for you. Why do people in Alberta hate me so much?”

It was Maria’s turn to sigh. “Mr. Trudeau. I very busy today. Can you not ask your wife?”

Trudeau shook his head. “I’ve asked her, and she doesn’t know either.”

“Okay.” Maria said as she pulled out a chair that was close by. She sat down. “The first province I started in, when I move to Canada? It was Alberta. I moved to Edmonton so that I might support my family back home, yes? The people in Alberta are very different than the rest of country. How many hours a week I work?”

Trudeau looked puzzled “Well, I think you work about 40 hours a week.”

Maria nodded. “It is 44 hours, but you are so close. Now, how many hours in Alberta did I work?” Before Justin could answer, Maria interrupted. “I work 50 to 70 hours a week in Alberta.” Justin gasped. “But…. but what about family and free time and hobbies?” Maria waved her hand “People from Alberta, they have no hobbies or free time. Everyone work. You live in Alberta, you work. You bored? Find second job. Everyone work like crazy in Alberta.”

Trudeau looked aghast. “What about the arts, and music, and….” Maria silenced him again. “You talk of culture. No culture in Alberta except for work culture. You have many famous Canadians. You have Jim Carrey, you have Pam Anderson, you have many stars from Canada. Anyone from Alberta famous? Nickleback. Everyone hate Nickleback. No. Alberta famous for work.”

Justin scratched his head. “But if they’re working so hard, why are they so worried about increases in taxes?” Maria started laughing hysterically. “That crazy part about Alberta, see? They blow money all the time. Even government. No saving. You have money, you buy car, or watch, or boat. You know how many boats in Alberta? More boats in Alberta than in Philippines. And Philippines island in ocean. Albertans hard working, but crazy. But they spend money, it good for Alberta economy, good for car salesman, good for watchmaker, good for everyone. Tax for Albertan mean less money for Albertans, more money for people in who do not work like crazy. Albertans think free time waste of time.”

Justin Trudeau scratched his head. “So why are they mad at me then?”

Maria’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “Dummy! You not listening to Maria? You threaten Albertans work? You threaten their culture. They see you, they see pretty cultured boy. You cultured? Means you not working. Only culture in Alberta is work. Remember that.” She squinted, tapping the side of her head. “Remember that.”

With that said, Maria stood up, pushed the chair back in, and started out the door. As her hand twisted the knob, Justin spoke again.

“What could I do to make them like me, then?”

Maria shrugged. “Probably nothing. You could sign crazy deal with Devil and make oil rain in Alberta, they still hate you. No, you pretty cultured boy, they always hate you.” she paused. “Maybe work more. No more vacations. No more beaches with rich friends. Albertans have lots of money, but no rich. To be rich, you must have culture. No rich snobs in Alberta, only money. You take vacation in three years, when you no longer politician. You go to beaches with friends then.”

Justin flashed a smile. “You mean 11 more years Maria.” She just rolled her eyes. “Sure, whatever Mr. Prime Minister. I sure you Prime Minister forever.”

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Sure, Nathan Fillion is from Alberta, but Firefly only lasted a season, and he brought shame to his people by being out of work.

 

The PM Refuses Help From Russia, With Love

The town of Fort McMurray has been saved from worst of the forest fire. Even with the hauntingly powerful images we’ve seen recently, 85 percent of the town still stands. It won’t make the heartache of those who lost their homes any less painful, but we at least have a solid base to rebuild upon. The forest fire itself continues to spread, and the only thing that will quench the fire’s thirst seems to be a gift from mother nature herself.

Some of the more vocal proponents on the internet would have you believe Premier Racheal Notley and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau set the Fort McMurray fires themselves. The amount of outcry denouncing the Prime Minister, in particular the rejection of help from foreign nations recently, has been incredibly forceful, so much so I feel the need to clear up some misconceptions, some contradictions and some all around bullshit that needs to be addressed.

  1. Prime minister Trudeau didn’t reject the call for the foreign aid, it was the Canadian Inter agency Forest Fire Centre that did. The prime minister was simply the mouth piece that delivered the message. Pointing the finger at Trudeau is simply shooting the messenger.
  2. More boots on the ground and more water bombers in the air isn’t always the best solution. People have been clamoring ‘The More the Merrier’, but to logistically plan and coordinate a number of people, especially a number of those who do not speak English would not only be difficult, it would actually make the job more difficult. There’s only so much airspace to leverage as well. The last thing we need is a midair collision over a raging forest to make things worse. Right now our people are able to handle to job, and this has been determined by the people fighting the fires themselves.
  3. Russia. I’m going to start off by stating I love Russian culture. I love the people, the language, their works of art. That aside, their government is one of the most brutal, totalitarian regimes on the planet. So when people, who applauded our last Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, for famously telling Putin ‘Get out of Crimera’, are the very same people criticizing our current Prime Minister that he should be allowing Putin to lend us a hand putting out fires, it makes me question whether they are confusing politics for a hockey game.

I’m going to expand on that last point. If your party’s loyalty is more important than your ideals, then you fall into the very definition of the word ‘idiot’. Stephen Harper was absolutely right to tell Putin to leave Crimera. But to stand with Harper on that topic, then turn around and chastise Trudeau for turning down Russia’s help is beyond hypocritical.

You want Russia to give us a hand? The Russia that invaded a country recently? The country that, when the punk rock band ‘Pussy Riot’ spoke out against the government, they were thrown in prison? The country that has a head of state that refuses to leave, that assassinates and jails those who try to run against him? The Russia who’s head of state does these things because he’s ex-KGB? That Russia?

You want them to spend some time in Canada? The Canada that was the no-man’s land between the two greatest nuclear super-powers of the 20th century? That stood in between the eagle and the bear during the thirty or so years of the cold war? A war that some consider not quite over?

There is a ton of space up north, it’s one of the last great un-populated wildernesses on the planet, teeming with resources. Our sovereignty over that area is constantly being contested, and it’s mostly being contested with Russia. Their government is not an ally. We aren’t exactly friends. If we have Russia set up shop here to give us a hand, how easily are they going to leave once the job is done? They might think we’re not able to handle all this untapped wilderness on our own.

I don’t particularly think that Trudeau handled the Fort McMurray wildfires appropriately. We’ll touch on that subject tomorrow. He was right to refuse help though. The rejection of help came from the firefighters, not Trudeau. If you want to get pissy about the number of boots on the grounds, talk to the boots already on the ground.

I’m not a fan of politicians of any stripes. But the idiocy needs to stop. The people who are consistently posting nonsense from both sides are technically adults. If you want to argue constructively and with intelligence, you need to form a set of ideals, not some misplaced trust in a particular party. Once you do that, then you’ll miraculously find every politician will make you angry.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Humanity needs to stop communicating with Memes.

p.s.s. The word ‘idiot’ means someone who is ignorant of the political process, and refuses to vote (more or less, the word has been around for a while).