Did Donald Trump Just Bring Down the Canadian Government?
his meddling twiny hwands know no boundaries
Donald Jellybelly Trump, Vortex of Chaos, Scarfer of Fast Food, Redeemer of Mankind, Anti-Woke Warrior (and adjudicated rapist), also President-elect of the Unhinged States of America, is the elephant in the bed that Pierre Trudeau, Justin’s dad, famously identified.
Addressing the Washington Press Club in 1969, Pierre stated: “… living next to you is in some ways like sleeping with an elephant: no matter how friendly or even-tempered is the beast, one is affected by every twitch and grunt…”
The twitches and grunts referred to by Pierre in an almost affectionate tone have increased in both frequency and amplitude. If Concorde could have twitched and grunted while breaking the sound barrier, that’s where we are right now. Your Mason jar beer mugs are rattling on the shelves in your Anti-Maga bunker.
Trump’s the fever dream that just won’t break. He’s your punishment for getting out of bed, his inevitability is like the smell of dried urine on an old guy’s Y-fronts. He’s the world’s enabler of egos, because in less than a month any one of us can wake up in the morning and say, “I’m smarter than the President of the United States! All those math classes at MIT and creative summers at Tanglewood paid off!”
And god knows we all need a little boost.
Trump wants to end the rule of law, civilization as it is generally understood, but most of all, he wants to end Daylight Saving Time. Perfect. No more do we get to murmur through our sobs on that Saturday in March when the clocks go forward, “At least there’s one phantom hour when I’m not going to feel like my brain is being extracted through my eye sockets, and if only I could be awake to reclaim that precious time for myself!”
Too late, baby. The world is bright, fake orange, as fake as the smile on your face en route to your public hanging; as orange as the windows of the shopping mall in Whitby, Ontario, during the 60’s, when, to shield the macabre looking mannequins from excessive sunlight, the proprietors covered every window in the plaza with thick, orange celluloid.
That is to say, they put up the orange celluloid once, and left it there. Forever. The following year, still inspired by their time-saving hack, they put up the Christmas lights, and left them there, forever.
Eventually, you get the strange idea that you are in the Overlook Hotel, and they have always been there, from the beginning of time: the orange celluloid, the Christmas lights. Just like Trump has been there forever; were you to check, you’d find him in your high school graduation picture, at your daughter’s wedding, or photo-bombing the company picnic. Look, that’s him! There was never a time before. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was Trump.
His first term, he slapped a few tariffs on Canadian goods, mainly steel, I believe, but he was amateurish and half-hearted about it. Team Canada had already fanned out over the US, meeting with governors and reps in every State, explaining exactly what the repercussions would be.
We then instituted retaliatory tariffs, in which we targeted particularly iconic and pricey items, with the pain points directed at state-level politicians. Maple syrup, Crown Royal whiskey. Let them feel the pinch. Justin, mild-mannered but suffering no fools, and Trump, a hot headed fool with no manners, entered into an uneasy truce, all cordiality when together, but heavy on the back-stabbing and hot mic moments when they were back home and got to say what they REALLY thought.
And we were happy, for a while.
Fast forward. Trump 2.0 is about to debut and they’ve polished the bugs and glitches till they shine. He’s all ready to push the narrative that his first term “didn’t count”, because of the impeachments, the January 6th investigation, which means this term, the lame duck starting January 21st, 2025, is only his first term (in other words, he’s eligible to run again. Many of us are counting the days until he’s history).
The misogynistic ghouls of Project 2025 are licking their lips and readying the coffins for the women who are dying from the withholding of essential medical care, for the protesters shot at the peaceful rally, for the unhoused resisting the bulldozing of their encampment, for the kids gunned down in their classrooms or stricken with polio.
Thanks to Project 2025, the economy is having a surprise boom. Key areas of growth include funeral homes, plush toys, crutches, iron lungs, and florists.
Meanwhile, in a top-secret igloo behind Parliament Hill, Ottawa, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and Finance Minister / Deputy PM Chrystia Freeland are sitting opposite each other, talking via Zoom on their separate laptops. And, whoo, boy, are they having a tiff — !
JUSTIN: Chrystia, little buddy, put down the iron and focus! I have enough shirts, and we need to sort of this tariff whojamacallit!
CHRYSTIA: I just need to do your cuffs and collar. Don’t forget, my ironing saves the Canadian government over twelve dollars fifty cents per week, more if I use the steam function! Pass me the spray starch?
JUSTIN: Canadians need a break from all these high prices and stuff. I think I’m — going to give them a holiday — !
CHRYSTIA: — in Jamaica? The Gatineau? Or, like, a holiday from NDP Leader Jagmeet Singh?
JUSTIN: That guy in the turban who keeps mouthing off at me? Shit, I thought he was the cleaner. Well, well —
CHRYSTIA: — or how about two months when you don’t have to listen to Pierre Poilievre, plus a Belgian waffle maker? They’re on special at Costco —
JUSTIN: No, no, a different kind of holiday! Like a staycation —
CHRYSTIA: — or we can axe the carbon tax!
JUSTIN: Aww, little buddy, not you, too? No, the kind of vacation where you stay at home doing the same old routine and with the same old anxiety, but this time you appreciate how lucky you are to have me as your leader!
CHRYSTIA: Oh, I get it! Another “costly political gimmick” — !
JUSTIN: No goods and services tax or sales tax on, like, ten things — until mid-February — Ta DA!
CHRYSTIA: Jeez, Louise, do you have to say “Ta-DA” every time? Seriously? Have a little gravitas, why don’t you?
JUSTIN: — and then, for the cherry on the banana split, we’ll mail out a check to thank everyone for… for… umm, being a good sport about inflation. Two hundred fifty dollars! Then, for May, I was thinking, umm, how about — a free liter of Kawartha Lakes Moose Tracks ice cream for everyone who goes to a food bank? Or promises to go to a food bank and scans a QR code — ?
CHRYSTIA: Listen, dreamboat, once we pay for this, which I calculate will be in the region of a thousand kajillion Canadian dollars, we’ll have no reserves when potty-mouth Prez prices our exports out of the running! How about these polka dot socks for Mar-A-Lago? Too out there?
JUSTIN: Why are you such a limp tea biscuit about this?! I need to be loved again!
CHRYSTIA: Here, take that loose change in your pocket and put it in this ceramic beaver I made for you in pottery class. If we give a quarter a day, and a dollar if you almost swear but don’t — you’ll see how it adds up. You’re maybe too late for a fully funded retirement, but at least the liberal world order will survive.
JUSTIN: Oh, Jeezus! Not your imposter syndrome rearing its ugly head —
CHRYSTIA: That’s what the LA Times says about me, anyway! And we need US newspapers to validate Canadian politicians, which otherwise would be like so totally whoosh-over-the-head. No one here says anything nice, you know! For example, did you realize I’m a respected author —
JUSTIN: — And have you seen this? Now Trump is saying they’re subsidizing us! He thinks a trade deficit means we owe them money! And this guy ran a business?
CHRYSTIA: — and WHO gets your Cabinet coffee orders right, every single time? Who negotiated a discount on Tim Horton donuts? Who? Me, that’s who, in both official languages! « Moi! Calisse de tabarnak ! »
JUSTIN: Ahem, look, little buddy, there’s something else —
CHRYSTIA: You didn’t get your Boston Creme?
JUSTIN: Forget the cheap donuts, Chryssie. Trump’s got me running for Governor of the 51st state. He’s figured out my Myers-Briggs profile as “Introverted-Reactive”. You know, like, wait for the trucker convoy to get out of hand then cancel civil rights nationwide. I’m the do-nothing, pussy Prime Minister, except if I do what they want then I’m the overweening dictator! Why can’t I win? Was it the drama classes?
CHRYSTIA: Have you tried distraction? Hit them hard with something they can’t process. Is it too late to be Castro’s love child? Or at least Mick Jagger’s?
JUSTIN: Listen, my little Angela Merkel-chen, you can’t go around muddying my brand with your hatchet-faced insistence on fiscal responsibility. My solution is a win-win: I replace you with Dominic LeBlanc as Finance Minister, and then you can be Special Envoy to Mar-a-Lago in Charge of Trump-Wrangling! People prefer a guy in charge of finance, anyway. More Bank of Canada, less mom withholding your allowance because you didn’t take out the garbage.
CHRYSTIA: You’re demoting me? I thought you said it was win-win?!
JUSTIN: I’m NOT demoting you. I’m humiliating you! Pay attention! And, yes, it’s win-win — with both wins for moi! Hey, where are you — listen I know it’s a lot to ask but, can you do the presentation anyway? I know you love doing your hair whip first — Chrystia — little buddy — ?
« Ah, crisse de marde de tabarnak — ! »
So as one gets older, then just plain old, and one’s friends have gone AWOL, or just dropped dead, one gets to get oneself a present when the Hols roll in. No more pretending to be delighted at that pair of bell bottoms in the wrong size, and maroon. No more vats of Old Spice to marinate in, or soap on a rope melting into guck on a string.
And this year, I’ve given myself the gift of not giving a f**k about Trump.
Sure, the dishiest, most eligible PM in the world (ours) has stepped down as Liberal leader after nearly ten gorgeous years, probably to be replaced by a snarky, mean, Canada-hating conservative full of dumb ideas, and with big nipples and no pupils in his eyes (Pierre Poilievre: Trump-lite). Sometimes you just gotta let boys be boys.
And as for Trump himself? It’s true, he’ll be there with his Project 2025, his hatred of women, his vow to cancel healthcare for Americans, all ready to reign like a King. He’ll destroy the rule of law, hog-tie the justices, deport all your best workers… but from up here, it’s not going to be so dire.
In fact, it’s gonna be hilarious. Maybe I’m naive, but I’m convinced we’ve given his ilk too much credit. It’s gonna be chaotic, confusing, combustible and more fun to watch than a barrel of elephants.
Because the shit that hits the fan in America, stays in America. Canada, the True North Strong and Free, never to be the 51st state (a mere 13% of Canadians think that’s a good outcome, the rest of us say “not happening”) isn’t going anywhere.
And, let’s face it. America isn’t going anywhere, either. Let me remind you: Things change, and fast, in your political cycle. You’re stronger than any one man, any one president.
Brothers and sisters, you know something? You got through it the first time. You’ll grit your teeth and get through it again. This is just the beginning of a very protracted conversation.
Originally published at https://slowpainful.com on January 4, 2025.
