I can't believe our Supreme Leader, Uncle Steve Harper, doesn't favour legalizing drugs... all drugs. If drugs were oil — Albertan oil — we'd all be able to shuffle over to 7-Eleven and buy a hit of smack and a pipe or two of crack to speed it on its way.
Alberta's hooked. The province is so strung out on the stuff they've already sold their soul and future to keep it flowing through their veins. And like the junkie in any family, they're not giving a second thought to stealing everyone else's future and happiness, to help pay for their next fix. Nothing else matters when the monkey's screaming in your ear to be fed.
Unlike your run-of-the-mill street junkie though, Alberta's both a user and big-time supplier. It's not enough they're hooked on the stuff, they've got to have everybody hooked on it and in ever increasing quantities.
Our Supreme Leader is in the unusual position of being both beholden to them and being their number one dealer, pimp and protection. If they kick, he's kicked... out of power and down the road towards the dustbin of history. There's nothing he wouldn't do to keep them high and strung out, keep that rich, black gold flowing through their veins and into everyone else's.
Supreme Leader is willing, even enthusiastically giddy about selling whatever your concept of that nebulous entity, Canada, is if it means keeping Alberta high. Democratic institutions? Individual rights? Provincial powers? Clean air, clean water? Gone, gone, gone and gone. Can't spend 'em. Got no cash value. Here, take this nickel bag and you won't miss 'em; hell in a few weeks, especially if hockey starts up again, you won't even remember you ever had 'em.
After all no one much cared when the Supreme Leader's first Omni-Bus left the station last spring, loaded down with so much baggage it couldn't even make it up hills Whistler's hydrogen busses can handle. Somewhere on board was a budget. It was hard to find considering what else was crammed in like commuters on a Tokyo subway. The cheap seats were taken by muzzled scientists who couldn't speak out about their work or the funding Baby Doc Harper had just pulled out from under them. The no-longer-endangered species that had just had open season declared on them were hiding under the seats. The ghosts of environmental protection were at the back of the bus and, of course, the radical environmentalists were simply left waiting by the side of the road for their own bus to take them back to whatever foreign lands funded them.
The good seats, the ones with a view of the road ahead and cute hostesses serving drinks and snacks, were reserved for the expedient measures that would gut environmental review and oversight, pave the way for Northern Gateway other projects designed to keep the junkie happy and, driving the bus as it turns out, was the Son of Mao who was smoothing the road for the Supreme Leader's Next Big Thing — the ultimate sellout of Canada and The Other provinces.
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