Maxed out 

Say goodbye, Mr. Campbell

By G.D. Maxwell

Friends, in these troubled times, let us take a moment and feel true empathy for our fallen brother, the Right Dishonourable Gordon M. Campbell… prisoner number 03-02659.

Okay, that’s long enough. Now let’s throw him back in the water and watch the sharks circle.

Why is it that when politicians author their own demise they’re the last ones to really understand their career is over? Is it that special arrogance-ego twist on the pigheaded segment of their DNA that makes them so blind to reality?

Gordo "Well, maybe just one more" Campbell is dead man walking. He’s wounded goods. He’s yet another resignation waiting to be announced, another glorious victim of the B.C. Curse.

And the irony of it all is he’s being brought down by the first truly human act he’s committed since becoming Premier of all B.C. – getting pissed on holiday in Hawaii.

Yes, it was Gordo’s personal time. He was on vacation. Of course, he was too stupid to realize it judging from the reports of him bookworming around the pool while the other boys and girls frolicked in the sun and sand. And God knows he deserved to cut loose. Laying waste to virtually every promise he made while applying for the premier’s job will take its toll on even the most humourless gorm.

But 03-02659 has never been very good at – or interested in – drawing the personal-professional distinction in the past. I’m pretty sure his old buddies, Gordon Wilson and Judi Tyabji, were playing ride-the-pony on their personal time. Didn’t stop him from leading the crusade, and it was a crusade, against the hapless, philandering Mr. Wilson. Loose morals, bad judgement, tsk, tsk. Such intolerance, Gordo. Wish you could have a do-over on that one, don’t you?

But when you’re a pompous, self-righteous, holier-than-thou kind of guy, the kind of guy who’s first to rise to his feet and demand someone else’s resignation for the smallest impropriety, the kind of guy who gives no quarter, brooks no dissent, sees no shades of grey, well, what can I say? How about, "Don’t let the door hit you on the way out."

Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t about drinking and driving. Being a charter member of DAMM – Drunks Against Madd Mothers – I’m not worked up into a lather about what the shrill harpies in the Zero Tolerance camp think. We’ve all been there and somehow, it seemed to make sense at the time.

It’s not even about how Gordo continues to lie to the people of B.C., people he seems to think are suckers of limitless depth. By the way, Gordo, honesty is the first of the 12 steps. Three martinis and three glasses of wine? Give us a break. He would have had to be drinking martinis out of milk pails or wine out of fishbowls to blow over 0.08 if that’s all he had over seven and a half hours.

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