Maxed out 

Ties that bind

Whenever someone says to me, "I have some good news and I have some bad news," I choose the good news first. People with a deeper understanding of the human psyche’s complex workings could probably explain all the subtle nuances of this predilection, maybe even trace its roots back to unresolved issues during toilet training, the discovery Santa wasn’t… I still can’t say it, or the pony I’m still waiting for.

I tend to see it as an outward manifestation of my basically upbeat, positive nature. Discerning readers have, I’m sure, a well-developed insight into my bright, cheery outlook on life. I’ll always choose the good news first. Who knows, I might drop dead before I get the bad news. The teller might forget the bad news after seeing my unrestrained glee at hearing the good news. The bad news might actually be for someone else.

So the good news is the election’s over. More or less. Kinda. The better news is we’re ramping up to the holiday season, peace on Earth, goodwill… yada yada ya. Time to leave the contentious issues behind, embrace people for whom we have no respect the rest of the year, real National Brotherhood Week stuff.

The bad news is the election’s not quite over. It’s six-sevenths over. Let’s face it, if you were doing a really unpleasant job, washing dishes after a big turkey dinner for example, you’d be feeling pretty good by the time you reached the six-sevenths mark.

But there’s still work left to do. The devil’s in the details. I guess that makes it the devil’s work.

There’s a tie. At least there was when I wrote this. Improbably 1,057 voters cast votes for each of Dave Kirk and Marianne Wade. The odds of the same 1,057 people having voted for each of them is even more improbable but I like to think that’s what happened. What I’d really like to think happened is that 1,057 people were undecided, read this column two weeks ago and dutifully voted for both Dave and Marianne on my say so because they know in their heart of hearts I’d never lead them astray.

For you 1,057 people, I have one more favour to ask. What I’d like each of you to do in, oh say the next week, is slip five bucks into an envelope, put my name on it and mail it or drop it by the Pique offices. That oughta cover the rent increase I’m facing for the next two years. Otherwise I have to either leave town or eat Zippy the Dog.

On the other hand, if the remaining 2,000 of you who voted and didn’t heed my recommendations – possibly because you have fundamental, unresolved issues about my credibility or soundness of mind – would like to slip a fiver by the Pique in my name, I’ll be happy to leave town or eat Zippy the Dog. Just mark the outside of the envelope accordingly.

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