Maxed out 

Sheepish Ontario voters have one final chance

By G.D. Maxwell

I don’t know what the link between politics and love is but I’m certain there is a link. This is not to be confused with the tight dovetailing that’s existed for centuries between power and lust, a connection most recently demonstrated, nay perfected, by Slick Willie Clinton in his memorable quartet for bimbo, cigar, special prosecutor and tortured thesaurus.

And if you’ve ever been in a bar as the clock ticked down the last half hour to closing and watched the uncoupled size each other up, squinting through blurry eyes, abandoning any semblance of desirable attributes they’ve always considered essential in a potential mate, you know there’s a fine and oft-crossed line between love and lust. But that’s not the link of which I speak either.

No, I’m referring to love. Silly, chemically-fuelled, endorphin squirtin’ love. Love that turns the world into puppies and rainbows. Love that makes even sane people mistake a sodden walk in the rain with a romantic experience. Love that spawns both the best and worst poetry ever unleashed on an unsuspecting civilization. Love that inspires sappy Carpenter songs, Hallmark cards, and unplanned tattoos.

You know the kind I mean. You’ve probably survived it once or twice or several dozen times. It’s the kind of love that either leads to self-destructive behaviour or marriage, the latter being more a survival tactic to hopefully avoid being swept away again in the whirlpool of love any time soon than being its true embodiment.

Love makes people goofy.

So does politics.

And nowhere is that more true than the province of Ontario.

Now, this isn’t just another gratuitous Ontario-bashing column, not that Ontario doesn’t deserve all the bashing it receives across this great country, from sea to sea to sea, as the song goes. I lived in Ontario for nine years of a possible life sentence and I’m here to say Ontario’s alright by me. In fact, Ontario’s a damn good place to be from.

But if there’s any justice in this country, Ontario ought to be on its very last chance votewise. If they blow it again in this election, they should lose their franchise, be traded to the U.S. or walled in by a massive structure that would make the Great Wall of China look like a picket fence.

The sad fact of the matter is this: Ontarian’s can’t be trusted with the vote. They all vote like sheep… scared sheep… stampeding sheep… stampeding sheep with nary a buffalo jump in sight to put them out of their – and our – misery.

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