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The Duffer by Ian Robinson
DUFFER ……..right about being wrong By
Ian Robinson
OK, so as I write this, it’s mid-February
and it occurs to me that I’m wrong about everything.
Life, politics, love, the works. George W. Bush has been president of the United States for about a month and a half and I was wrong, OK? Wrong, wrong, wrong.
If you’re the kind of person who actually reads and — Heaven
forefend! —Remembers the drivel on this page (available to me, I presume,
because the advertisers don’t want it for some reason), then you know, that in
a previous column, I asserted with great authority that “nobody named Dubya
will ever be president of the United States.”
(For dinner tonight, Monsieur Robinson will be dinning on right and left
foot, au gratin, with generous helping of crow for desert.)
This should not have been a surprise to me, being wrong, I mean.
I may be morally right, but I’m always wrong in the real world.
Back in the 70’s, there were some whispers that a popular male rock and
roll star might be just a little, you know.
Not like the rest of us. Shopping
in the ladies’ underwear aisle, if you know what I mean.
Back then; this was a bigger deal than it is now.
Now being gay is just another word for “marketing.” Just ask Ann Hache.
But because it was a big deal, I got myself into a juvenile, 14 years old
fistfight defending the “honour” of said rock star.
My argument, if memory serves, was that it was awful hard to tell the
difference between being swishy and just plain English.
Or Englishy. Whatever.
Logical argument. Wrong
conclusion. Leaving me as the only raging heterosexual male on the plant
that once took a fist in the face over his assertions that Elton John was not
playing for the other team.
Political parties may write to you, phone you, come to your door, begging
for your votes and money. People
from political parties actually come to my door begging me to vote for them,
because they know, that if I think I’m backing a winner, then by God,
they’re heading for the trashcan of history.
“Hi,” they say. “Here’s
50 bucks if you vote for the other guy. Can’t
believe your nose is crooked cause you thought Elton John was straight.”
They just called an election here in Alberta, and Ralph Klein and his
Conservatives are about a hundred points in the polls ahead of the Liberals.
The liberals are led by some woman.
That’s all we know. Nobody
can really remember her name. And
in Alberta, the word “Liberal” isn’t the same word it is in Ontario. In Ontario, you sat the word “Liberal” and you’re
talking about a fairly respected political party, both nationally and
provincially, that a lot of folk voted for in the last election.
In Alberta, you say the word “Liberal” and Albertans hear what you
said, but by the time it gets into their brains, it’s been translated into the
phrase “Ebola Virus.”
Albertans are funny that way. Say
“freedom of speech” and they hear “child pornographers.”
Say “distinct society" and they hear “Death to Quebec.”
Say “Bilingualism” and they say “Say what?”
Say “Supreme Court” and the think “Socialist Nutcases In Black
Robes and After The Revolution We’re Going To Stand Them Up Against a Wall
and…”
Ralph Klein, by contrast, is a Conservative.
Say “Conservative” to the average Albertan and what they hear is
“All That Is Right and Good.”
We’re right proud of Ralph Klein in these parts because Ralph is proof
that we’re not shallow. There’s
a theory that only attractive, intelligent people can make it to high political
office. (Jean Chretien would be
another exception.) That’s kind
of shallow, like voting the head cheerleader to head of the students’ council
in high school. Not because
she’ll do a good job, but because she’s got these terrific…but I digress.
I do that a lot. Can you
tell?
But in Alberta, we’ve got a premier who is short, fat, grouchy and
smokes on the sly. He looks like the ancient hound dog your grandpa owned who
had arthritis and was too lazy to chase a cat, and who could clear a room with
his flatulence. Ralph’s like
that. He offends the eye, the ear,
and the Health Nazis. He claims to
work out, but I mean, really. Check
out the waistline, kids. He once
admitted, out loud, that he missed an important meeting because he was hung
over. But we voted for him anyways
because he keeps our provincial income taxes the lowest in the country, we’ve
got no sales tax and we’ve got a human rights commission that thinks human
rights are for sissies. Ralph also
thinks gun control means being able to hit your target.
Albertans love his wide-load butt the way Germans loved the guy with that
funny moustache.
So naturally, I’m convinced he’s going to lose the next election and
plan to vote for the Liberals, or the Alberta First Party, which is the Bloc
Quebecois, except in English.
You know what else I’m wrong about?
Women.
Mid-February, remember? When
I’m writing this? And that means
a date that strikes dread into every man’s heart.
Valentine’s Day.
Here are things I’m wrong about on Valentine’s Day.
Women — except for those wearing sensible shoes, if you know what I
mean and I think you do —don’t want a DVD special edition of Fight Club for
Valentine’s Day. I though they
did. Honest. Other
things they don’t want for Valentines Day: A)
Beef Jerky, B)
A year’s supply of shotgun shells. C)
Titlest golf balls. D)
Porn. Who
knew? Turns out they like flowers
and chocolate. But
I’m sure about a couple of things. Listen
carefully. There will be a
recession. The Calgary Flames will
not win the Stanley Cup. I am not
handsome.
A recession would really suck. And
the Flames need a good season or they’ll move the team to Puerto Rico.
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