#145: Oh, He’s So Hot…Pity He has a Cedar Plank for a Brain

Day One of the Justocalypse. The child stands about in Montreal’s metro system collecting selfies and handshakes while “thanking the Canadian people” (perhaps not the ones in Alberta who didn’t return a single Liberal after Daddy fucked Alberta over so hard that the West built its own Party, Reform, to get the fuck away from the fool, but hey) for being inept. Then he told us that Canada is pulling out of the ISIS mission, taking our antiquated rusty shit-ball CF-18 jets from 1983 and going home. This would be more amusing or interesting if he could do that, because as of that point Justin has as much control over the military as I do.

*Psst. Justin. You need to be invited to form government first, kid*

And how has Canada’s slop-bucket, the Moan and Wail, reacted? By telling us that the world thinks Justin Trudeau is sexually attractive. Seriously? First off, no – the world doesn’t care who the Prime Minister of Canada is for the same reason that it doesn’t care who the Prime Minister of Malta is (fun fact – Malta is a republic). How many Canadians can name the Italian Prime Minister, or the leadership in South Korea? Both of those are more important, larger, and more productive than Canada – shocking that cakers can’t name ’em. Sorry, my Cheeto-dust laden cakeramigo; if you can’t name the leader of South Korea, it can’t name yours. Anecdotally, my time in Malta was punctuated by hilarious questions about Barack Obama (4.1/5, would watch again) because the Maltese thought Canada was run by Obama.

So no, Globe. The world is not salivating over a middle-aged man just because cakers got their panties wet over Daddy 50 years ago. The world cared as much about Justin as it does about my morning shit. What you meant to say was that a few people, quite possibly Canadians abroad, commented on Justin and you blew it out of proportion to try to convince a public that is while impossibly stupid eventually going to realize that they elected the equivalent of a tire fire wearing a toupee. And what better way to raise caker spirits without doing anything than pretending that the others are noticing Canada and care about it? The post-colonial separation anxiety is real.

Then we heard from the still-living Margaret Trudeau, a former flower-child on par with Yoko Ono who just five years ago was depicted as a strung-out wash-out is back to make face-noises. Canada’s first lady went about in the 70s sleeping with anyone who would take her rich and decadent ass; now that her ass isn’t as perky, she’s been reduced to smoking the family trust fund. Funny that the Globe didn’t mention Marge’s extravagance when they ran the “Mommy’s proud of you” story as if Justin is grabbing his Transformers-themed lunch box to hop the bus to school.

So that was day 1 of the Justocalypse. The media continued to shine his knob and make up half-truths to support their chosen limp-dick puppet. Canada had a wank-session over pretending that the world matter, and Mommy got to write her love letter to Justin before school.

No sympathy – you voted for this.

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