Mike Duffy

Mike Duffy! Happier Times. Okay. So this is now, finally getting interesting. The Duff is pissed and he can… in spite of his rather unpopular status right now? Lay out the PMO with some sweet churning shit from that gaping maw!

Let’s get ready to ruuuuummmmbbbbbllleeee!

TERRANCE GAVAN – EDITOR – THE SHRIKE

I have no idea who’s lying to who.

Mike Duffy says that he was lied to and his lawyer says that Stephen Harper’s PMO is restricting his civil right to making an honest living by threatening to fire him from the Senate.

Remember. This job is a sinecure with a six-figure income, which a few senators, including Duffy and Pamel Wallins, apparently consider too paltry. We assume that this is the case since those senators have seen fit to pad their income by playing with their expense sheets.

Now, the fact that Duffy’s lawyer is lamenting the lack of access of his client to a living earned, is patently hilarious. It’s so uproariously funny that I don’t think the man should be allowed out without a minder. I am assuming that he has one. Because the only explanation for such outrageous poppycock? Is a severe psychosis. Or the man is just living on a diet of double gins with corn liquor chasers. Which brings us to his client, he with the (ironically) single malt diet of sober second thought.

Holy crap. Mike Duffy is spillin’ the turnip truck right on the lawn at 24 Sussex Avenue. I grew up in Ottawa and I did take a piss on the lawn there. Some guy named Mulroney was living there at the time and I had a hankering (and 12 Bradors fueling my passion) to pop some pee on his carpet. Back then the RCMP didn’t have a squad of metal clad zombie killers hiding in the bushes… so it was all right. I ran into a dog who sniffed at my stream and nodded approvingly.

Anyway. Mulroney on his worst day… that would be accepting a bagful of money as if it was a swag bag from an Apple Presser, (great stuff by the way). Yes, that Mulroney!  Even BM the PM on his worst day was never as decrepit looking as that outlandish HardHair Harper mannequin on display in the House of Commons today. Saying I knew this and that but so what if I lied and said I did not know this and that then. Remember Bill Clinton? “Please Senator… .It depends on what your definition of is… is.” Same shit different way.

I don’t know what we’ll call this affair as it rolls out to its inevitable nadir, but I hope it’s not Harpergate or some such supercilious epithet. Because what’s going on is worse than grand larceny. It’s grand farcery. It’s Stephen Harper (I will not call him Prime Minister and I will not call him Honorable) banging a drum in the Senate, attempting to extricate himself from the inextricable. The same Stephen Harper who before he was elected said he would, if elected, abolish or reform the Senate. And he stated that he would never stoop to appointing even one bag man as a standing sitting shitting senator.

To date? He has named 59 shitting, sitting, not even sober senators. Bag men and women all. Toadies, knuckle-draggers and lickspittles. And they have rocked his world. And will rock it some more. That lifeboat of abundance has just watched all of its supplies and fresh water sucked over the side. Hapless and forlorn, the senators who are still seated in that rocking tide are now, of needs and of a must, attempting to isolate their tidy derrieres from the scorn and the ridicule and the public outrage brought on by those colluders, colliders and cozy gliders who saw fit to cheat on their taxes. With our goddam money!

So Pamela Wallin came out today and she says that it’s a goddam conspiracy. Wow. Watergate was a conspiracy. The Iraq war was a conspiracy. Joe McCarthy was a conspiracy.

Ms. Wallin, Mr. Duffy and Mac Harb? You don’t get to call conspiracy!

You got caught.

That’s all. You got caught. And now you don’t get to moan and shit and stew about it. You got caught and that chocolate chip from the jar is dripping and melting all over your greedy open gobs! So do as a favor and duck your head in a urinal. Wash off the pork and the belch.

Oh. Pamela? Don’t expect us to blame your fracas on the PMO or senators who don’t like you. Shit, I don’t even know you Pamela… and I sure as hell don’t like you. I’m sorry but isn’t this where proud people kind of shirk, shrug and nudge off stage right or left? Or… even through a goddam crack in the floorboards? Stratford. Stratford! It’s a common reference. Don’t lose me now!

Maybe I’m old fashioned. But didn’t people used to fall on their swords over stuff like this.

Wasn’t there a time when the Duffster and Hardhat Harper would have shot it out at sunset in a duel? Wait? Me. Me. If it happens? Let me load the pistols. Oh is it pistols at dawn? Not sunset. Who cares? Hell, let ’em have at it as the front end of the Rick Mercer show. There’s a rant I’d like to see.

We could get some classy cat from the CBC francais Network open da’ show!

“Monsier. Puis Monsieur. Parlez vous franglais? Gut! Zen… You vill eech of youse… take five eezzy steps… zen tourn.. and FIRE! May ze best man… wait.. un moment s’il vous plait! Ah!! Mais Oui! May both of you find le grand success avec les shots! Monsieurs !!! Aim well… Lance bien. For Canada. Vivre Les Canada Libre!”

Crikey this guys weird ain’t he.

Quick, change of plan. Let’s get boxing legend Michael Buffer to do the intro. Take it Mike.

“In the Cashmere Blue  corneeeeer! Representing the State of Disarray and the City of Hadesville, Ontario. At 6 foot one and 185 pounds of pure stacked bovine excrement… The Teetering Totter, The Oakville Hustler, The Trembling Teflon!!!!!!! Don… The Prime Time Ministerrrrrrrrrrr!!!!

“Stephen HardHair….. Haaaaaaarrrrpoeeeeerrr!!!!!!! Haaaaarrrrppppeeeeerrrr!”

“And in the Red Cornerrrrrrrr…. , At five foot seven and 297 pounds of piss, vinegar and smelly farts… from Come By Chance, Nova Scotia!!!! errrr From Rockliffe. Ontario!!! errrr.. From The Dutch Antilles!!! From?? .. Screeeewe it!!! From the Floor of the Canadian Senate… the hallowed hall of bag men and lickspittle toadies…. Welocome theeeeee…. The Kinniving Kahuna, The Master of Disaster, The Jelly Roll Belter!!!!!!

“Mike…. The Slick Mick Duuuuufffffffffffffyyyyyyyy… Duffffffyyyyy!”

Where the hell is Michael Buffer? When we need him.

C’mon. I see ya’. I know you’re thinkin!

Quick someone get me Mercer’s number!

I got it. Stay tuned. Eight oclock on CBC next Tuesday.