Our world is stuffed full of public drama. Am I the only one who feels the news has turned into the National Enquirer with world leader choices? We have a Drama teacher in charge of Canada. A student of expression, who has all the emotional presence of a ventriloquist puppet on a stool. Right across the border is an egomaniacal reality TV boss supposedly in charge of America. Trump and Trudeau, studying their most recent photos together, there are moments it looks like they’re best buds. But then I read the latest headlines, and Trump is naming Trudeau the worst Canadian President in history. Canadian President? What?
Trump and Trudeau, T & T, hmmm, TNT, explosive, isn’t it? I wonder if Trudeau shares his stash with Trump when they’re together? Donald does seem happier in Justin’s company. I wonder if Trump shares with Trudeau too? I doubt it. He’s not really the sharing type. Especially not the nukes— he keeps those in private places. As the world watches, Trump’s advisors scramble in his wake, attempting to do damage control. It’s almost comical. I can’t help but wonder, if Trump ever asks for the nuke launch codes, would his advisors roll up the rim on a Canadian Tim Horton’s coffee cup, and give him the eight-digit prize code instead. I hope so.
For one second, I was praising the wooly wanking gods for Mexico’s President, Enrique Pena Nieto. I was head-down grateful. North America had one decent leader in power. Then I braced my feet, and popped my head up out of the sand. I did a little research on the track record of Mexico’s current president. After all, I shouldn’t assume. My hopes were stomped out like a herd of wildebeest stampeding though the open plains of Africa. There are rumblings of possible corruption in President Enrique’s term— nasty business of an escaped drug lord, murdered and missing students, and most recently gas gouging at the pumps— which seems mild compared to the previous two accusations. Nothing is proven of course, but his popularity rating is down to 17%.
Maybe our selfie taking Prime Minister, who achieved his desired limelight through politics, doesn’t seem so bad now? Let’s see— Stop, breathe, center into calm, and bring up the most recent news on Mr. Trudeau. Nope. It still feels terrible. I see a photo of Mr. Trudeau strutting his stuff on the TV talk show, Live with Kelly and Ryan. He is taking a selfie, with Kelly Ripa and Ryan Seacrest, surprise, surprise. I can’t help but groan aloud.
My husband asks me if I’m dying.
I say, “If I’m lucky.”
Trudeau is questioned by the talk show hosts on how he planned, to keep Canada safe from terrorists, after yet, another attack in Great Britain, “Keeping citizens safe is the biggest responsibility of any leader.” He said, and went on, “There’s all sorts of different things we need to do, whether it’s investing in safety, security, police officers and investigative national security stuff,” (security stuff?) He continues, “Or whether it’s in creating a society, in which we’re there for each other, we lean on each other (and) we’re resilient enough to handle bad things happening without falling into a bad space.”
Bad space? Let me tell you, I’m falling into bad space just listening to this interview.
Ryan Seacrest, and Kelly Ripa, question Trudeau on how he would feel about one of his children becoming Prime Minister one day.
Trudeau replies, ” I will say, I have one daughter, and there is something very special about imagining a woman prime minister,” said Trudeau. “I think it is long overdue, I just don’t think we have to wait that long. I think it should be sooner than that.”
I’m of average IQ, even I knew— Once upon a time, we had a female Prime Minister— her name was Kim Campbell.
I cannot relate to our Prime Minister. Every time I see his face, I see a cream puff— fluffy on the inside with a lack of real substance. I see someone who has never struggled with the basics, of life— food, shelter, and clothing. I see a well-practiced façade. He wears a perfectly performed smile, accompanied by an insincere tone of voice. He is someone who has never had to figure out how to pay the next hydro bill, or mortgage, or rent. I bet he’s never had to shop for groceries using sale flyers. He’s probably never had a fifteen-dollar haircut, or bought stale dated food. I would wager my life he’s never had to wait until payday to fill a prescription.
Give me a leader with guts, and with hardship under his belt. I want to know my leader struggled, and came out on top, with a fearless desire to lead people into better times because he has been through tough times. I want my leader to unite our country. I hear murmurings of Western separation here and there. People are frustrated. They have lost faith in these poxy politicians who throw the tax-payer’s money all around the world, as though we have no poor, sick, or hungry to take care of at home.
Dear Mr. Trudeau, we don’t need your fake perfect smile, or hundreds of selfies, or embarrassing performances on talk time TV. Stop preening,— perfect people are an illusion. Show us you have a bit of muscle to get things done in your own country, Mr. Prime Minister. Get a little dirty. Pick up a damn shovel, form a few calluses on your manicured hands, and dig us out of this shithole you’re placing us in. The debt you’re building is beginning to weigh on children who aren’t even born yet. Pull your head out. Perfection is for Photoshop and cheesecake.