Dateline: TORONTO—Toronto’s citizens are mortified by
the world’s mockery of their Mayor Rob Ford for his many scandals, such as his
admitting to having smoked crack cocaine while in office, because they fear
Toronto will lose its status as the world’s most boring big city.
“We just want everything to go back the way it was,” said
one Torontonian, “when no one cared about Toronto. We want to fly under
the world’s radar so we can keep living in quiet desperation. Is that too much
to ask? To not have a crazy circus come to town, so I can get on with wasting
my life?
“What we need is a robot with no personality, like our Prime
Minister Stephen Harper. Now there’s a leader for you: hair like a piece of
Lego, never offends anyone, never rocks the boat. We need an empty suit as our
leader to reflect our blissful lack of any worthwhile culture.”
Another Torontonian is even more candid. “Rob Ford broke his
contract with us. He’s supposed to lie to the people about absolutely
everything. That’s what we elect them for, right? But Ford can’t stop speaking
his mind. Doesn’t he know that politicians are supposed to be the cream of the
crop? Truth-telling children grow up to be adults who lie constantly to
themselves and to others, and then they choose the most pathological of the
liars among them and elect them to lead the people to disaster. That’s how we
go from A to B.
“I mean, sure, Ford lied for a while about smoking crack. He
did his best to be a politician there. But he’s constantly gaffing: it’s one
thing to have no respect whatsoever for the liberals on the Toronto City
Council or for the downtown elitists or even for the institution of Canadian
government. But as any kind of executive, surely you’re supposed to keep your
grudges a secret so you can more easily backstab your enemies.”
However, Mr. Ford shows no sign of being less forthright
with his opinions. “I’m no phony or snob,” the mayor said in an improvised
press conference. “I say what I want, just like any average Joe, and if you
don’t like it you can go fuck yourself. Especially you, John,” Mr. Ford said,
pointing at a CBC reporter. “Right now you’re taking notes so the liberal
pundits at CBC can make fun of everything I do. Let me tell you something: the
CBC is a bunch of pussies. They have the nerve to call themselves ‘Canada’s
number one news network’—even though they wouldn’t survive without the taxpayer
subsidies. What a bunch of flaming girly-men and feminazis.
“Now, I’ve got a lot of work to do, lowering taxes so the
blue collar folks around here don’t get raped by Toronto’s stuck-up socialists
who have their heads up their asses, eating cheese while riding around on their
bicycles like it’s the 19th century. Hello! Get yourself a car or get the hell
off the road and take your airy-fairy, artsy-fartsy nanny state with you!”
The mayor proceeded to bowl over a bevy of journalists and
cameramen, landing especially hard on the CBC reporter, whom he sat on in the
confusion.
Mr. Ford’s psychiatrist, Dr. Rudolph Hornswoggler, admits that “People roll their eyes when Ford calls himself an average guy, because
he’s—you know—a morbidly obese multimillionaire. But according to my diagnosis,
the mayor is an avatar of the Id, like Rabelais’s bawdy character, Gargantua.
All of us have embarrassing unconscious desires, but we learn to repress them
to get on as civilized adults. Ford’s having none of that. He has gargantuan
appetites, because he embodies what we think of as the worst in all of us.
Thus, he's an everyman, after all.”
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