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| CANADA'S SOURCE FOR HUMOUR, PARODY, AND SATIRE
Once again
I am left sitting alone in this chair, comfortable at first, but becoming
lumpy and sweaty after several hours of cogitation and reminiscing, the
drafts of winter are gone and replaced with the mugginess of a humid Ottawa
summer, the political season over, a bit of a disappointment really, especially
after the promise last year of revolts and parties crumbling and dissolving
before our eyes--last year at this time there were eleven or twelve apostles
of a new ethical order proselytizing a new approach to Her Majesty's Loyal
Opposition, where are they now, I ask, I have forgotten what happened
to them, did they go to play for the victorious Red Wings, or more likely
relegated to the back bench of some farm team in Sarnia, richly deserved
no doubt, the entire opposition has evaporated into the water-logged air,
I can hardly see the canal, my beloved Rideau Canal from the window of
my garret, I wish I could open the damn thing it's so warm but it's been
painted shut, there might be a slight crack at the bottom where a bit
of wind might whistle through during a storm but not now, now it is too
turgid and still outside, the air is too thick to fit through whatever
small chink might remain, perhaps the canal has evaporated as well--will
there be enough room for the governing Liberal party too as scribes such
as myself try to find the weak point in their inpenetrable armour, or
perhaps not find the weak point, but try to pry open the many seams and
cracks to allow the bats to fly free into the air before they are melted
by this incessant humidity and evaporated into a grey haze, a haze that
surrounds us all, even me, rendering us all sopoforic and liable to drowse
away the afternoon
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by
Fubrics Short
