On Steepleton's New Influenceless Political Status

It has been sweet (if not innocent) (aside from the gang war) (and the fucking smoke) as a country fair princess here in Steepleton the past few weeks. Long accustomed to cabinet positions and undue influence in both Canada's and British Columbia's distant capitals we are now bereft of both. Even our Liberal Member of Parliament, a political featherweight, who having made his Ottawa riding our pop star Prime Minister like a bug boy on a champion thoroughbred has discovered hick town berry farmer heavyweights such as himself have less influence in that assembly than the dust on the shelves of the Parliamentary library.

One of our sad excuses for a provincial MLA has been raising enough of a mutinous fuss within the new Official Opposition to suggest he has eyes on the now vacant leadership of that wayward ship. I suppose I should wish him well but I shan't. My hick town and its overly Christian, yet unchristianlike political success stories, have yet to ever produce a Premier. Not likely to happen if he is successful in a leadership bid either - the rest of the province can put up with a Steepletonian in a cabinet post but leary as a Haitian refugee in America of someone from my city attaining Dear Leader status.

If only Steepleton would grow up, as Canadian cities all eventually do, and elect Socialists to replace the crackpot conservative as a car dealer with a cocaine and prostitute habit lot who have, since white folk and their brown sawmill workers settled this once pristine Indian territory, controlled city council with the backward flair of the last man in town holding the reins of a horse and buggy.