Thursday, March 08, 2007

Who Watches The Watchers?

Inside the Liberal Party's glittering satellite headquarters, silently orbiting the Earth, Stephane Dion slams a fist into the round table.

"Under Stephen Harper's extreme right-wing neo-conservative fascist rule Canada will not exist in 5 years!"

The assembled Liberal MPs and officials murmur; Bob Rae and Michael Ignatieff share raised eyebrows.

"Er, Stephane?" interjects Ignatieff, "Polls show the 'scary Stephen' angle just isn't working anymore..."

"Agreed, the shiny is off that penny," chimes in Bob Rae.

"Do we even care whether our children grow up in a scorched desert, submerged beneath rising sea levels?" Dion shrieks, his face purpled.

Martha Hall Findlay scratches her head, but looks attentive. Behind him, just outside one of the satellite's portholes, a tiny electronic device huddles in the seam, blinking a tiny blue light....

Meanwhile, in the Conservative Party's underground limestone chamber, gathered around their long stainless steel boardroom table, Stephen Harper and the Conservative caucus watch the Liberal proceedings on a giant viewscreen. Harper strokes his favourite cat, Howard Roark, in his lap.

"Excellent - our furtive mind-control device is working perfectly," murmurs Harper, scratching Howard Roark's chin. "Dion will unwittingly lead the Liberals to utter collapse - thanks to our remote control of him..."

"Amazing technology, sir," compliments John Baird, "But, where did we get it??"

Howard Roark clambers to the floor to prowl around the cold lava.

"A mystery donor sympathetic to our cause," replies industry-magus Maxime Bernier.

Jason Kenney leans in to Baird. "We suspect Conrad Black," he winks, lifting a 'shush' finger to his lips.

Stephen Harper watches the Liberal leader self-destruct, transfixed and hypnotized, eyes glazed and never blinking, the screen's lights coldly dancing on his tight face.

Howard Roark cleans his claws against the oak frame of the floor-to-ceiling oil portrait of Conrad Black. High above the unsuspecting gaze of the CPC, the severe eyes of Lord Black watch all, and the glistening black pupils whir mechanically.....

Meanwhile, several kilometres below the Crawford ranch, a stainless steel elevator hisses open, releasing hissing steam and George W. Bush, who strides into the polished-metal science lab of the Republican Party, where a three-dimensional hologram of Stephen Harper plays in live-feed.

"Status report," asks Bush tersely.

"Everything running smoothly," chortles Karl Rove, "The fool really believes he's controlling his own actions and thoughts! So does Canada!"

"Soon, our kind will rule and unite North America into one," beholds an awed Bush.

"Well really sir, the Canadian Conservatives are actually more like our Democrats....," cautions Colin Powell.

"SILENCE, FOOL!" snarls Dick Cheney, pounding the trapdoor release button - Colin Powell disappears with a shriek. Again.

"Soon," says Bush, "Soon, we will rule."

None notice the tiny humming noise emanating from Bush's enameled lapel pin....

Meanwhile, in a mysterious location unknown even to your humble narrator, in a cozy executive den, a mysterious mastermind watches George Bush on a tiny LCD screen in his leather chair's armrest.

A young assistant hands a report over - a well-tailored dark-sleeved hand accepts it to ponder over.

"Sir, Operation Brain Control is proceeding precisely as planned. No one has suspected the cerebral-control emitter's existence yet, and Bush continues to mangle words and make disastrous decisions - within 18 months, America will be primed for a 50-state Democratic sweep."

"Wonderful," intones the mastermind, slowly swiveling around in his high-backed leather chair, to reveal himself as Al Gore. "Well done," he says, clicking off the tiny screen, and steepling his fingers thoughtfully. "Proceed as instructed."

"One thing, sir," chips in the assistant, "Sensors indicate the brain control ray-drive is emitting dangerously high levels of CO2..."

"Fuck it," snorts Gore, "Let's fry this bastard."



Anonymous Anonymous said...

*Saskboy evilly chortles as he watches via holoscanner, his android Jason typing out the last letters on the story that will keep the world transfixed*

Friday, March 09, 2007 1:54:00 PM  
Blogger Ross said...

HA, great story

Friday, March 09, 2007 9:30:00 PM  
Blogger RGM said...

Ha! Now *that* is how to do a plot twist at the end!

Saturday, March 10, 2007 12:10:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Too ... many... plot ... twists... brain ... incapable ... of ... computing....

Southernontarioan's metallic brain fries revealing that he is actually a robot. In a secret lair far far away Peter MacKay curses the inventors of such cheap machinery. The harsh cursing causes the hologram of Peter MacKay to flicker as it is incapable of handling such emotions.

Somewhere deep in the middle of the earth Condi Rice stamps her feet angrily as her holographic boytoy loses focus. Stamping her feet excessively hard causes her foot to break off at the ankle revealing the electronic underpinnings to her existance ...

Sunday, March 11, 2007 1:21:00 PM  
Blogger Nicole said...


I thought I had seen at Saskboy's you were jumping on the VAGINA Bandwagon with us!!!???!!

well, you know the saying...All's Fair in Love and VAGINA....

Monday, March 12, 2007 2:32:00 PM  
Blogger Jacques Beau Vert said...

Hurray, SouthernOntarioan is back!

Right - VAGINA. I'm on it, but busy babysitting. Gotta get on it...

Tuesday, March 13, 2007 5:05:00 AM  

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