The Winter of My Discontent

  

                                        

 

For the most optimistic amongst us, winter has waned but in the words of the eloquent Sarah Palin, it still rears its head in our airspace from time to time. Nevertheless, it has been a glorious eight months of snow, bitter cold, and savage hurricanes during which the political class has, for the most part, taken to their lairs beneath Confederation Building and left us alone in our misery and misfortune. Not a peep from any of them for months (except for Dr. Dale threatening to disembowel himself). Thank God for small mercies.

     Yet, this winter has been an especially cruel season, made worse by the cold-blooded politicians intent on sucking every last dollar from its starving citizenry. Jack Frost has been at his most vindictive towards seniors like ourselves. The pleasures of a sunny week of banana daiquiris and burnt flesh in the equatorial regions have now become a wishful fantasy.

     With the criminally high gas tax, we can't afford even a day trip to the Avalon Mall, a few blocks away, where we spent so many happy winter days during the reign of He-Who-Is-Without-Sin Danny. So, here we sit in our frozen living room, wrapped in caribou skin parkas, yearning for those lazy hazy two days of summer in the doldrums of August.

     A week ago, though, in a rare one-day respite between blizzards, I set out to replenish our bare pantry. I parked my dilapidated 2002 Toyota Corolla on the Dominion parking lot up on Blackmarch to scrounge for food in the large garbage bins behind the store--one can stretch the mediocre senior's income supplement to untold heights of luxury with a little initiative.

     I have also been researching on the internet, certain methods of sucking power from the Newfoundland Hydro transformer in our backyard. Better-half, who is blessed with more Christain tendencies, refuses to engage in such practices despite my warning that we may wind up as street people on Duckworth.

     Such furtive activity is not without risk, as I recently learned to my great chagrin. I was congratulating myself on my latest midnight sojourn to Dominion when, on returning to my vehicular transport, laden with buckets of beef bones, Maple Leaf baloney bits, and unopened bags of Five Roses flour, I noticed two individuals dressed in black, attacking the front end of my Toyota. They ran off as I approached but I could clearly identify one individual as tall and lanky, just like Jimmy Stewart with a large chin. The other screamed obscenities liberally like a demented librarian.

     I suspected immediately that they must be government undercover operatives, intent on my destruction. How did they know my location, I wondered. And then the realization that they must have tapped my wires. Sad (or sick) people!

     On my return to our modest dwelling, I related the entire sorry episode to better-half, pointing to the mangled fender of my Toyota as proof. "They're out to get me," I said.

     "Just who do you think 'they' are?" she responded.

     "They are the ones who are out to get me," I said.

     I suspected she had read Catch 22.

     With her unalterable faith in the goodness of humanity, she allowed that I had made up the whole story and perhaps I needed psychiatric care. Be that as it may, she then cheered me up with the latest political fodder from the CBC evening news.

     There was an update on the whereabouts of the fake premier and his phony cabinet ministers. Last week, Duh-wite was spotted in West Palm Beach--golfing with Trump.

     "Worst premier in history (golfing also)," tweeted Trump. "Sad! Go back to Bally Haley."

     She then told me that RS from MP had left a message on my iPhone: "Where the hell have you been?" he said. "I thought they'd vaporized you for sure this time. I've been trying to reach you for months. I can't say much. Big Eddie is on my tail all the time. A big scandal is brewing. Some members of cabinet have spent their free time attending 'industry' conferences in exotic places like Beijing, Mexico City, and Oslo, Norway, at taxpayer expense. Eat your heart out, you poor bugger. High flyers like Codfish Crocker, Double Dipper Byrne, and Al (The Pirate) Hawkins racked up, between them, over $100,000 in travel in the last six months of 2016."

     The great Will Rogers once made an observation on the high cost of sending politicians overseas. "It might have been worth it," he said, "except they keep coming back."

     

   

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