We see you Canucks, WE. SEE. YOU. … all … “True patriot love in all thy sons command. With glowing hearts we see thee rise, The True North strong and French words French words Sacrebleu!” Don’t get me wrong! We adore your cute little Mounties, your moose, and Celine Dion. We thank you for watching over the polar bears, the precious way you mispronounce about, and for inventing everyone’s favorite: Poutine. But … for years … AND YEARS … we have taken in your vagrants. You force-fed us Kim Cattrall, Drake, William Shatner, and Avril Lavigne. It has been a long, wild, maple leafed road; but we simply cannot take any more Justin Trudeau.
Hearts were all a flutter this week when the Canadian Prime Minister Justin appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine. He stares out at us like some piercing blue eyed Jesus squeezed into the world’s greatest fitting white dress shirt with shirtsleeves rolled up because of course they are. It looks as if he has casually backed into a table that he grips with his manly yet delicate hands, careful to showcase his wedding ring. The room in the background is wood-paneled and masculine, it’s the sexiest thing America has seen since 1991 when Brad Pitt showed us his abs in Thelma & Louise. The caption for the photo reads, “Why can’t he be our president?”
Oh, America. You big dumb baby. For starters a person named Justin shouldn’t be in charge of anything outside a frat house. He can’t be our president because he isn’t American, jackass, please someone turn on Rachel Maddow and learn something.
Here’s some shocking and new information: a recent poll found Justin had a higher favorability rating among Americans (nay all people of planet Earth) than Trump. The 45-year-old Prime Minister is everything most Americans wanted but did not vote for … a self-declared feminist, with a Cabinet comprised of mostly women and minorities, who embraces refugees, apologizes for colonial injustices, openly discusses steps to deal with the opioid crisis, works to support and defend the middle class, champions the relationship between the press and government, and defends multiculturalism. Thanks middle-aged white ladies, thanks a lot.
On the surface it might appear that Justin is indeed everything The Great Cheeto is not: youthful with a majestic dark wig the color of something found in nature, liberal, charismatic, empathetic, with a jaunty gait and dead sexy in well fitting dress pants complete with an ass that almost makes one believe in God.
BUT! If we look a little closer past the pushups, running shorts, and second rate Barack Obama impersonation the blemishes come into view.
Justin is not the common pulled up by the bootstraps downhome liberal farm boy of your wet dreams. He is a manor born scion, the son of Pierre Trudeau a 15-year prime minister who is still considered Canada’s iconic 20th Century man. His own people see him as a mimbo, a sort of modern dauphin, who traveled the world with his father as a child … practically as a member of the prime minister’s official envoy. He’s married to a woman who looks like a supermodel, and he likes himself A LOT and has been caught babbling about his personal destiny on more than one occasion.
You’re probably imagining him trotting across the globe handing out memberships to the Sierra Club while opining the merits of the Paris Environmental Accords. While he does apparently love eco-friendly initiatives the sheer size of Canada makes it as much of a slave to fossil fuel as the United States of America … in both usage and trade. The messy North Dakota oil fields are no match for the Alberta oil sands where the countryside, under his direction, are as ravaged and cratered as Afghanistan.
Justin continues to pursue the creation of new pipelines and has insisted that his nation dredge up the estimated 173 billion barrels of oil that lie beneath it. This is all part of an attempt to compete for a piece of the Asian markets while freeing themselves from the clutches of the evil American Empire.
One American environmental activist put it this way, “Canada, which represents one-half of one percent of the planet’s population, is claiming the right to sell the oil that will use up one third of the Earth’s remaining carbon budget. Trump is a creep and a danger and unpleasant to look at, but at least he’s not a stunning hypocrite like Justin Trudeau.”
While that last bit is definitely debatable, it is becoming alarmingly clear that the greatest thing Justin has done for any of us is take Ivanka to see a terrible Canadian Broadway Musical. The smoke from the dumpster fire that is American politics is certainly thick at the moment, but it cannot hide Justin’s use of our celebrity making machinery to puff up his mythology on the global political stage.
He is a very powerful public relations coup for Canada and the whole world is definitely watching this steaming pile of hot political erotica. Everyone is buying up the magazines, t-shirts, and souvenir posters, and who can blame them? His perfect eyebrows, strong jawline, and chiseled abs are the exact distraction necessary to escape from the racist cesspool that is Trump’s America.
But do not fret, there’s no need to worry. Go right ahead and gobble up every last bit of him. Enjoy the pictures of him holding pandas, doing yoga in cabinet meetings, and running wild through Ottawa. It doesn’t feel like it now, but there will come a day when The Great Cheeto, Jefferson Sessions, Kellyanne Conway, Sarah Huckabee Sanders and the rest of the Russian Mafia will all be a thing of the past … and Canada will still be … well … Canada.
Yeah, Canucks, we see you. If you’re making us keep Justin Bieber, you’ve got to come and get this one. Go on out of my yard, Justin Trudeau … we through.