Thanks to Frank, we're finally getting our pulse back

The scandals in Ottawa have done one positive thing.

They have gotten people to pay attention to politics again.
Until two weeks ago, I hadn't watched a single episode of Power Play -- boy, that Don Martin is a laugh riot. He reminds me of Jon Lovitz.

We've got a crisis, here, see? says Opera Man through his clenched teeth. A Goddamned crisis!

Gallery members must be having a field day, raking in the cash as they ping pong from political show to politic show. (CRA take note!)
And the best news of all is that, thanks to Duffy, Frank magazine is coming back again.
Gosh, how I've missed Frank.

An honorable member, no, no!

It's another place the Gallery makes money by feeding gossipy stories without attribution about slimy people they deplore. Some of the big media stars in Ottawa built themselves some pretty nice piles in Rockcliffe on the residuals from Frank.
Not!
They probably made enough money to feed the meters leaking to Frank, but money's not everything. Revenge has the sweetest taste of all.
What will be in the first issue?
The Puffster will return, no doubt, and will be better than ever. It's one of those cruel jokes, you know, if you've been around Ottawa as long as Duffy has. People have long memories here -- and even longer knives -- and I'm sure the bean counters and scribes at CBC and CTV will be lining up to air his plus size dirty laundry.
There will be Harperland (Crime Minister Hairpiece, surely!)  stories galore fed by disgrunted 'crats who have spent more time polishing their resumes than doing any serious work since Tony the Tuna landed in Treasury Board. And I can't wait for the stories from the Senate from staffers who are now accessories after the fact, to big-haired I Love Lucy look-a-likes from the prairies and Lebanese country-loving, city-living slickers who have been padding their bank accounts for years.
What were those expenses for anyway? Frank will ask. Layovers in Toronto or legovers?

Bwahahahaha.

Whistleblowers will come out of the woodwork.
And I can hardly wait til Michael Bates turns his x-ray vision on the Gallery whose members have had a free pass for over a decade now.
Ottawa isn't Vegas. What happens in Ottawa doesn't stay in Ottawa.
It ends up in Frank.
Thanks to Frank, we're finally getting our pulse back.