Photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net (naypong)
Stephen Harper rose in the House of Commons (yes, he was actually there!) yesterday looking like the whitest man in Canada. The pallor of his cheeks matched the color of his hairpiece and he was all droopy eyed.

Doesn't seem like all that travel is agreeing with him. Or maybe Mike Duffy's lawyer made the blood drain from his earthen cheeks. In any event, Harper looked like a bag of warmed over dog feces yesterday.

I haven't watched QP in years because it's stupid, ridiculous and pointless. But I couldn't resist after watching Don Bayne rub the lotion all over the skin of Stephen Harper to make it easier to peel off. I know Don Bayne only slightly. His criminal office represented my son when he got caught in a five finger discount at Walmart. Now, I suppose the firm is becoming a little more uptown, defending murderers and Senators.

Harper managed to stonewall the House until everybody's eyes started to bleed. Then he threw to his new sidekick, Paul Calandra, the former insurance salesman from the GTA who delighted himself and the moo cows in the back row with his Insult Comic routine. It was seriously pathetic to watch.

So now I suspect we'll be in for weeks and weeks of Duffyleaks as Bayne releases an email a day as evidence that PMO staffers have been watching too much Breaking Bad of late. I'm just waiting for Crime Minister Hairpiece to take off the rug and cover his bald head with a porkpie fedora.

Secrets. So many secrets.

But are there any teaching moments emanating from the steaming pile that used to house the Senate of Canada?

First, quite obviously, political parties should refrain from appointing journalists to anything. Journalists who agree to join political parties are just the same as floor-crossing politicians. Both are detested by their former colleagues who see them as turncoats. And both are so needy and wanting to be loved by their new friends that they will do anything to get their face in front of an audience -- as long as somebody else pays for it.

On the other side, a journalist is foolish to believe the new side has his or her back. Politicians hate journalists, even smarmy ones like Old Duff, and only woo them to shut them up. And when they don't shut up, they throw them under the campaign bus so fast, the steam comes off the treadmarks.

And what about that Nigel Wrong guy? Whatever happened to him? Did he move to the Caymans or is his body buried out in Navan somewhere under an RV? Why hasn't the crack team from CTV got their exclusive interview with the Running Man? Sending Danielle chasing him at 4 a.m. for a twenty second clip didn't count!

We, the taxpayers, want Nigel Wrong to sit his ass down in a studio and fess up. Don't make us wait for the jail house interview!

Oh well, it's nice to see that there's still some fight in the Old Duff. He might not be going to any fancy restaurants, having to settle instead for the early bird at Denny's. And he might be taking the Greyhound up to a borrowed cottage in the Haliburtons instead of sunning his cheeks on a Princess Cruise.

The old codger has got to be seriously pissed, and any of us who know the Duffster know one thing.

If his ship is going to the bottom, Captain Duffy will be taking his crew along for the long swim.

It's not over until the seriously ill and overweight man sings.



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