Rob Ford: Queen of Toronto

There are ways of talking to guys like Rob Ford.
Don't say to him: "Look Rob, we're stripping away your powers."
If you do that, he'll jump over tables and bowl over little old ladies to lay a whoopass on a lefty pinko swine in the audience.
And he'll declare himself and his brother Doug a country state and declare you Saddam Hussein. To which you should be worried. Look what happened to Saddam!
No, what they should have done was accentuate the positive.
Tell Rob Ford he's gotten a promotion and that now he is, officially, the head of state.
That means he can sit in the back of a limo drinking Lemoncello with Danny DeVito whom he will meet at the Toronto International Film Festival. He can talk on his cellphone in an unlimited fashion and wear whatever fancy togs he wants.
Argo uniforms included.
That's right, Rob.
You are Head of State with no official powers.
In effect, you are the Queen of Toronto.
Go to everything. Talk to everybody. Eat whatever you want.
And we'll even set you up in Casa Loma which will be stocked with hooch and blow.
We'll give you a driver who will discretely bring you pussy.
Keep him loaded up but always keep a syringe loaded with heroine handy.
Problem solved.
I'm here anytime.


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