Beer and Groaning on the Campaign Trail ’15
Good night, sweet prince
Hello Dr. Escott, mercifully this will be our last time meeting. I will miss neither your smell, akin to salted composite sprinkled with Chivas Regal, nor will I miss your mannerisms. You have earned my eternal and burning contempt, though I feel I must offer condolences. You have not won the URSU presidential race, and in some cosmic jest, we are worse off for it. If we are breaking this news to you we apologies at this is no longer news: but this is one of the many failings of this industry clawing at the light heaving its final agonal breaths.
So I suppose I’m sorry, though I suppose you are not.
I feel that, if a platform like mine can’t work in Regina, SK (The one place where I have a proven power base), then it’s unlikely to work anywhere else, where I have fewer natural advantages. Such is life, I guess.
Strong words from a strange man. So how do you feel about your loss?
Despondent would best summarize my feelings…though I guess it’s nothing compared to what one of my two long-haired opponents are going to be feeling come Friday. Ho ho.
What will you do now?
The first order of business is to drink. Heavily. Afterwards, I suppose there’s always next year to look forward to. Though I think that, given the nature of this poisonous toad, I’m much happier on the press side of a microphone.
Is there is a future in politics for you, the unique bastard from north of Dewdney?
Oh, sure! You haven’t heard the last of Dr. E, rest assured! My next assignment is to bring communism back to Cuba, full hog. Afterwards, I might see how the provincial election is shaping up. Those poor NDP fuckers need all the help they can get.
Describe your ideal date, not a romantic encounter, but a time of year.
Right around the time of the year where I can drive the Great Silver Shark at 140 m/ph down the most pitted section of Albert St, and soak every poor fucker I pass on the sidewalk with a sheet of filthy melted snow water arching fifty feet out of the wheel well on either side. Romanticism at its finest, Bubba.
Any final words for URSU?
Basically, don’t fuck this up. You’re being given a budget beyond the dreams of King Midas. Don’t give us a cabinet whose collective moral bankruptcies will blow the minds of students for the next 100 years. Mahalo.
Well there you have it, the pissing in the winds by a strange and irreverent bastard. Who was Dr. Escott? Why was he filled with such vitriol and clandestine rage? Perhaps we’ll never know, but I like to think it has something to do with his past dealings as a Liberal Party goon. Regardless, you’re stuck with the goon YOU, or rather most of you, voted for. Enjoy the oncoming year you clowns.