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Jason Kenney: Supreme Figurehead of the Consolidated Western Petrogarchy of Corporate Welfare
I bought this painting “Jason Kenney: Supreme Figurehead of the Consolidated Western Petrogarchy of Corporate Welfare” from a man who claimed to come from the future. My first question was, “why does this painting look like shit?”. “All the arts funding was cut. When I come from, this is the best you can get” he replied.
I asked him what happened. What sorry circumstances could result in Art being assaulted by such a sorry visage. He told me a tale so visceral, juvenile, and disgusting, that it couldn’t possibly be fiction.
“After the UCP’s ‘trickle down’ budget allowed all profit produced by the province’s world class resource economy to flow upwards at the expense of the approximately 4.37 million Albertan’s that aren’t oil executives, the province was left destitute.
Knowing he was the spiritual heir to a party that got booted from office in part because of its feckless corruption, Kenney was somewhat trepidatious about how to advance his narrow agenda. But asking an Albertan Conservative not to be a shameless paragon of entitlement, arrogance, and incompetence is like asking the bombardier beetle not to expel a dangerous chemical spray out of its anus when threatened. After the UCP fired the elections commissioner and rewrote campaign financing law, Kenney realized he could get away with anything.
That isn’t to say we didn’t fight back. On a frosty February morning Over 20,000 Albertans gathered at the legislature to protest our extremely shitty circumstances. However, right when we were about to storm the building, the doors opened and Kenney appeared. A confused, heavy silence fell over the mob, typically Kenney would make himself scarce during any moment that requires any governance that required anything more than begging Trudeau to fix all our problems.”
“What happened after that?” I inquired.
“What happened after that? Here, I’m from the future. Let me show you.”
From his pocket the man produced what appeared to be a slightly reflective plastic square, about the size of a wallet. I was entranced by the dancing colours that sprang up when he tapped a seemingly invisible button. The colours become sounds and images:
A slightly shaky frame zooms over the heads of countless people onto Kenney, standing at the legislature steps.
His face is red, eyebrows twisted to furry tildes. Then… he turns his back the crowd. Out of sadness? Out of shame? Has Kenney finally allowed himself to witness the selfish chaos of his backward policy? Is a new day to begin?
Nature seems to agree: The sun peaks through ash grey clouds and cast golden light over the hushed mob. The legislature bells begin the Westminster Quarters as the clock strikes twelve to ring in a fresh. But on the final low D a rear-turned Jason Kenney bends over and drops trou. And just like the bombardier beetle, he expels a dangerous chemical spray from his anus onto a crowd of Albertans.
The chaos is punctuated with legislature’s twelve-ringing noon bells.
The acrid orange sprays from his wildrose bumhole, soaking the onlookers with a frothy warm wave
Jason Kenney’s vibrating sphincter lets out a waning pitched squeal as the final gasps meander from his shuddering bummy down the legislature steps
A momentary, shocked silence
A horrible wailing begins from those nearest to Kenney
It gathers to a din
Eyes, lips, cheeks, and chest, break into deadly, caustic rashes
The sound of fingernail in soft flesh as everyone claws at the corrosive irritant coating their bodies
Wet slaps as flesh and muscle slough from bone like the meat from a rib
The wading pool turns a dark, turgid purple. The fountain bursts with crimson plumes of blood and marrow
The once proud and orderly legislature grounds are a stinking, writhing snakepit of exposed flesh coupled with the smell of feces and burnt hair
Kenney reups trou and turns to the crowd
He adjusts his tie and returns inside the legislature with an echoing clang
The screen goes blank.
“After that, things only got worse. Health cuts have turned cities into hotbeds of illness and disease. The braver amongst us have taken up refuge in the orphan gas wells, we know no government official or cleaning crew will ever approach those. Schools have become Sisyphean indoctrination centres for jobs in oil and gas that will never exist. Civic and religious holidays have been replaced with an event where every UCP MLA dresses up like Justin Trudeau, chases you around, and beats the shit out of you while Kenney wrings his hands and says “Justin no. Justin Trudeau! Justin. Justin noooOOooo. Justin Trudeau please.”
“What a horrible vision of the future! Tell me, time traveler, from what year do you hail?”
“The year of 2020”
The painting is about 24x12 and would look great in a child’s bedroom, funeral home, or somehow affixed in the rear window of your Ford F150.