JASON KENNEY RIDING A DEAD HORSE LIKE A SURFBOARD ON THE SECOND WAVE INTO A BEACH MADE OF SKELETONS
If Kenney hits 88mph his big ol’ dick will complete a full counter clockwise spin and the rudderless, hemorrhaging tanker that is the Albertan economy will be transported back to 2007 when things were booming and we didn’t have to use finger quotes when we talked about the oil and gas “industry”. The horse was given to Kenney as a Christmas gift from environment minister Jason Nixon, who murdered it in 2011 with nothing but his big meaty hands and the gun they were holding.
Some critical historical context for the painting: Today (June 15) Tyler Shandro, the minister of health, whose resume includes outsourcing the distribution of critical medical resources to the underpaid staff of fast food chains and looking like a child scrawled a tiny face into a blanched hodgsonia, ended the state of public health emergency in Alberta. We’re in the wet midst of the phase two relaunch, and the second wave is shaping up to be tubular*.
Kenney has been prepping for this eventuality by taking the ol’ horse out to the myriad tailings ponds and riding the waves kicked up by roiling summer storms. He can do this because while we may be allowed to wear masks and do hand stuff with complete strangers in the bathrooms of instrumental dronecore basement shows (the band itself is already fifty people), it’s still apparently too soon in the pandemic to require oil and gas companies to even pretend they give a sh*t and monitor the environmental impacts of their projects.
If that sounds stupid to you, consider that it is happening for one of two reasons.
1) This is the only way Kenney can shred the sick waves of a tailings pond unmonitered in preparation for his one last shot at salvaging a doomed province
2) The UCP is a self-fellating inbred braindead rat-king hivemind whose only governing dictum is “come f*ck us”.
You pick. It’s like one of those Life of Pi things where you can choose between a fantasy world lush with hope, sashimi, and sex with a tiger who has the name and soul of a human man (I never read life of Pi), or the dull, casual brutality of reality. If the latter option feels overwrought and melodramatic, consider that it’s taken like 400 years to get a point where society is seriously questioning the wisdom of paying faded high school jocks billions of dollars to beat up and murder brown people like a sadistic make work project for the idiot sons of suburbia. Maybe it is as bad as they say it is. Maybe that French chef DID eat our mom.
The painting is 3ft x 3ft, acrylic on canvas. Make me an offer, all proceeds will be donated. If you stare at his hypnotic and pendulous wiener long enough, you can see into the future.
*a mass death event