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Jason Kenney Scuttles Back to Ottawa in the Bronzed Rippling Arms of Justin Trudeau
This is a painting of Jason Kenney scuttling back to Ottawa in the bronzed rippling arms of daddy Justin Trudeau. They are an unlikely pair. One, a feckless power-hungry mouthpiece for corporate welfare, the other, a Jason Kenney. In his own special way, Justin been there all along. Absorbing two years’ of criticism and blame like mithril while Kenney dotters around ruining everything for everyone.
Kenney is at the precipice of a crumbling empire. Years shy of completing a full term, he is continuing the grand tradition set by Prentice, Redford, and Stelmach. And soon it will be time to return to the beige palace of colonialism on parliament hill from whence he came.
There was already the first telltale legislature suspension. Without even an online substitute, was Kenney giving the UCP the ol’ “you can’t fire me if you can’t see me” or was it because we’ll see the inside of his Sky Palace bedroom is cluttered with golden busts of Jesus weeping blood and drapes made of human skin?
The suspension wasn’t enough to quell the high-pitched self-indulgent victimization that forms the flutey backbone of the UCP’s big tent. It hit such a frothy brown note that Kenney had to boot the sentient ventriloquist dummy Todd Loewen and his shitty buddy Drew Barnes from the UCP caucus. Is it because of the government coordinated assault on the healthcare system? In the middle of the pandemic? Hospitals? In their ridings? Are overrun? Nonononono, it’s because Kenney’s flaccid demand that they affix a thin slab of fabric over their dry, dry lips and yellowed teeth infringes on their fundamental right to launch viral loads into the mouths and eyes of the electorate and children.
As the party fractures under Kenney the province risks a return to brutal NDP socialism. The corporate tax rate will return to a vertiginous 10%, the lowest in the country. Minimum wage will skyrocket back to $15. Where’s McDonalds’ “Alberta advantage” if it has to pay its workers not even a living wage? Hegh? HEGH? And hard-earned tax dollars funneled into private pipeline projects under the guise of the “public good”. Get fucked pinko, not under my watch.
If Kenney doesn’t disappear into the sunset as depicted, he’ll get swallowed up like Scar at the end of The Lion King, except like… none of the musical numbers along the way, just a wheezy li’l rodeo. Soon enough it’ll be time to install a new premier the same way Kenney cheated his way to leadership with the kamikaze help of Jeff Callaway. Callaway, who was such a dispensable piece of garbage they named him after a knock-off Flintstones themed amusement park on the outskirts of Calgary.
A different goldenboy will be “voted” king shit with the help of some electorally fraudulent meatpile lacky named Johnny W. Galaxyland (the W stands for Wexit). Like the turning of seasons, a rotting pumpkins toothy grin turned to stinky grimace, the way that unwashed towels slowly turn sandpapery, the cycle continues.
Alberta insists Conservatives are its natural governing party in the same way that, as a lanky pubescent teen, I insisted I could still ride the Dragon Wagon at WEM’s Galaxyland. It was a medieval, rickety, ancient construction that just went in fucking circles. My knobby knees got wedged in the safety bar and Cosmo had to come and pry me out with levers, ramps, and lube. I was lucky to survive. It was a roller coaster related disaster second only to that time the Mindbender killed all those people.
But I digress. There is nothing unnatural about this process. Our premier’s work is finished. He sold the mountains, gave billions in tax breaks to corporations that have unequivocally proven they don’t care about our jobs or lives, and then other, different, billions of public money to those very same fuckos. And now, he nestles into Justin Trudeau’s hamhock biceps, abdominals tense and engorged, pectorals jacked with bosomesque roundness as he slouches back to Ottawa.
3f4 x 4ft
Acrylic on canvas