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MINISTER OF HEALTH TYLER SHANDRO

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This painting is a depiction of the time I went to a closed door meeting the UCP held in order to justify their inhumane cuts to healthcare. Among the cuts was the possibility of privatizing “limited value” procedures. Ever savvy with public relations, the party had a slam dunk response to the legions of doctors, patients, and other humans with “empathy” (whatever that is) that have taken umbrage to their ridiculous bullsh*t.

 

 

Of course, there were no doctors present. Instead, the room was packed to a shuffling horizon with lopsided ham faces and the gummy smirks only Young Conservatives are capable of producing. A disembodied voice announced to the hushed crowd: “to prove the limited value of services are being cut, Tyler Shandro has willingly subjected himself to each accordant malady.”

 

From stage left two knobby kneed vassals drag Tyler Shandro out on a rug into the hot white spotlight.

 

“And as you can see, even without procedures addressing these so called ‘health issues’, he is thrifty, flirty & thriving.”

Tyler Shandro is gurgling atop a crop of hemorrhoids blossoming in loose ringlets around his anus. His mangy hands are gnarled by carpal tunnel, digits frozen into inelastic crooks via trigger finger. Unable to get breast reduction surgery, he has back problems and six filthy unkempt titties.  Without tubal ligation and impregnated by Kenney’s vile seed, he has birthed a mewling spawn of teacup Jeff Callaways. Little pink meatballs wandering around wrinkled and blind. They were born starving from the windswept inhospitability of Shandro’s craven womb and adorably begin suckling up the pockets of Cheeto dust in his benign skin lesions. Awwwww.

 

One by one the pasty faces and ill-fitting suits rise in applause. They gather in momentum, “Shandro! Shandro!” the walls quake and the lights flicker. In raucous monochromatic strobe he is hoisted into the air on his pus stained rug. Li’l Callaways toss about like popcorn kernels as Tyler Shando is heaved upwards once, twice, thrice. His eyes glaze over and his nose falls off. It’s f*cking disgusting.

 

I tried to take some pictures, but Jason Nixon slapped my LG Chocolate out of my hands with his meaty hooves. Luckily, I have a flawless memory and photorealistic painting skills. Own a piece of Albertan history. It’s 4ft x 5ft and will look great above the futon you’ll have to convert into a moldering multi-person sick bed for your elderly family, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory style, yeehaw. Make me an offer.