This weekend I infiltrated one of the most secretive and elusive of movements — the NDP. I entered their underground assembly through a disused air duct and emerged smack in the middle of a throng of wild-eyed radicals bent on destroying the Canada that we know and love.
I have spent a lot of time undercover. My second Feline Pulitzer was awarded for infiltrating a catnip smuggling ring. I pretended to chase my tail so much that I developed an inner ear problem. This devotion to the story served me well at the NDP convention, where the sect’s followers eventually took me as one of their own.
However, breaking through their well-cultivated suspicion was difficult. Some noticed when I neglected to drink any of the orange Kool-Aid that was being circulated among the true believers. I had to use all my feline charms to persuade them to trust me. I am not proud of this fact, but I even feigned interest in a string that one of them waved in front of me.
All of this, dear readers, to bring you the story of their new potentate, selected from among them through a long and harrowing ritual involving mass-hysteria, speaking in tongues, and the bloody sacrifice of at least one pigeon. Thomas Mulcair, known to devotees as the Great Bearded One, promises his followers that which they most desire — absolute power! They will stop at nothing to topple the democratically elected, flawless leadership of the Right Honourable Stephen Harper, promising to cover 24 Sussex in their preferred gaudy shade of orange once they do.
More than merely presenting a threat to the nation’s sense of colour balance, these fanatics will stop at nothing to steal children away from their own mothers, sending them to nationalized daycares to indoctrinate them with their dangerous socialist ideology of “sharing,” “equality,” and “love.” With their twisted logic, they would tax job creators into poverty, even though everyone knows that taxing the poor creates a disincentive to being poor. And, if they are unopposed in their bid to seize power, they will force freedom loving Canadians from their beloved automobiles, herding them into the overblown cattle cars known as buses and subways.
At this point you may find yourself asking, “But how could they be so inhuman?” The answer: most simply aren’t human. They are French.
So if you love freedom, want to protect your children, and believe in the sacred right to sit, unencumbered and alone, in your car for two hours a day, then join me in rising up against this abomination.
And just remember — steer clear of the orange Kool-Aid.