50% Finished and 100% Insane

Dispatch #11: Why Did I Agree to Do This? (And Who Let Me?)

Why did I agree to this? And who exactly did I make this deal with—my audience of five? Future readers? The gremlin in my brain that pretends this counts as “writing”?

A sense of accomplishment? For live-blogging the 2025 federal election from my couch like a political Twitch streamer?

Like Destiny?!

Jesus.

Sure. Let’s go with that. Happy halfway mark, I guess.

This isn’t real journalism—I’m not waking up at 5 a.m. to chase candidates through a Tim Hortons lot while they mumble about housing and peek at their polling crosstabs.

I’m working from home and banging these out whenever the hell I feel like it. But at some point, I realized—even if no one reads them, or gives up after paragraph three—I couldn’t give up.

There’s a book here! Face Down, Elbow Up: Dispatches from the 45th Canadian Election. Hell, maybe you’re reading it right now—long after the blog was paywalled and I sold out for a free Substack hoodie.

Consider yourself lucky—or cursed—if you’re one of the OGs.

Anyway. This goddamn election. I guess I should get on with it, eh? Nanos says the Conservatives are gaining—but Ontario’s redder than a cottage country cock on May Two-Four.

And who actually believes these polls? Quebec’s rallying behind a Liberal leader who barely speaks the language? I suppose the Trump Factor has tossed a MAGA wrench into our politely collapsing system.

But suppose the polls are dogshit and Carney’s popularity is just a media-led circus.

Suppose Canadians are voting on issues for once. Trump’s just static—buried under housing, groceries, and whatever’s going on downtown.

Which means Poilievre might win. Then what?

Three Strikes, You’re Out

Poilievre came out swinging with a U.S.-style anti-crime proposal: break the law three times, and the third one hits like a hammer—held by Gorilla Fingers ready to conduct a full cavity search after his part-time gig as bouncer at the Kawartha Rotary Ribfest.

Say I steal a car. Serious felony, sure—but this is Canada, so by noon I’m back at that sketchy Boston Pizza where the bathroom’s always “out of order.” Then I do it again. And again. And again.

Not exactly a stretch, considering how many people have boosted a Civic on bail and made it to Sudbury before lunch and gotten themselves a shawarma.

Under “three strikes,” the third time I boost a Honda, it’s 10 years in the clink—no bail, no parole, just me and a cellmate who thinks he’s Jesus and sells prison vodka made from potatoes distilled from our communal cell toilet.

I might also get branded “dangerous”—which means I may never walk free again. Just rot in a jumpsuit while Poilievre slaps “Mission Accomplished” on a billboard—right between overdose stats and a Bell “Let’s Talk” ad.

Also: life sentences for gun violence and fentanyl trafficking, because nothing says deterrence like permanent taxpayer housing.

Would this have stopped the 2022 Saskatchewan stabbings, like Poilievre claims? Yeah. Probably. But so would have a magic mushroom trip and a few more cops who actually read parole reports instead of Googling “affordable hot tubs.”

But why should taxpayers—including the victims—foot the bill for three meals a day and a concrete nap pad?

Put ‘em to work on farms! You’ve got hundreds of guys in jumpsuits—why are we still importing food from America?

Or just have them dig ditches and fill them back in. Pointless work—makes 'em question reality. And soil composition.

The punishment for murder can’t just be room and board—even if the room’s a concrete shoebox, the food’s microwaved grey mush, and “recreation time” includes a complimentary stabbing and an unrated real-life version of The Shawshank Redemption.

Punishment should be the polite-Canadian Gulag™. Frostbite while paving the Northern Corridor in February, smiling politely for social media between hypothermic shivers and passive-aggressive whispers.

Surely we can strike a balance between California yoga-pose policing and Soviet-style “dig until you die” jurisprudence.

We can compromise.

Either way, it’s a slam dunk with right-leaning voters—most of whom already assumed this was law and thought the Liberals just refused to enforce it.

It’s one of those rare issues where both sides have a point. You can’t pussyfoot around hardened criminals. Some people are just assholes—and always will be.

And if you don’t believe me, ride the Toronto Subway.

That said, some assholes get cornholed—and come out changed. Rehab might work. So would six months mining lithium in the Ontario Ring of Fire while a guy named Gord yells at you in Cree and Nickelback’s “Photograph” plays on loop.

That’s why my plan is the best of both worlds: healing herbs for the liberals, and chain gangs for the conservatives. Everyone suffers. Everyone wins.

The real danger? Turning prisons into profit farms. Do your time, pay your debt. And if no one got hurt? That’s not a crime—it’s just poorly branded entrepreneurship.

Poilievre’s the type to jack up prison numbers and auction off inmates like surplus snowmobiles.

Meanwhile, Carney, the Libs, the NDP, the Greens—hell, all of them—refuse to admit some people are just irredeemable bastards with an X account and a crypto referral link in their bio.

Hence, my proposal. It also solves the drug dealer issue. And unemployment. And the “Criminal Tourism” problem.

War on Drugs is a War on People

“The war on drugs is a war on people.” No idea who said it first—probably someone stoned and correct.

But that’s modern politics: no one’s giving up entrenched interests unless they come with a six-figure board seat and a swag bag from RBC.

Conservatives are still mad Trudeau legalized weed. Meanwhile, most Canadians list it as his only meaningful accomplishment—right after “nice socks” and “being memeable” for his classic blackface cosplay collection—available now as a Heritage Minute.

Whatever your vibe on weed, tossing people in a cage for carrying a plant was peak stupid. And jailing folks for slinging dime bags to willing customers? That’s just Walmart with handcuffs.

But Justin’s weed “legalization” was a corporate smash-and-grab. He didn’t liberate BC Bud—he just put a Roots logo on it and handed it to some guy named Chuck who lives in Ontario.

Meanwhile, legacy growers are still getting raided like it’s 1999 and Julie Payette is an astronaut instead a verbally abusive former Governor General.

I know—I was there. There’s a book in it: Fear and Loathing in BC Bud. Give me another decade to detox from it all. Imagine working with real-life Trailer Park Boys, but instead of Ricky you’ve got a guy named Jason who thinks Health Canada is both a psyop and a penthouse Shangri-la.

Meanwhile, Poilievre wants to flex federal muscle on overdose prevention sites. Ban “pro-drug” groups. Downsize the addiction bureaucracy. Basically: more fentanyl, fewer forms.

He also wants to sue Big Pharma—because nothing says “fiscally responsible” like picking a fight with lawyers who bill by the minute. But hey, it polls well. Just like every other corporate-friendly slogan glued to a candidate like a NASCAR decal.

Suing pharma giants sounds tough, but it’s like blaming forks for obesity. Drugs aren’t a magic evil. But unpacking that mule takes a thousand words, basic neuroscience, and at least one Dr. Hart TED Talk.

Hopefully, they’ll settle out of court—saving taxpayers, skipping the courtroom theatre, and funding whatever half-baked “Recovery Plan” Poilievre copy-pasted from the Alberta UCP Dropbox at 2 a.m. while drunk on Kokanee, eating ketchup chips and watching old clips of Stockwell Day on YouTube.

In the meantime—drugs can enhance life. Conservatives, Liberals, centrists, weirdos, homesteaders, gym bros: read Dr. Carl Hart’s Drug Use for Grown-Ups. Then take a microdose, touch grass, and stop calling everything “harm reduction” when it’s just tire rotation and oil changes.

You can’t ban your way out of drug use. But you can brand it, tax it, and sell it back with a government disclaimer, a corporate logo, and a QR code for 25% off your next purchase.

Remember: drugs won’t fix you. They just make the news cycle more tolerable.

What Even Is the NDP?

Speaking of acting like adults—what the hell is going on with the NDP?

If the polls aren’t total fiction, the NDP is collapsing in key battlegrounds—even in B.C., their emotional support province.

Voters are fleeing to the Liberals out of pure, uncut fear. “Canada First” sounds too much like “America First,” and the Conservative-Republican crossover is starting to look like a match made in Mar-a-Lago.

Sorry, Jagmeet—you should’ve pulled the plug on this clown parade while you still had leverage. The lesson’s older than the NDP itself: once the writ drops, voters nuke the third-party kingmaker fantasy like it owes them rent.

Progressives are rallying behind Carney as a strategy. Just like I’ll probably vote Conservative—also as a strategy. Not a good one—but at least it’s an ethos.

And not because I want to—God, no. I just can’t stomach the current Green Party, and I break out in hives every time I see a Liberal lawn sign.

I also like guns.

Plus, I live in an NDP-safe riding. Honestly, it’d be hilarious if the Cons won it. I’m voting for the memes—and because if voting actually changed anything, it’d be behind a paywall or demonetized on YouTube.

Anyway—maybe I should actually mention something the NDP stands for, instead of roasting them every other dispatch.

Jagmeet Singh’s big national push? “Corporate tax fairness.” Which sounds like a PowerPoint you’re forced to watch during a wellness seminar in HR hell.

Singh wants to rewrite the Income Tax Act to close loopholes that let big corporations avoid paying taxes, which sounds great until you remember loopholes are Canada’s largest GDP contributor.

This is why the NDP never win.

These loopholes are the glue holding the whole charade together. The masses cheer when politicians demand the rich “pay their fair share”—and then watch the bill land on the shrinking middle class.

The rich will always find loopholes. Hire a tax lawyer, call it a day. Even if you close every one of them, you just push corporations offshore—and wreck whatever’s left of your own economy in the process.

May I suggest a better NDP solution? A platform that will someday resonate with Canadians while staying true to your core?

For every province, city, town, church, tribe, vanlife compound, and TikTok commune—let them be.

To each their own. Canada is a patchwork of misfits, micro-nations, and guys named Brent who brew beer in their garages.

So? Gut taxes by like, 97%.

The feds have two jobs: keep the peace (don’t steal or murder) and guard the borders. Rebuild the military with good-paying Union-sector Jobs and call it democratic socialism.

Do that, and watch the votes trickle in. Slowly. Quietly. Reluctantly.

But they’ll come. You know they will.

Ruth Ellen Brosseau: The NDP’s Last Working Memory

Ruuuth “Vegas Girl” Broooosseauuuuuuu is BACK.

In 2011, she was a single mom and bartender at Carleton when the NDP air-dropped her into Berthier–Maskinongé like an electoral care package.

She didn’t campaign, didn’t speak French, and spent part of the campaign in Vegas for her 27th birthday. The media called her “Vegas Girl,” and somehow, she didn’t become a meme—she became an MP.

2011 was the year the Liberal vote collapsed, and Jack Layton’s NDP surfed into Quebec on the so-called “Orange Wave”—a wave no one expected, and even fewer could explain without a chalkboard and several vodka drinks.

He sings the songs that remind him of the good times…

Ruth ousted a three-term Bloc MP with nearly 40% of the vote. Eventually, she learned French fluently—and climbed the party ladder, one agriculture subcommittee at a time.

She went on to become deputy critic for agriculture, caucus vice-chair, and even House Leader under Jagmeet Singh—basically the NDP’s version of being handed a hardhat and a clipboard.

But her biggest claim to fame? Getting elbowed by Justin Trudeau. She handled it with more class than most MPs handle Question Period.

“Elbows up!”

She lost her seat in 2019 and again in 2021—but she’s back for 2025, same riding, new urgency. With prices spiking and Trump looming over trade, she says she “couldn’t sit on my hands and do nothing.”

I mean—good for her. No notes. If anyone deserves to throw elbows in the House this time, it’s her and I hope she breaks a rib.

I’m just counting down the days until this whole electoral theatre wraps up and we all pretend we didn’t vote with stomach acid clawing up our esophagus like last night’s midnight beer.

We’re halfway there. Face down, elbow up.