Sugar, Spice, and $40 Billion in Deficits

Dispatch #16: Promises in the Dark, Regret in the Morning

I’m not for invoking new laws and rules, but I might make an exception here. A fully costed platform should be required to participate in the English and French debates.

Otherwise, it's just televised wishful thinking. Imagine showing up at the bank without numbers, asking for a loan based solely on charisma and good intentions. Actually, don't imagine—that's exactly how government budgets already work.

Debating without costed platforms is like speed dating without photos: everyone’s making promises, but you have no idea what you're getting until it's too late.

Instead, we get the Liberal and NDP platforms after the debates—like reading someone’s Tinder bio after you’ve already woken up in their bed.

Still no word from the Conservatives—but with the election just a week Monday, I’m sure they’ll drop their platform any minute now. Nothing says 'responsible governance' like last-minute homework.

So let’s peek inside the campaign gift baskets—spoiler: it’s mostly IOUs.

The NDP's platform pledges spending (sorry, "investments") on healthcare, affordable housing, and climate action. It reads like a kid's Christmas wishlist—if Santa was a divorced boomer drunk on boxed wine, racking up debt on credit cards taken out in their grandkids' name while lecturing them about financial responsibility.

Meanwhile, the Liberals are doing their usual interpretive dance around numbers. They’re promising middle-class tax cuts, more spending on childcare and education, and yet another climate action plan they swear will balance economic growth with environmental responsibility.

Sure—just like my weight-loss clinic that serves cheesecake by the slice.

It's the Liberal sweet spot: offering just enough shiny hope to make you forget the dumpster fire of the last ten years, along with the annual fairy tale about "modest" deficits that'll magically turn into balanced budgets by decade's end.

This is not fiscal policy. It’s your deadbeat friend promising he'll pay you back "next payday."

At this point, believing Liberal budget promises is like trusting the pull-out method—it might sound convincing, but someone's getting fucked.

Believing the NDP’s numbers is like believing the OnlyFans creator you give half your income to really likes you. Sure, it’s comforting, but we all know how it ends.

The NDP platform is a fiscal gangbang: no lube, no consent, and a whole lot of sobbing taxpayers.

And the Conservative soon-to-be-released platform? Like going back to the same glory hole expecting to find true love. You’ll get your dick wet and enjoy yourself for a minute, but the shame and regret hit the second you realize who's on the other side of that wall.

Early Voting: Democracy’s Premature Ejaculation

Canadians took full advantage of the advanced voting weekend. A record-breaking number, actually. Analysts call it "enthusiasm," but it feels more like ripping off the Band-Aid while pretending the wound underneath isn’t gangrenous.

Nobody wants election stress lingering over Easter dinner, especially when you’re already bracing for round two of ‘Why don’t you have a real job?’ from Aunt Carol.

Voting early is the political equivalent of premature ejaculation: it’s messy, rushed, a little embarrassing, but at least you can dig into ham and potatoes with that sweet, sweet post-nut clarity.

Meanwhile, a photo of some Liberal boomer flipping off the rest of us has gone viral. I'm guessing those middle fingers are the only things he can still get up without a prescription.

It’s basically the whole campaign in one blurry JPEG: angry, smug, and a little constipated.

Because let's face it: If your house is fully paid off and worth over a million bucks; if you've got savings from forty years of job security that no longer exists; if you're comfortably cashing pension cheques while bitching that young people aren't saving enough; if you think the CBC represents the voice of reason and Donald Trump is somehow a bigger threat to Canada than our homegrown shoot-yourself-in-the-foot stupidity—

If you genuinely don’t give a shit that, for the first time ever, your grandkids will be financially worse off than your generation—

Congratulations. You're officially the conservative in this election.

Your hippie ass aged like a porn star’s vagina—overused, worn-out, and way past appealing—and now you’re voting to keep the status quo because it’s easy, comfortable, and fuck everybody else.

You're not progressive—you're just another cranky old bastard afraid someone else might get a slice of the pie you bought at a discount in 1986.

The polling’s been consistent: if you still have hope for the future, if you want change and reform—even if it’s messy, even if it hurts—you’re probably voting blue.

But if you’re clinging to comfort like a crusty pair of old underwear, terrified of change, and desperate for a smooth-talking banker to bend you over and whisper 'fiscal prudence' in your ear while reaching for the lube and your RRSP—

If you're scared shitless and looking for a soft-handed technocrat to rawdog the economy while telling you it’s “responsible fiscal policy,”—

If you’re afraid of the dark and want a smooth-jawed Bay Street banker to spit in your mouth and call it “stability,” then yeah—Mark Carney’s your guy.

He’s not trying to win your vote—he’s trying to chloroform the country, drag it into the backseat of a hybrid SUV, and promise it’ll all be over soon.

It’s the Face Down, Elbows Up election. No lube. No safe word. And nobody’s making eye contact after.