Halifax — There was a notable absence last night at the first debate of the federal election, and that, of course, was of incumbent Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.
While the leaders of all the minority governments were in attendance, the question on everyone’s mind was, “Where’s Justin?”
After some searching, it was soon discovered that the prime minister had not yet returned from the Halifax trip he had made on Tuesday, and was last reported drunk and disorderly at the Royal Canadian Legion Branch 27 bar on Almon Street.
By the time the press had found him, he was, in fact, quite intoxicated, and was boasting about the snowboarding career of his youth.
“I was good, man,” he lamented, to no one in particular. “I could’ve gone pro, too. But Dad was like, ‘Nooooo, go into politics. More respectable’…Fucking tyrant.”
One CBC reporter interrupted this monologue to ask if Trudeau was making a conscious show of support for veterans’ affairs by appearing here instead of the debate.
“Absolutely!” he bellowed, staring glassy-eyed into the cameras. “I love the veterinarians. Dude, I’d take a bullet for anybody in this room. Here, lemmie show you…”
Trudeau suddenly grabbed an IOF .32 revolver from the holster of a man sitting beside him and placed it to his temple. The crowd cried out and moved towards him.
“Ha-ha,” he laughed, waving the gun around him. “Haven’t y’all ever seen Deer Hunter? Bobby DeNiro! Great fuckin’ movie…See, they only put one bullet in the cham—”
A bottle of Grey Goose exploded across the room. Silence filled the bar.
“Shit,” said Trudeau, after a moment. “Turns out I’m a great shot, too! As if I needed something else to fucking slay at.
“That ought be my platform,” he added. “You think Jagmeet Singh is going to be able to get a gun in this country? Good lucking fuck, buddy.”
The prime minister’s racism only became more pronounced the more he drank. At one point, he became engaged in a long argument with an Indigenous man about the Trans Mountain pipeline.
“Listen, we’re going to be using every part of the pipeline, Kemosabe,” he said. “So what’s the problem?”
As the night went on, his obnoxious behaviour worsened, with the Liberal leader issuing several boxing challenges and exhibiting his pratfall abilities. Showing off his favourite party trick, Trudeau deliberately fell down a set of stairs, then quickly shot up with a rather large gash on his forehead.
Unfazed, he touched a finger to the wound and licked it.
“Mmm,” he said, proudly. “100 per cent red-blooded Canadian.”
This prompted a smattering of applause from the more patriotic among the barflies.
Later, during a quieter, more reflective moment in the night, Trudeau sat, propped up against a slot machine with his eyes closed, slowly swaying his head from right to left.
“Y’know man, I’m more than just a piece of ass. Meat…Piece of ass-meat,” he said, letting out a small chuckle. “I just wanted people like me for my ideas, and not always have to talk about my looks.”
He shrugged lazily.
“But fine. If that’s how it is, then thashowitissss,” he mumbled before slumping over and passing out.
Almost as if to prove his point, the Liberal Party decided to mount a large, printed photo of Trudeau’s face at the debate in his stead. Subsequent followup polls had him leading by a landslide.