There are three things I don’t understand.
Here’s the first one. Why, when I was lucky enough to be born Canadian, did my prime minister have to turn out to be Stephen Harper?
Off course he’s my prime minister. If you think I’m changing that voice-activated inspired typographical error at the beginning of that last sentence, you are not at all well.
Surely while he’s prime minister we are totally off. We’re off because he’s off.
His attitude towards capital punishment is off, as is his attitude towards abortion and stem-cell research. Let’s not even begin to talk about his attitude towards Newfoundland and Labrador. And who do you think approves the actions and/or non-actions of his fisheries minister?
And who approves the personal attack ads on the Liberal leader? Harper accuses Michael Ignatieff of being more American than Canadian. Yet who has dropped partisan politics in Canada to the nasty and vindictive style of American politics? We don’t do that up here, Stevie, or didn’t you know?
Let me try again. Of coarse he’s my prime minister. Another typo, honest to my Maker. I wouldn’t swear falsely to my Maker. Still, I wouldn’t call Stephen “coarse.” The man just has no class. The closest he comes to class is when he sings country. I expect to hear him on VOCM’s “Kitchen Party” next Saturday night if they can make room for him at the end of the show.
Let me take one more shot at it.
Of course he’s my prime minister. Finally, ran out of typos, and just in time, too. My prime minister was beginning to look bad. Before you used-to-be Progressive Conservatives start foaming in your beer, you might reflect on how well you’ll do in a real battle on his behalf if you get your drawers in a knot over a couple of typos — written by little ol’ yours truly — way down here — in federally Liberal Newfoundland and Labrador. That’s a very bad sentence, but why waste a good one on his nibs?
Why do I keep calling him my prime minister? Because he is the Canadian prime minister — for the time being. I once had a dog I called my dog because he was the family dog. Didn’t like him, either. That dog lived to be 21 years old just to spite Other Half. (Uh oh...)
Here’s another situation my feeble mind just cannot grasp.
Why does Charlie Sheen — unprincipled, drunkard, amoral, druggie and all-around a-hole that he is — and his television character is almost as bad — is (or was) making $1.8 million per 30-minute episode of his show, while I — all-around good guy that I am — will make somewhat less than $1 million for this column for the whole year.
I’ll bet you thought the half man referred to in the title (“Two and a Half Men”) was the kid, who isn’t even as likable as his despicable uncle. Wrong. Probably not the way it was intended, but Sheen doesn’t even approach half-man status in my book. As my dad would have said, “Why, he’s no man at all.”
So why is that show so blessed popular? I admit it’s cleverly written in spots, but when you realize good old Charlie is only acting out his own personal lifestyle, much of it ceases to be funny. Is it his admittedly good looks, great body or Head & Shoulders hair? I have Selsun Blue hair. It could be handsome black, too, if I used the same dye Charlie does. He probably doesn’t even have to pay for it.
While we’re on the the list of things I don’t understand, perhaps you could explain this one to me. If you watch television at all, particularly the sports channels, you’ve probably seen the ad involving the mighty Chevrolet Silverado pickup with 4,000,000 pounds towing capacity, 6,000 hp diesel engine and European-style thousand kilometre per hour train brakes “to bring it all to a halt.”
This juggernaut is shown to be capable of towing this lovely little boat — that probably weighs less than my 23-foot fiberglass job — along behind it on what seems to be an uphill stretch of road. I could probably manage it with my superpower deluxe two-battery electric-powered chair.
I have been known to push a small pickup with my chair to get it to the side of the road. Since at the time it was my knees that made contact with the rear bumper, they came off a little worse for wear. Other Half was not impressed.
Anyway, it’s not the formidable towing powers of the mighty Silverado that interested me in this ad. When you watch it again, you will notice that the cabin cruiser is being lifted out of the water with slings around its bottom, which is normal.
Now watch it closely. If you can find enough water dropping off the bottom of that boat as it rises out of the water to drown a size-challenged microbe, I’ll eat the microbe. How do you suppose they manage that? Perhaps a little trick photography? Such as first lowering the boat, slings and all, into the water and then running the action backwards? Surely they wouldn’t do that!
And if they did, would they also use a little of the same kind of technical wizardry to make it look as though the truck is hauling that mighty load uphill? No way. Because if that were true, how could you believe anything else they had to say about that wonderful Silverado? Just asking.
As the old lady said when asked who Cain married in the Garden of Eden, “That’s just one of the mysteries we’re not meant to understand.” Actually, I have the explanation for all of it.
I think in each case someone’s having a laugh at our expense.
Ed Smith is an author who lives in Springdale. His email address is firstname.lastname@example.org