The twelve days of Christmas

by Craig Funston
On the first day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me one Conservative government in Ottawa. Not being impatient, m’love, you understand, but we need it now—before the guy with the name and the mane screws up things some more.
On the second day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me a second conservative government in Canada, namely, one here in Alberta. Here we call our truly conservative party “Wildrose.” Just in case you have been imitating Rip Van Winkle in the past few weeks, there are no longer any Conservative (or conservative) governments presently in Canada. This is indeed a sad commentary on thinking Canadians.
On the third day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me–I’m on a roll–a third conservative government, this time in Ontario. No matter how bad the last Conservative bunch were there, they look like a bunch of Churchills compared to this the present travesty. You might say that Ontario’s Wynne is really Ontario’s loss.
On the fourth day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me four years of uninterrupted conservative rule (see gifts numbers one, two, and three). Is it just me, or does the current four-year mandate seem like a four-year prison sentence? Even if it’s a “suspended” sentence, that would mean hope, progress, and reason themselves are suspended for four more years.
On the fifth day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me (let’s leave politics for a moment, please) five wins apiece for the Flames and the Oilers. Never thought I’d say anything charitable about either team, but, hey, it’s Christmas and all that. Besides, the team I really cheer for (see #11) is in far deeper trouble, and they need even more goals
On the sixth day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me a pause in the passing of Bill 6. There are six reasons why it’s wrong: restrictive, invasive, expensive, excessive, destructive, and prohibitive. We normal, rational Albertans knew that the NDP would be bad for the province, but not this bad, this soon. We’re appalled, astounded, and aghast–and that’s only the beginning…of the alphabet.
On the seventh day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me seven days without wind. Last week we just had wind twice: Sunday to Wednesday, then Thursday to Saturday. We have more wind than an auctioneer’s training school. Or a bean factory. Maybe JT should be out here in a windstorm; it might do something creative to that hair of his.
On the eighth day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me at least one government in Canada that would get it right on the following eight points: immigration, medical marijuana, abortion, climate change, same-sex marriage, gun control, doctor-assisted suicide, and carbon footprint. The present leaders are at least consistent: consistently wrong on all eight points.
On the ninth day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me nine centimetres of that white stuff, commonly known as snow, every week for the next couple of months. We need it for fun (now) and work (later)–deep enough to plough either way, if you get my…drift. While you’re at it, keep it on the fields and mountains and off the roads. And thank you in advance!
On the tenth day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me ten provinces that are actually Conservative or conservative (oops, back to politics). Enough’s enough, I say; let reason rule, and dismiss the silliness of voting in NDP (or even a NDP-leaning) governments. I have this pressing urge to make a pun about “what’s left?” or “leftovers” or “who’s left?”–but it’s no laughing matter.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me eleven wins for the Vancouver Canucks in December. If that’s too ambitious, what about for December and January? February? (Hey you Canucklehead guys: All you have to do is just put the rubber thing in the meshy thing, raise your arms in the air like you’re under arrest, then hug a teammate. Remember doing that a few weeks ago?)
On the twelfth day of Christmas, I wish my true love had sent to me twelve more seats for the Wildrose party—for starters, but only at the expense of the NDP. (Maurice, that would mean twelve by-elections in NDP-held ridings, in which the Wildrose would win.) Not enough to assume the leadership of the province (yet), but a lot closer than they are now.
Complaining about politics, hockey, and the weather–can’t get anymore Canadian than that, eh?

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