Meanwhile, in the deepest darkest basement on Parliament Hill, Stephen Harper and his faithful assistant Igor connect the final wires to the prime minister’s electoral machine…
“It lives! It lives!” cackles Harper.
“What lives?” asks Igor.
“My hope for a majority government! It lives!”
“Uh, sure, boss,” says Igor, peeking out the window at the gathering storm. “The thing is, Jim Prentice left the government. We’re going to need a new brain.”
“A new brain? But where are we going to get brains at this late hour? Can’t you just get one from my cabinet?”
Igor frowns.
“I told you about this last week, boss. But you’ve been so busy building attack ads and blaming the Liberals, I guess restocking your cabinet slipped your mind.”
“What do you mean? I’ve got 37 cabinet officers for gosh sake. Surely one of them has an appropriate brain!”
“Well…”
“Come, now, Igor. What about Larry Cannon? If I were struck by lightning, he’s number two in command. Can’t we use his brain?”
“Well, he is from Quebec, and we aren’t in the habit of using French brains.”
“Okay then, what about John Baird or Jim Flaherty?
“Well, they’re former Mike Harris guys, and we need a brain, soooo…”
“Alright, alright, I get your drift. What about Duncan?”
“Who?”
“John Duncan! You know, Minister of Indian Affairs and Northern Development, Federal Interlocutor for Métis and Non-Status Indians, and Minister of the Canadian Northern Economic Development Agency?”
“What?”
“John Duncan? His bill, C–259, eliminated the excise tax on jewelry? He is the first MP in history to cut taxes through a Private Member’s bill?”
“Never heard of him.”
“He is a valued member of my cabinet, leading some very important ministries and one of the original Reform Party MPs, you know.”
“The Reform Party? Are you sure? I thought we got rid of all those cranky old men when we ditched all their policies back in 2008?”
“Let’s move on. What about Gary Lunn?”
“You seriously want to go into an election using the Minister of State for Sport’s brain?”
“Okay, smart guy, what do you suggest?”
“I always though that Vic Toews was a good smart guy.”
“No. Too old.”
“How about Rob Moore?”
“No. Too young.”
“Peter MacKay?”
“Too accident prone.”
“Stockwell Day?”
“Too Jet Ski, wet-suity.”
“Well, then, that about does it. We’re fresh out of brains. What will we do?”
“Igor, my young friend, we’ll just have to do what we always do: Water down our policies, shift to the centre and trust in the brain of yours truly.”
“Damn.”
“Oh, and Igor, fetch my blue sweater vest, would you. I have an election to almost win.”
