A Return From Chicago

To Chicago, where I had an enjoyable lunch with Michelle Obama and the girls. (A $2 M campaign contribution has its rewards). The girls were delightful, as was Michelle. Soft-spoken, to be sure, but I sensed steel there. It will be needed, given the media maelstrom that is Washington. Barack wasn't available, and was actually in Washington hammering out some policy issues with Hillary. I wondered where Bill was, and made a mental note to call him. Must be careful, though. Past experience has taught me not to phone him from an hotel room, and when meeting, dress down. Bill Clinton and a tight skirt is a recipe for disaster.

On the plane back to Toronto, I had some thoughts about Americans. Although my home base is Canada, I have dual citizenship (actually quadruple citizenship, but that's a story for another day) and have always enjoyed my stays in the U.S. Americans are the most generous people on earth, but it is unwise to cross them. They possess a streak of violence, and are armed to the teeth owing to a terribly botched reading of the Second Amendment of their Constitution. The Supreme Court really doesn't understand either comma placement or the ablative absolute, something the original framers knew intimately. So it goes.

I had some trouble when boarding at O'Hare. I had to remove my shoes, and when the conveyor belt ate them, I knew instantly what had happened. The security officer, a thin, hatchet-faced woman, tried to pretend that she didn't know what had happened. This was bullshit. The shoes were Manolo Blahniks, and the closest this woman would ever get to them would be looking through a showcase window. I spotted a golden heel protruding from one of her trouser pockets, grabbed her bicep and applied pressure in a certain way. She collapsed of course. I was all concern, calling for medical assistance, creating a great fuss, and was commended for my fast action. Got my shoes back too.

Bitch.

Upon deplaning in Toronto, I became aware that the government was about to fall, Jack Layton, Stephane Dion and Gilles Duceppe were beside themselves with joy, and worst of all, learned that someone had unsealed a coffin and Jean Chretien was abroad in the land. What had Stephen done? I will call him immediately (a $2M campaign contribution has its rewards) and get to the bottom of all this.

Stay tuned.