I Think I Have The Gift of Prophecy

but I’ll have to confirm that tomorrow

Every morning, after I have my first cup of instant coffee, perform my daily genuflection at the altar of Reason then prostrate myself before the fount of Truth, I undergo a startling transfiguration.

With hair sprouting from my palms and earlobes, and beset by paroxysms of phlegmy smokers’ cough, I haul out my dog-eared volumes of Carl Jung, don my pointy Sorcerer’s Apprentice hat (deep blue garnished with crescent moons and stars, but no Mickey Mouse ears, I save that for when I score a date) and assume my true persona of crazed yet sparkle-eyed gay mystic. Boo!

See? Scared ya!

Yes, siree. At the ripe age of sixty-six there is virtually nothing in the future that I don’t know about already. I’ve Been There and Done That, my friend. I’ve Seen It All. Go on, ask me if I’ve seen something.

Yep! I’ve seen that! Ask me another.

Yep! I’ve seen that, too!

I’ve Seen It All, with a side of poutine and two extra packets of mayonnaise. I’ve Seen It All backwards in high heels and sixty cents on the dollar, I’ve Seen It All while Joe Biden stole the hanging chads, I’ve Seen It All while feeding Hillary Clinton dead babies on a pitchfork.

I’ve Seen It All with Maxime Bernier wearing fishnet stockings and a bra, I’ve Seen It All while Justin rode his satanic steed through god-skies of glory; I’ve Seen It All celebrating Ramadan with Barack Obama before setting off the Improvised Explosive Device. Inshallah, baby!

Herewith, some of my more amazing, or do I mean predictable? prognostications.

Emergency Measures

I foresaw, as clearly as Belshazzar saw mene, mene tekel on the palace wall, that our personal Justin—the bland supermarket apple, fallen so very far from the tree, that we got stuck with when we were expecting a tart, juicy McIntosh—would be unable to resist his very own quasi-autocratic “just watch me!” moment during the recent occupation of Ottawa.

It’s a Trudeau family tradition, after all, to play the renegade, the defiant yet tasteful hooligan that every Canadian longs to be, as long as they don’t disturb the neighbours and can get to bed by eleven with a hot cup of Ovaltine.

But first we watched the Ottawa police give the convoy a big yawn and a thumbs-up—police are generally conservative types, politically, right? so understandably, they wanted to cut their trucker bro’s some slack—until the chief of police had a quiet, Canadian-style aha! moment about how maybe they should have done, you know, something? and then all the policemen looked at each other and said, “I thought YOU were doing something. Was I supposed to do something, too?”, which went on for a while, until the chief of police resigned, to be replaced by an actual chief of police.

Naturally some earnest, bureaucratic male pencil-pusher types with big nipples just had to point out that thousands of truckers besieging a city under false pretenses and funded by a foreign government with a view to removing our prime minister hardly rated a blip on the radical protest radar.

Rest assured, however, that if as many as one ornery Black fist or truculent First Nations voice had been exercised in praise of freedom, those police would have had that fist and that voice tear-gassed and behind bars and the streets flushed with water cannon faster than you could say “disgruntled white dudes are the only lives that matter.”

Meanwhile the mayor of Ottawa, who I think is called something like “Bambi”, made a deal with the truckers that they could stay in a moderately inconvenient area if only they would listen to reason and move out of the very inconvenient area. The truckers then asked for milk and cookies and blankets so they could take their afternoon naps, and the mayor said “Of course!” in his sloppiest, most ingratiating Canadian cocksucker’s voice, and then the truckers shouted “Fooled ya!” and stayed right where they were.

The time was ripe! Now Justin could take decisive action to end the illegal occupation, not by telling the police to do it, which would be an unforgiveable act of overreach, but by suspending civil rights and habeus corpus and abolishing the rule of law nationwide!

This was accomplished by invoking the Emergency Measures Act (1988)—the replacement for the War Measures Act, used by Justin’s father in the 1970’s October Crisis, and the first time the new act has been used.

And what do I see in the overworked crystal ball that is my brain? Everyone who was calling JT weak and ineffectual and girly up to this point is now telling him that he’s thrown democracy under the bus and turned Canada into a police state!

How is this so? Because now the federal government assumed power from the provinces and municipalities, justified considering the incompetence of the Ottawa police response. The powers took effect immediately, but the feds had to put this to a vote in the House within seven days. Assuming it passed, this would mean a period of up to thirty days during which they could freeze organizers’ funding, truckers’ bank accounts and insurance, order local towing companies to tow vehicles, declare certain areas “no-go” zones, and generally take out the trash.

What else… I forget, but only one scoop of ice cream on those cones instead of two, definitely, maybe?

And I don’t know about you, but I expected the food in a police state to be a lot worse.

I’ll gently remind y’all that we already have in this country a bill of rights, the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, which contains a suicide clause—for the specific purpose of upholding legislation that is found to be in conflict with any of our basic rights and freedoms, for up to five years at a stretch, if parliament deems this to be in the public interest and if the courts agree.

That’s right, world. Americans stand alone with their cry of “Give me the ICU or give me death!” Their right to a full-blown case of COVID-19, in fact, any desire they might have, no matter how trivial or even harmful—the common and very understandable desire to cough droplets of deadly virus into a child’s face, for example—takes precedence over the desires of all those communists hanging around, in the form of people that aren’t them.

Child-face coughers have a tougher time up here. The Canadian constitution makes it clear that, in our system, individual rights are not the ultimate measure of justice. Instead, we can choose to override the individual for the sake of the public interest, or even the interest of your neighbour who has the gall to have rights, too.

It’s Always About Justin

Justin looks perplexed and besieged these days. I’m recalling the Liberal win in 2015, which put him in the PM’s role with an overwhelming majority. The next morning, he was glad-handing startled passengers in the Montreal subway stations, greeting them with a fresh, youthful face and a pledge that he would listen. Gone were the deadly Harper years, with their slow creep of anti-science, anti-democracy, backroom deals and rigged elections.

Well, that happy-Justin, never-as-good-as-the-first-time Camelot has sunk to the bottom of the pond like an inflatable castle at a unionized McDonald’s, right to the bottom, for good. Conservatives have spent twenty-five hours of every day hounding him, belittling him, cooking up fake scandals, dredging up blackface pictures at precisely calculated worst moments, calling him a pedophile—so, scooped that trend, eh, Republicans?—throwing rocks at him, driving cars laden with explosives into his driveway, even trashing his mother (a process admittedly begun forty years ago, by his mother, when she banged her first rock group at Studio 54).

With Democracy and liberalism under attack world-wide, Trudeau and Canada are like the last bowling pins just waiting to be knocked down. I forward-confirmed this in my recent conversation with the late Jeane Dixon (who astonishingly predicted Kennedy’s assassination the day after it happened) which I conducted via Ouija board.

Jeane—who’s doing really well, actually, thanks for asking!— confirmed what only the two of us knew: That nothing Justin did would ever be right, or, if it was right, enough of it, at the correct time, in the exact tone of voice called for, or with the appropriate wife and kids. She told me all this while being dead, and while I pretended not to notice that I was pushing the thing around the board myself. It was uncanny!

And I know what you’re thinking: “Davyyyyy! You little freckle-faced rascal!”

You see? Nothing escapes me, so don’t even try.


Queen of Canada

The real Queen of Canada is not who you think it is.

It’s not that doddering sock-puppet in the fuchsia pant suit, carrying a purse made out of a dead Corgi. No, because the real Queen of Canada is the bloke what done ‘er in, said Eliza Doolittle in every Lerner and Lowe musical during the out-of-town tryouts!

I knew this all along. And I kept it from you, knowing how difficult you’d find it to accept the truth.

My fucktardly-weird gift of prophecy had kicked in again, and you’ll never guess (because of course I’m going to tell you, are you serious?).

Romana Didulo, Queen of Canada, just as I suspected, is just another crazy-ass Christian Filipina bitch, the kind who all but spat at you if you were gay and in St Mike’s Hospital in the 80s and 90s with HIV-related illness, and they were the nurse.

Now this self-styled Queen Didulo—who, she claims, replaces Elizabeth Mountbatten Windsor whatever Schleswig-Holstein The Second, who has been “executed for crimes against humanity”—has been calling for the shooting of healthcare workers who admin the vaccine to anyone under 19.

She’s been co-opted by QAnon and legitimized and her followers—seventy-two thousand on Telegram— inherit the craziness like your child inherits your DNA. She’s funny/not-funny.

Her acolytes fan out across the country delivering “cease and desist” letters to the RCMP, to an Alberta high school, to Ontario pharmacies and health care providers, to businesses, government offices, restaurants, schools. It is sinister, egregiously invasive and in legal terms laughably illegitimate. Didulo at one point ended up detained by the RCMP to determine her state of mental health.

Let me lighten your case load a little: Her state of mental health is Fucking Crazy.

Romana’s followers, mostly American, are in the QAnon cult. The idea that so many crazy people with guns follow this freak is chilling, especially in light of her fans’ devotion and willingness to carry out her “orders.”

According to the Vancouver Sun, in November 2021, after letters had been delivered to numerous church leaders in Manitoba,

Didulo then posted a chilling message on Telegram to “the Kingdom of Canada’s Military” ordering them to “shoot to kill anyone who tries in inject any children under 19 years old (with COVID vaccines),” and to intercept, seize and destroy all “coronavirus vaccines/bioweapons or any other vaccines.”

Vancouver Sun, Dec 9, 2021. “Daphne Bramham: The Absurd and Disturbing Tragedy of Romana Didulo”

QAnon Moves In for the Kill

That word QAnon has lit up my seventh chakra, which is why those lime green and lavender lights are shooting out of my forehead. I predict… that QAnon, which up until now hid its agenda behind an idea so ridiculous, only a MAGA-hatter could believe it, will continue to quietly groom the public’s homophobia, perpetuating the myth of predatory gay men, lighting that fuse so that it can explode into an era of repression the likes of which we haven’t seen.

At least, not since the last time we stated our sexual orientation on our census forms, ready to be entered into a trillion government databases.

With its brazen surfacing of the all-gays-are-pedophiles myth, QAnon will serve to increasingly demonize and marginalize the LGBTQ2+ community worldwide, as an sideshow to the fall of democracy and liberalism.

Homophobia had been contained underground like the Centralia Mine Fire for a few fragile decades, during which we fooled ourselves that human rights, specifically inclusive of gay rights and trans rights, were all on the upswing. Now, it blazes away, inescapable, like every west-coast old growth forest every August from now on.

We’ve been so busy polishing our pronouns and offering up drag races for straights to laugh at as the pinnacle of gay culture, we didn’t think through the implications of rising homophobic hysteria in Russia, Hungary, Poland. We were fine.

Canada’s values seem robust, at least, to anyone who doesn’t read the comments sections. But that’s a delusion. We live next door to an alien culture, the United States, with its noxious mix of arrogance, isolationism, oligarchy and rampant individualism, and which has been put through a four-year incubator for autocracy. We’re the china shop and they’re the bull.

QAnon changed everything. QAnon is the great liberator of the crazies, with a foundational myth so fucked up, so vague and yet paradoxically so unarguable—Save the Children—it is infinitely deployable. It covers any base you want to get to.

QAnon brought us the Ottawa convoy. QAnon encourages the right wing in the US to look admiringly at Putin (because might is right, because of the pretence of isolationism).

QAnon runs up to and sits right down on the Santa lap of Victor Orban of Hungary, who has created autocracy by stealth, a dictatorship that reads like a democracy. The formula is simple: don’t outlaw the media that doesn’t support you. That’s old-school!

Instead, starve them of resources, pre-empt their channels. Those who do support you, make them totally dependent on your good will, lock them in with contracts, be the conduit they have to access. There will simply be no resources available for the outliers, no platform for their opinions. All perfectly legal.

Tucker Carlson regularly visits, and broadcasts from, Budapest.

QAnon is the key, just as I predicted. If it’s one thing the convoy demonstrated, it’s that our Canadian values are as daisies down the barrel of a machine gun: a lovely thought before our brains get spattered on the wall.

Nazi symbolism and Confederate flags and US dollars obliterated our foolish belief that our capital city was inviolate, separate, safe. We’d been told, with the subtlety of a brick through a plate glass window, “At any time we can roll in the tanks and take over. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” We got the message: we exist because someone lets us exist. Once we’re in the way of the larger plan, we’ll cease to exist.

Even the rhetoric was drawn from the US Constitution and Bill of Rights:

(Didulo moment: A organization called “We the People” handles the distribution of phony “cease and desist” orders.

Convoy moment: The husband of one of the organizers, at her bail hearing, suggests to the judge that his wife was merely exercising her “First Amendment Rights”.

“What’s that,” replies the judge, and I’m just guessing, but I think I could hear her eyes rolling back like fruit in a slot machine three hundred kilometers away.)


QAnon represents the mainstreaming of homophobia. The sleeper cell has awakened. Republicans, emboldened by how pliable the US electorate have shown themselves to be, have plugged into the old tropes and their base eats it up like cotton candy. Banning books in schools (both LGBTQ2+ themed and Black history themed) has been followed by Texas’ legislation that turns all parents of transgender children into de facto child abusers, the law to be enforced by vigilante citizens.

Now Florida has pushed the boundaries further with its “Don’t Say Gay” bill that forbids any discussion of queer or trans issues in school under the pretext of protecting children. (Copycat bills are appearing as I write in other US states.) An assistant to Governor Ron DeSantis recently tweeted that the bill should properly be called an “anti-grooming bill.”

Think of that. Mere discussion of gay issues amounts to “grooming” children (i.e., acclimatizing them to being sexualized). In other words, gay people, just by existing, pose a threat to children.

We’re doomed. We’re back to the 1970’s and Anita Bryant, and this time boycotting vodka and orange juice won’t cut it. That, my learned friend, is The Gift of Prophecy.


The fake child abuse hysteria spilled over into the confirmation hearings for Ketanji Brown Jackson, where racism and misogyny hid behind hand-wringing concern that Brown had been too lenient in her sentencing in cases of child porn (in fact, her sentencing in these cases was unremarkable and reflected judicial norms. We have judges, not machines doling out sentencing, because justice doesn’t come pre-packaged. Justice requires judicial discretion; because individual cases have context and defendants have histories.)

None of that flies with Republicans, who duly spluttered in outrage while demeaning and insulting Jackson without restraint with their innuendo and loutish behavior. Watching a bunch of white men and women beat up on a Black nominee made me want to hurl.

Brown was confirmed to the Court, thanks to the help of three brave Republicans, Collins, Romney and Murkowski. For their efforts, they were censured by the Republicans and called “pro-pedophile” on Twitter by, you guessed it, that useless waste of skin Marjorie Taylor Greene.


Phew-ie! My precognitive ectoplasm is all tuckered out! I can barely summon the energy to affirm that:

Millennials and Gen Zed-ers—whatever, the young ones who catapulted out of the vaginal canal already hissing and sniping and stripped of joy and bristling like porcupines with spiky judgments that render unqualified for office anyone lower than Mother Theresa, and even she’s not confirmed—continue to practice their egregious ageism, piling up on Joe Biden, despite his actually delivering, if you count his recent expansion of the ACA, as much as Bernie would have achieved, with the slight advantage that it was possible for Joe to get elected. As Biden spoke out forcefully about Russian aggression against Ukraine—a humanitarian crisis that brings us up to the brink of nuclear war—the Bernie bros and babes, the sad little device punchers with the attention spans of gnats, whined, “Biden COULD HAVE canceled student debt. But he DIDN’T.”

Dear children:

The adults are fighting a fucking war, honey. OK? You could have cleaned your room, but you didn’t. Fair’s fair. Instead, we brought in outside help, because you also needed someone to push the button on the microwave for you.

If Madeleine Albright hadn’t bombed all those kids you wouldn’t even have outside help.

You’re so self-absorbed you think not-voting is a form of protest. You think politics is like a TV show you watch, then give a star rating. You think life is a curated AirBNB that strives to please you, its customer, and for a while it does, though after a few days you sniff the air, and are absolutely convinced you can smell the homeless people even ten flights up. How dare they!

I long for you to be granted a term of office where you grapple with real problems, make real life or death decisions, inflict a few hundred fatalities in the name of freedom, negotiate to achieve your goal by sucking up to the bad guys, and come to realize that, not unlike Canada, Greta Thunberg is only important because someone allowed her to be.


Only a protein drink flavored with fake strawberry essence and targeted to seniors could haul enough glucose to my arm muscles so that I might draw a big red line underneath:

Doug Ford’s done it again. He’s opened up Ontario! Cases are soaring to over one thousand per day! And the medical community is collectively beating its forehead on some rusty spikes on Hanlan’s Point in sheer frustration that we just don’t get it, after two fucking years.

Remember:

Grandmas are a dime a dozen, but you only ever get one economy.


Epilogue

So… because I missed my injection of organic kelp powder this week, I failed to note that Justin Trudeau is a little freckle-faced calisse de tabarnak.

Tired of constant petty bickering by conservatives (who just kicked out their leader, Erin O’Toole, because he wasn’t bigoted enough. I wish I was joking) Justin sauntered over to “Invisibility Corner”, this being where Jagmeet Singh, leader of the New Democratic Party, is sent for frequent times-out, or when he is in danger of someone noticing him:

“What’s with that guy in the back row, in the pink turban? Is he the cleaner?”

Jagmeet Singh is charismatic, charming, smart, savvy, supports everything that a champagne socialist should support, he leads our underdog of a party and he has not a hope in hell of ever becoming Prime Minister until we reform our first-past-the-post voting system. The NDP has never held power federally. Never.

Yep, Justin sauntered right over to Jagmeet and before you know it, they had a deal: The NDP would vote with Justin’s Liberals until the next election, effectively giving them a majority in Parliament until 2025, and guaranteeing no votes of no confidence could pass.

There’s nothing conservatives can do about this partnership between the two hottest progressive leaders in Canadian political history: the Sikh with the bespoke suits, crimson BMW, and pink turban; and sweet-cheeked boy-toy JT with the impeccable political pedigree.

So, now I can finally say it:

Oh, Justin—you pussy!

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