ImageThe VanPacRim Courier, 2275: Archaeologists recently unearthed a cache of ancient flash drives from a twenty-first century site in Ottawa. In an exclusive to this noosphere-paper, we present scripture from “The Greatest Tory Ever Told,” the sacred e-book of paleoconservatism, the state religion.


1.1 In the beginning was The Almighty Buck. Yet the New World was without form or formal business contracts. In the absence of perfectly efficient markets, indigenous people did unsustainable things like trade their firstborn for button blankets and moose-antler shelving units. Verily, they didn’t have a clue without the Buck to assign values to things.

1.2 It came to pass that white people in starched collars and buckled shoes arrived in the New World bearing promissory notes, bills of exchange, and mercantile script. But the indigenous people mistook the money for leaves, and pounded it into a pemmican-mixed paste. The authorities had no choice but to separate the malnourished tribal children from their parents and stick them into residential schools, where pious men instructed them in reading, writing, and oaths of silence.

1.3 Yea, purveyors of the Almighty Buck looked upon Canada’s abundance and saw that it was Good. Gleaming schools of fish leapt merrily into fishermen’s’ nets. Towering trees leaned eagerly into loggers’ chainsaws. Guided by The Invisible Hand of the market, The Almighty Buck began to exercise its grace. Wise men from the East cleaved unto trade agreements that ensured commodities traders in Washington, London and other fleshpots would keep winning, in the manner of Jimmy the Greek or Charlie the Sheen.


6.4 After the defeat of Brian the Lantern-Jawed and the anointing of Jean the Sentence Slayer as king, the Progressive Conservative Pharisees wandered the political wilderness like concussed hockey players. A simple carpenter named Preston the Reformer saw the darkening clouds on the horizon and gathered up his tools. He built a huge ark into which he put two of every kind of creature begat by his Reform Party: sun-baked prairie farmers, snowmobile-riding speculators, polyester-wearing housewives, reactionary Albertan economists, and Tory apostates.

6.5 In time the Reform ark ran aground, and Manning’s disciple Stephen the Good hammered the wreckage together into a new ark, called The Alliance. After an extensive period of naval gazing, this unwieldy vessel was spot-welded to the newly rebranded Conservative Party, with Stephen at its helm. Yea, the Almighty Dollar looked down upon the ship of state and saw that it was Damn Fine for the investment class. And verily, David the Frum wet himself in joyousness.


1.1 It came to pass there was a great disaster at the heart of Empire, with temples collapsing from an attack of airborne heathen. A furious, burning Bush spake unto Jean the Sentence Slayer, demanding he join Operation Enduring Freedom. “General Dynamics and Raytheon have a whole lot of new stuff to test out, and I need thy help in pounding evil-doers into the dust,” Bush junior explained. 

1.2 Jean agreed, but refused to join a crusade against Babylon called Operation Iraqi Liberation (OIL). “Where was dis evidence of da weapons of mass destruction?” he later asked Bush the Shrub. “We’re talking about a desert,” exclaimed the C-minus Yalie. “ Hast thou never ever heard of a mirage, smart guy?!”


3.1 And verily, things were looking up in The Garden of Edmonton, with its massive reserves of sacred bitumen. A prayer moved across Albertan lips like wind rustling through prairie wheat: “Oh, great hydrocarbon compounds, we give thanks for thy abundance. We seek thee out in sand and shale. Thou art dark and viscous, yet can appear light and gaseous. Thou art heat and flame, controlled combustion and disastrous explosion, and the quickening motion of wheels and gears. But verily, oh hydrocarbons, thou doth have us over a barrel, what with the Dutch disease and all. What part of the nation’s surface should be ravished next for thee?”

3.13 With much coaxing from pressurized, superheated water, the blessed oil oozed from sand in The Garden of Edmonton, to profiteth thickset men who ate steak breakfasts served by Botox-anointed, arugula-nibbling Trophy Wives. The Almighty Buck smiled down upon this arrangement – at least until the Asian market collapsed.


2.22 There were ditties in the airwaves in those days, tunes most pleasing to the ear. “I will rock harder than any other leader,” pronounced Stephen the Good, who gathered unto himself a band of disciples with middling musical chops. Verily, the leader phoned in Guess Who songs at a Tory convention, and used the blessed Internet to perform a ballad about world peace written by a discarnate beetle.

2.34 Yea, across the land, the writers, artists and performers wisely put a sock in it, stifling criticism of Stephen the Good in print, play, song, and film, lest their sacred Canada Council grants seize up like Lance Armstrong’s derailleur.


4.1 Verily, when the Opposition began to mutter about a coalition, Stephen “went prorogue” and turned off the lights in their gothic house of legislation, making it even spookier than before. “Woe unto us!” they cried. “We are plunged into infernal darkness and have no choice but to return to Stornoway and other domestic retreats for an indefinite period of relaxation!”

4.6 The mainstream scribes wisely described these multiple, months-long interruptions as parliamentary glitches. Only Elizabeth the Green railed against the darkness, condemning the leader for his actions. Fortunately, the harlot’s blog was only read by overeducated Cassandras and tree-hugging playa hatas.

5.1 It came to pass, Stephen the Good put the public sector to the sword once he had his sacred majority. And verily, his agenda was no longer hidden. “I will cut funding to Environment Canada and muzzle science-spouting pieholes to ensure my name is not taken in vain,” he tweeted at federal researchers, while parting the waters of the public sector for corporate lobbyists.

5.2 Stephen’s actions were pleasing in the eyes of the The Council of Chief Executives, who worshipped the Almighty Buck. Yea, the names of these patriarchs were spoken only in whispers; with great discipline, the mainstream scribes focused on the dog-and-pony shows of electoral politics, while avoiding investigation of those who worked the gears behind democracy’s curtain like the Great Oz.


2.1 I am thy Lord, the Almighty Buck. I say this unto my chosen peeps: smite makes right. Thou shalt destroy thine enemies through attack ads. Thou shalt fashion their thighbones into vuvuzelas and dance on the graves of their careers. And thou shalt stuff thine ears with sealing wax and Sun News, to block off-key oracles like Noami the Klein, Linda the MacQuaig, and Maude the Barlow.

2.2 Thou will promote party toadies, cultivate media jackals, gather public relations hyenas, and lionize the fat cats on Bay Street. That said, it’s not a great idea to lie with beasts of the field unless there is a decent offer of a reality TV series. But always keep a goat handy — they’re awesome for cleaning up messes.


1.1 A great feast was prepared for the bitumen traders and moneylenders in which numbers were cooked. Stephen the Good assured them he would remake the Canadian wilderness in his image: resourceful and well manicured.

1.2 Nature, a bit of a hag at the best of times, was corrupt and fallen. Not only fallen, She couldn’t get back up again. Rather than offer any help that might be interpreted as a come-on, the Tory Pharisees saw an opportunity to drop their drawers and have a go while She was Totally Out Of It.

1.3 It came to pass there was a great heavin’ of the Canadian landscape as pipelines were slapped across the wilderness, and supertankers thrust into inlets and rivers. The people, seeing the landscape blackened with bitumen, gnashed their teeth and wailed unto the firmament, while waving placards like pig-ignorant Philistines. Bloody typical of people still trying to fight the last election, concluded Steven the Good, as his disciples backpedalled furiously on their fire-and-brimstone robocalls.

The Vancouver Courier, Mar. 29 and Apr. 5





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