I am run­ning for coun­cil?

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on that.

If elected, I would es­pouse a col­lab­o­ra­tive ap­proach with my fel­low coun­cil­lors to find so­lu­tions that align per­fectly with my views. My strong con­vic­tions are ev­i­denced in my ex­ten­sive and well­doc­u­mented his­tory of hissy fits in pro­fes­sional, vol­un­teer and house­hold set­tings.

Am I maybe not run­ning for coun­cil be­cause my French isn’t good enough? Or is it pos­si­ble I am not con­sid­er­ing not run­ning be­cause my French isn’t not good enough? You de­cide; here are some ex­am­ples of my bilin­gual prow­ess:

“If elected, I prom­ise to elim­i­nate ‘work ses­sions’ wherein of­fi­cials hash out mat­ters be­hind closed doors and later rub­ber-stamp these de­ci­sions at pub­lic meet­ings, thereby pre­vent­ing vot­ers from see­ing which elected of­fi­cials are ef­fec­tive and which are great big drips.”

« Je suis une ba­nane avec le gros camion, donc ben voyons, j’ar­rive sur le porte de poulet et je chante, ‘bye-bye mon cow­boy.’ »

“Of course, this is an empty prom­ise, since I am just one voice among six coun­cil­lors with no sig­nif­i­cant in­flu­ence other than un­seemly pout­ing.” « Non, je ne re­grette René Si­mard. » Truth­fully, my only hand­i­cap is that I have a dif­fi­culty un­der­stand­ing peo­ple when they speak French. How­ever, I also have dif­fi­culty un­der­stand­ing English peo­ple, so it’s fair.

At this point, I should prob­a­bly ad­dress the ele­phant in the room: the ele­phant and I are just good friends, and those pho­to­graphs were clearly taken out of con­text.

I would also like to be up-front con­cern­ing al­le­ga­tions of un­der-doc­u­mented pets that may or may not be re­sid­ing with us at this junc­ture and at pre­vi­ous junc­tures and a junc­ture to be named later.

Two of these al­leged pets do not be­long to us but are on per­ma­nent loan from our mid­dle daugh­ter who thought that kit­tens were ex­actly what she needed while her life was in flux. (Flux, by the way, is a lovely sub­urb of Ottawa but not es­pe­cially cat-friendly.)

As for the other three al­leged cats, a cer­tain an­i­mal pro­tec­tion agency conned us into fos­ter­ing them “tem­po­rar­ily” when they were al­leged kit­tens, know­ing full well that we (my wife) wouldn’t have the heart to send them back to that eu­thana­sia joint, so we al­legedly res­cued them from obliv­ion, but only af­ter we paid to have them neutered, and now they al­legedly have a good home, with our weekly al­leged pur­chases of cat food and lit­ter rep­re­sent­ing 15% of the al­leged lo­cal econ­omy, which makes you re­al­ize that in­stead of be­ing re­viled for my not en­tirely li­censed al­leged pets, I should be com­mended (although for some­thing so al­leged they’re aw­fully un­al­legedly fat).

Not to men­tion the fact that a few years ago when two of our ear­lier, fully li­censed cats went miss­ing, this cer­tain agency re­sponded with noth­ing more than a bu­reau­cratic shrug, so for­give us if I’m not in­clined to fund an en­ter­prise that pro­vides squat and then turns around and off­loads soon-to-be-mor­bidly-obese cats that are plot­ting to kill me by wak­ing me up three times a night, thereby pro­mul­gat­ing long-term sleep de­pri­va­tion and short­en­ing my life-span. Plus lit­ter. So much al­leged lit­ter.

And that, dear vot­ers, is the kind of sub­stance and hissy fit you could ex­pect from me were I to run for of­fice, which I’ve heard might be true. But prob­a­bly not. At least not any­more.

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