Jerome the Gi­raffe saw the writ­ing on the wall

The Compass - - OPINION -

As usual, Nal­cor didn’t un­der­stand what the press was say­ing. On the In­ter­net, in the news­pa­pers, on tele­vi­sion and ra­dio, the sud­den res­ig­na­tion of Jerome the Gi­raffe as Min­is­ter of Vir­tu­ally Ev­ery­thing had been treated as just another turn in the nor­mal cy­cle of politi­cians com­ing and go­ing.

Ap­pear­ing at the podium along­side the Gi­raffe, Mizkat claimed she had known for ever so long it was The Gi­raffe’s plan to leave the gov­ern­ment and re­turn to a job in the pri­vate sec­tor. As if it was per­fectly nor­mal for a prom­i­nent cab­i­net min­is­ter to quit half­way be­tween elec­tions with only min­utes of pub­lic no­tice, skedad­dling from both cab­i­net and the House of As­sem­bly, ef­fec­tive im­me­di­ately. Just too bad for the peo­ple who voted for him, never imag­in­ing that his yearn­ing for the prac­tice of law would trump his obli­ga­tion to them.

One TV per­son­al­ity al­lowed as how his leave-tak­ing was per­fectly nor­mal, the Gi­raffe had never liked the po­lit­i­cal side of pol­i­tics. TV Man sug­gested that The Gi­raffe sorely missed the abil­ity to abuse peo­ple in court and for some time had felt con­strained by the need for deco­rum in the House of As­sem­bly.

Re­ally? thought Nal­cor, The Gi­raffe must have been sleep­ing dur­ing the regime of the An­gry Man Who Talks Too Fast. He never mod­i­fied his court­room tech­nique once he en­tered pol­i­tics. Quite the op­po­site. Once in pol­i­tics The An­gry Man’s be­hav­iour be­came still more ag­gres­sive than it had been in court, which is say­ing some­thing.

What­ever the me­dia might say, it seemed to Nal­cor that the Gi­raffe could read the writ­ing on the wall and, like the An­gry Man be­fore him, bailed with zero no­tice, leav­ing Mizkat hold-

Al­though it was cheap and made a con­ve­nient fill­ing for a sand­wich, some­how the word boloney came to mean more than mys­tery

meat. It came to mean “non­sense” or ac­cord­ing to some “bil­ge­wa­ter, bosh, bunk hum­bug, tom­my­rot,

twad­dle or rub­bish.”

ing the bag.

Fall­ing pop­u­lar­ity

It’s her own fault, thought Nal­cor, she shows ut­ter con­tempt for the pub­lic. She makes de­ci­sions with­out con­sul­ta­tion, and re­acts with anger when mere cit­i­zens dare to ask ques­tions. It’s as if she feels they have no right to know how she is man­ag­ing their af­fairs. Now the polls are show­ing that her pop­u­lar­ity is into an un­con­trol­lable down­ward spi­ral. The peo­ple are fi­nally re­act­ing.

It’s what the muskrats would have done long ago. And ac­cord­ing to the In­ter­net are al­ready show­ing signs of do­ing in the prov­inces along the An­glo Saxon route and The Prov­ince Where They Speak a Dif­fer­ent Lan­guage that Mizkat, The An­gry Man and The Gi­raffe do not un­der­stand.

The time has come, thought Nal­cor. Time for the muskrats of the Rich and Poor prov­ince to join forces with their neigh­bours. The gov­ern­ments in the Celtic Prov­ince, The Bilin­gual Prov­ince and the Prov­ince Where They Speak a Dif­fer­ent Lan­guage seem un­able to com­mu­ni­cate with the Rich and Poor Prov­ince.

If muskrats in those places join forces, since they all speak muskrat, and are com­mon sense crit­ters with their noses close to the ground, they should be able to work to­gether, un­like the long-necked min­is­ter the most re­cent to leave Mizkat’s sink­ing ship.

It’s time to launch a multi-prov­ince muskrat move­ment. We will have to have a catchy name to at­tract the at­ten­tion of the me­dia and the pub­lic. How about this?

Once upon a time hu­mans who don’t care much about what they eat, in­vented a food that was said to be made out of some kinds of meat and other dif­fi­cult to de­fine in­gre­di­ents. They called it Bologna, but ev­ery­one pro­nounced it Boloney. Al­though it was cheap and made a con­ve­nient fill­ing for a sand­wich, some­how the word boloney came to mean more than mys­tery meat. It came to mean “non­sense” or ac­cord­ing to some “bil­ge­wa­ter, bosh, bunk hum­bug, tom­my­rot, twad­dle or rub­bish.”

Cu­ri­ous crea­tures

It is puz­zling how hu­mans, so proud to fancy them­selves the most in­tel­li­gent of crea­tures, would name a lun­cheon meat they dreamed up, man­u­fac­tured and ac­tu­ally swal­lowed, “boloney”, and then use that same word to to in­sult things they found mean­ing­less.

They are in­deed cu­ri­ous crea­tures, th­ese hu­mans, thought Nal­cor. We muskrats love our food, we en­joy its taste and the nu­tri­ents it con­tains to sus­tain us in good health.

Rather than in­sult it we would be more in­clined to praise our food in or­der to en­cour­age it to grow and flour­ish, sus­tain­ing our lit­tle muskrat bod­ies and spir­its. But we are muskrats and the peo­ple are peo­ple and it is our mis­sion to bring the truth to them be­fore it is too late to change their minds. We must con­vince them to stop the “Boloney” they are un­der­tak­ing at Muskrat Falls. We will call our move­ment “Muskrats Op­pose Boloney,” or MOB.

I’m go­ing to get on the com­puter tonight and email the muskrats in the other prov­inces. Soon we will truly be a MOB. It has a cer­tain ring don’t you think?

To be con­tin­ued …

Peter Pick­ers­gill is an artist and writer in Sal­vage, Bon­av­ista Bay. He can be reached

by email at pick­ers­gill@mac.com

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