If Downtown Patrick Brown’s penned a tell-all then good for him on finally spillin’ the beans as to how come he’s such a loser.
Just foolin’! I bet he’s soundin’ off about how girls are growin’ up so fast these days, and what he really wanted all along was to be Sikh Town’s head dog catcher. Anybody with a Maclean’s subscription wanna tell me I’m wrong?
But it sure seems like he’s tellin’ tales outta school, which is a heckuva thing considerin’ he didn’t even graduate.
The Conservative Party is full of angry, vengeful bastards? Say it ain’t so, Snowflake! Hell, if he can’t see that’s a feature an’ not a glitch then he’s just a dipper in rather dapper clothing for a guy from Barrie.
Still, I had no idea Vic Fedeli’s somethin’ of a sausage-fingered pick-up artist, though to be fair we coulda made an educated guess. An’ Lisa MacLeod bein’ so crazy she makes up stories about bein’ nuts really knocked me for six.
Then, apparently, we hear tell how ol’ Fibber Muldoon got him on the blower, an’ promised him the password to the Illuminati VIP lounge if only he’d back Caroline’s leadership bid. (That musta been for student council president unless the world has gone completely mad.)
So it’s pretty much just him cryin’ tears in his beer, which should make ya wonder if he’s slippin’ somethin’ in your drinks. May the Good Lord be yer wing man, ladies.
They say hindsight is 20/20 and maybe the idiots are right for once, cuz I’ve never liked seein’ the backside of a fella like I do Brownie’s.
Just goes to show that the Fords are the real adults in the room, unless we’re talkin’ about Mrs. Ford’s basement. There, all bets are off!
Yessir, I think I’ll wait for the audiobook, but only if it’s read by Crazy Guggenheim. Let’s face it, the man’s a hoot.
Talks funnier than Chretien without bein’ so French about it.