A Rose by any Other Name......

Phil Burpee

Phil Burpee, Columnist, Pincher Creek Voice

The Tories they have stepped in it, their shoes are smelly brown
Alison looks queasy in her Cinderella gown
Oil pressure's dropping in the big PC V8
The clock is striking midnight - oh, I fear it's rather late.


It's been a lovely holiday, these forty years of fun
Forty years of forking all that beef onto the bun
There seemed like no tomorrow, just an endless stream of toasts
"Here's lookin' at ya, my dear friends - you've all been lovely hosts.


We specially liked the smorgasbord, and how that great buffet
Gave us so much chance to pack our doggy-bags away
It surely was a dandy thing the way you sent us back
and back and back to Edmonton - and back and back and back."

You'd think someone would notice all those empties in the hall
And all those hats and gaunchies hung like trophies on the wall
It must have been a wild one - it must have really rocked
The neighbours they just stood around, and scratched their heads and gawked.

But, oh that bare-ass piper - he will demand his pay
Nothing lasts forever, and soon comes the light of day
Caught like jack-lit mulies with their eyes wide in the glare
Waiting for that truck to hit - they all just dumbly stare.

‘Election time, election time’ - we hear that bright refrain
Time to look up from our lives and scratch that 'X' again
So many are the promises, so many are the smiles
The words they come - oh, yes they do - in steaming, stinky piles.

But something's wrong in Wonderland, there's smoke upon the air
The Magic Kingdom's up in flames - the Beast has left its lair
Poor old dopey Tories run like children for the gate
But woe betide their hustling butts - for now it is too late.

Yes, now it is too late to say, "We didn't really know
Just how much up Alberta's ass was safe for us to blow
We thought the pit was bottomless - into it we might toss
All that junky legislation - invested at a loss."

Caught now with their pants down and whisky on their breath
Crashing through the china shop like elephants on meth
Bleating and cajoling - all quivering their chins
Like kitties in the litter box, covering up their sins.

The time has come, the day is nigh - the Reaper hones his scythe
The guilty ones they squirm and so uncomfortably writhe
They wish that they could take it back - those  million weasel words
Trailing back through history like desiccated turds.

Too late, too late you foolish folk - too late to make amends
So many opportunities to fatten all your friends
So many squandered chances to do the decent things
The noose of retribution now so beckoningly swings.

It's time to plan your eulogy, for once to take the fall
For all the sundry misery you've heaped upon us all
We're pulling up your anchor and we're casting off your lines
Your ratship is impounded for all those unpaid fines.

I think we should sell tickets - it'll be a raunchy show
Like UFC on steroids - oh, how the blood will flow
The fingers will be pointing, the accusations bold
"Blame it on the weather - I just did what I was told!"

Good riddance to bad rubbish - sayonara to the crooks
Who left us hung like so much meat on rusty carcass hooks
I will not shed a tear for them - I will not say goodbye
Just call the hazmat squad to come muck out their filthy sty.

For soon will come the brave Danielle, our heroine in green
Such scintillating splendour, oh, seldom have we seen
Such righteous indignation, such stalwart, steely grit
Such promises to fix it all with Crazy Glue and spit.

Yes, from the frying pan to the fire we are about to go
From bad to worse we run like sheep into the oven's glow
For the Wildrose is prickly, friends - it'll scratch you, can't you see?
That a rose by any other name....... will still a stinkweed be.

Phil Burpee
April 7, 2012