Confessions of a Stephen Harper Troll – Chapter Eight

TrollRectangle It took a lot, but four days later, I am in Edmonton ready to go. And Spindog’s in the room down the hall.

The Party is paying us to find folks with kids. We sign them up, they get a big fat cheque from Steve. Like Spindog was singing on the plane “Happy voting to you keep smiling until then..”

Meantime, I’ve been at the hotel for a day and I gotta get out. Place is a fucking fishbowl.

I got in the elevator they’re all staring at me. I stare back at one bitch and she almost jumps out of her skin. Went for breakfast and got ignored. That stopped when I started yelling for coffee.

At least there’s no fucking mosquitos. My buddies told me Edmonton stunk with mosquitos, but this year, it’s OK. It’s ’cause of the drought. No oil and no mosquitos – weird, eh.

I told Spindog I wasn’t staying, but he’s not going with me.

“You go to Motel 8, I like the Westin.” he says.

He plans to sit in the lobby and watch for Rona Ambrose when we’re not out door-knocking. Like he’s gonna hit on her, or something.

“Not my type,” he says.

So, I get my guy on the cell to tell him I’m moving and he better get on that cause I’m not paying for nothing here.

He makes all this noise about extra work and how Spindog and I should stay together. He says the guy who owns the hotel is a giant donor and they always use this place.

“You got me in this fucking fat ass hotel and it’s disgusting. Costs $10 for a beer and the waitress won’t even talk to me. That’s my Party money, man.”

“No, no, no,” he says.   “We’re not paying for this. It’s coming out of Finance and Poilievre’s shop.”

“We’re trying to sign people up for a government program, so we can spend government money. We would never be doing this if the Party had to pay.”

“Meantime, I ain’t staying here with these snots.

And, we need a car to do this right, so I’m going to Avis.”

“No, no, no, go to Hertz, the fellow that owns the Alberta franchise is a far bigger donor, he says, and adds, ”You’re getting started tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, Siree. Getting started at the crack of dawn.”

So, I go up to tell Spindog the news, but he’s still in bed and he won’t come to the door. Like beating a fucking dead horse with a loose cannon. I yell through the door that I’m packing up and we got a car and I’ll come get him in the morning.

“Bye, jerkoff,” I yell.

“Don’t come too early,” he yells back.

 

2 thoughts on “Confessions of a Stephen Harper Troll – Chapter Eight

  1. Pingback: Confessions of a Stephen Harper Troll – Chapter Nine | Humans vs Harper

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