Who cares indeed, Rex Murphy

Rex Murphy knows his role is to entertain his Conservative troops. It hasn’t been going that well lately for his boys. He puts on a brave face. “Who cares” if Canada was embarrassed the world over by its ass kicking at the UN? The UN? Sissy boy do gooders.

“Who cares” that the Conservatives were humiliated by its defeat on the Census? Muttering to himself, Rex is shrugging as if speaking to an invisible audience. The brandy glass in his hand is still full. He puts it down carefully and sighs – what was he thinking? Alcohol? Rex Murphy don’t need no stinking booze. He’s a man and he doesn’t care that his party is looking every day more and more the fool. After all, he’s used to it.

The pundit wipes his nose and adjusts his tie. He makes a brief call to his pal ‘Chrissie‘, adjusts the toy soldiers on the mantle and tightens his tie. He likes it tight. He sits in his comfy lazyboy and lights up a pipe with that maple tabaccy he likes so much. Looking out the window he comes to attention. Two kids are running across his law. Fucking kids, he seethes through his teeth. Trouble with the world, those kids. Don’t listen to their elders any more.

Setting back again and pulling a binky over his barren nads, Rex sighs again and looks over at the unopened package containing his courtesy copy of ‘Harperland’. He thinks for a second about opening it but shudders and thinks better of it. Lawrence Martin. Amateur! There’s only one author worth reading anymore, he chuckles to himself with that sense of pride that only comes from lacking any sense of self awareness. Rex da man!

(Ok, he thinks to himself, that Ezra Levant fella has some good ideas – for a young ‘un. Got a lot to learn but Rex is only willing to help him, if only Levant would respond to his missives.)

Nine o’ clock. Time for bed. He pulls himself slowly from his perch. Fudge, it’s tough getting old. The bones just don’t feel that good anymore. Not like his mind! That’s fine. It’s sharper than ever. He ponders his column today for Stevie’s National Post. He feels better, sore joints and all. Who cares about the kids, the upstart Levant fellow, the embarrassments of his party and all the dirty fucking hippies of this world? He’s Rex Murphy! And that’s good enough for him.