Orwell’s year approaches, full of Newspeak and the Ministry of Truth. Herpes has gone, to be replaced by AIDS. Yasser Arafat has, one hopes, disappeared from our headlines, and we have had quite enough of Brooke Shields, John McEnroe and Jean-Claude Parrot. The year 1984 promises to bring us better, as the good Dr. Foth will illuminate for your wondering eyes.
Pope John Paul II, on his September visit to Alberta, will be presented with a white cowboy hat, and like Prince Philip, will regard it with the same glance that one gives when, crossing a field, one views a meadow muffin. Martin Brian Mellowrooney, over the year, will develop bags under his eyes that eventually will be as long as his chin. He will continue to suffer from the black wire disease, the affliction that comes to those that, like Lyndon Johnson, live by and for the telephone. The company that makes Du Mauriers will declare an extra dividend for its shareholders because of his devotion. Yuri Andropov will make an appearance at a military parade.
Mick Jagger will not get married. In late January, after the Ottawa visit of the Chinese premier, Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Himself will be presented with a sheaf of papers by Senator Keith Davey who, as usual, will be clothed in his disguise as one of the rejects in the casting for Guys and Dolls. It will contain the Liberal party’s private polling results, showing that going into an election with Pierre Elliott Peacemaker will be a disaster and finish off the Grits as a national force. The projections have Lloyd Axworthy and Bob Bockstael losing their Manitoba seats, thus wiping out the only two futile seats left in Western Canada. They show the Mulroneyites taking as many as 18 seats in Quebec with the Parti Nationalist, the new federal wing of the Parti Québécois, causing enough trouble to foul up an additional six Liberal seats. They will show that, with Pierre Elliott Powdermaker as leader, there is not a safe
Allan Fotheringham is a columnist for Southam News.
Liberal seat left in Toronto. Senator Davey, polite as always, will suggest that the Prime Minister take the figures away to Harrington Lake for the weekend and study them, no hurry, sir.
John Glenn, who has the wrong stuff in politics, will expose his terminal boredom to the American public and will lose the Democratic nomination to Walter Mondale, the onetime Hubert Humphrey radical who more and more resembles Mr. Tupperware. Teddy Kennedy, the crown of Chappaquiddick around his wreath of curls, will lurk at the convention in San Francisco like
Banquo’s ghost. The Pentagon pipsqueaks will invade yet another Central America banana republic on behalf of democracy, failing accidentally to inform Ottawa because they have mislaid the 24 Sussex Drive zip code. A year after the U.S. Coast Guard has accurately figured out the cause of the sinking of the Ocean Ranger and the deaths of 84 mostly Newfoundland lads, the ponderous Canadian investigation will be slumbering into the same conclusions. Eightyfour Canadian lawyers will get rich.
Pierre Elliott Martyr, having saved the world from nuclear holocaust while testing the cruise over downtown Alberta, will study the papers at Harrington Lake and, not being completely suicidal, will conclude that the humiliation of losing to lesser being Joe Clark in 1979 should not be followed by losing to lesser being Brian Mulroney in 1984. He will call a leadership convention for April. Ronnie Reagan will continue the practice of not dying his hair. He will continue to be prematurely orange.
Gary Carter will continue to lead the Montreal Expos in ego. The Expos will not go to the World Series. Warren Moon, Condredge Holloway and Barbara Amiel will accept free agent contracts in the Excited States of America. Barbara will be a nose guard.
Maureen McTeer will continue along her appointed 1984 plan: looking for a new house in Ottawa since the new one, after Stornoway, is too small for her family; finishing off her second book on the capital’s interesting houses; doing next a historical novel and then, running for Parliament 10 years from now.
Pierre Elliott Humble, , having discovered the reaI son for Andropov’s seclusion is that he has bought a Betamax and is catching up on Dallas, will be studiously aloof at the convention, surreptitiously supporting the write-in candidate, Barbra Streisand. The winner (another Hollywood entry), John Turner, will run in Vancouver Quadra against the charismatic Conservative incumbent, Bill Clarke, whose personality extends as far as 15 inches. The z new prime minister will 8 call an election for June ë 18, the contest being John g Mulroney up against “ Brian Turner, the Eyes versus the Jaw. Housewives will be agog, if not aghast.
With the election over, the Few Democrats will select a new leader, Ed Broadbent being infected with the same disease that overcame Robert Standstill and Joe Cluck. Witty and charming in private, all three once in public became stiff and artificial. It is a political rule that their tigers should not get stiffed when in public view; in fact, a drunk Stanfield, Clark or Broadbent would have been giants. Let’s hear it for Beefeaters. The remaining Beatles will deny that they are reuniting. Mark MacGuigan will complete his charisma transplant. Erik Nielsen will, early in 1984, fulfil his yearly quota and smile once. Mila Mulroney will exhaust the budget of the CBC camera unit at the Winter Olympics in Sarajevo, Yugoslavia in February. Ronnie Reagan, twirling his six-guns, will edge out dullard Mondale, the United Way’s answer to politics, next Nov. 6. And over home on June 18? Brian Turner will prevail.
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