Cracker Barrel-chested

I gotta hand it to Rob Ford.  Seriously.  This Tommy Boy sequel that he’s reenacting is priceless.

Marion Barry may be the Jackie Robinson of crack smoking mayors, but Rob Ford has clearly established himself as the Babe Ruth.

The comedy fodder alone is worth the price of admission, but his sheer will to carry on when every day brings a revelation more preposterous than the one before is an achievement worthy of admiration.  It takes either massive balls, massive stupidity, a massive amount of delusion, or a massively uncalibrated political compass to walk this wire without a net, but here he is – bringing it, night in and night out. He’s the Cats of shitshows.

Sure, he’s like the naked emperor promenading through town, but he’s so adorably oblivious (in fact, proud) that I kinda have to give him his props.  The same way Barack Obama has taken to using the term “Obamacare” so as to not let the right-wingers turn it into an epithet, Ford has managed to turn his bat-shit-crazy antics into must-see TV.

Even if you’re like Ford himself and think you already have enough to eat at home, cracka manages to take his 350 pounds of Canadian bacon-wrapped dysfunction and deliver it in byte-sized morsels every night to a small screen near you.

We need to appreciate this guy because, even by effed-up politician standards, acts like this don’t come around very often. When have you ever seen an elected official try to divert your attention from his drug scandal by telling you about the gambling pool he runs out of the mayor’s office?

I have no idea when election day is in Toronto, but keep sending those postcards and letters.  We need to make sure this guy gets reelected.

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One Response to Cracker Barrel-chested

  1. Meredith Lambroff says:

    Awesome!

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