Wow. Ubermensch Justin Trudeau has exceeded himself. Again. But you know what, enough already. No-one’s impressed.
Justin Trudeau, babe, you need to stop. You’re making the rest of us look bad. And that’s not cool.
The Canadian folk might seem buoyed by your lefty thinking, but deep down, they, like all of us, have had it with your showboating.
I noticed it two weeks back, when he explained quantum computing to a rowdy classroom of physicists and journalists, standing in front of a blackboard smeared in enough maths porn to expound a flaccid Fibonacci.
He explained binary systems, particles, and waves and only then went on to answer the question he’d been asked about his efforts to defeat ISIL.
Today he finished baking his smug pie, decorated with this cherry on top:
Yet again he trumpeted sensibility. Those facts we all know, and hold true. Diversity is a wonderful thing. We know this. The people know this.
But that’s our job, Trudeau. Not yours.
We were coping with your perfection confection until this morning, but not anymore…that, you accomplished freak, was the final straw.
Mr Trudeau, you’re too perfect.
Like a Faberge egg, just when my eyes are hurting from the sparkly outer coating, you flip open to ooze more supreme faultlessness and it’s leaving a nasty nectarous taste in our mouths.
I bet he knows how to play the Theremin. With his feet.
You’re not one of them. In case your father didn’t tell you, FYI, politicians are ludicrously flawed and have comb-overs. Who do you think you are? And why haven’t you said something confoundingly entertaining like “no-one is the suppository of all wisdom” or “they misunderestimated me” yet? They’re not going to let you be in the gang if you keep going the way you’re going.
Stop it with the fetching, hipster-hot, David Cameron meets Brian Cox meets smoldering Carl from Love Actually palaver. Put your shirt back on, get out of the boxing ring, and help yourself to a large serving of Doctor Phillian realness.
You need to take control of your ego (read it in Doctor Phil’s voice)
Pop quiz, readers. I know there’s some of you under Justin’s spell, and you’re skimming my barbs, because I’m attacking what makes bae great and wonderful, but hear dis.
If Justin Trudeau wasn’t a politician, what would he be?
Well, it starts with a ‘d’ and ends in ‘ouchebag’. If he was just a guy at the pub, or Tupperware clique, or uni lecture, would you adore him as you do, or would your eyes strain from the continual rolling, after yet another demonstration of a perfectly perfected skill. In public no less.
So what if he used to have the kind of goatee that us ladies dream of (especially when sideways- #sticklerforatickler). Who cares if he can balance babies while casually chatting about neuroscience?
You know what hot is? Being shit at something.
Politicians are not supposed to wear superman t-shirts and go to Comic Con, we’re supposed to disagree with those who we choose.
Did you not get that memo?
At least down here, in Oz, we’re playing the Prime Minister game correctly. We’re following the rules on the box on the board game ‘Democracy’ we got for Chrimbo in 508 B.C.
And shut up, Justin, I know you know that the actual birthplace of democracy is somewhere else, and Wikipedia is wrong, but you know what, know-it-all? You’re not Prime Minister of my fingers(!)
We’ve got you, Malc. And yeah, JT will be cooler than you’ll ever be, no matter how fast we can illegally download Deadpool. But that doesn’t matter. Because Cool isn’t Hot.
Like it or not, the PM is the father figure of the democratic system. And who wants the cool dad? The one that your friends purely come over and see (not you), and inappropriately flirt with?
It wouldn’t surprise me if he reads Braille.
Justin. I beg of you follow the example of all the greats and get your gaffe on. Invest offshore, dive into a juicy sex scandal or club some seals. Do something…anything. It’s for all of us, babe.
We can’t take any more of your vexing superior, humanitarian, feminist non-traditional politics.
It’s just not right.