A Day In The Life Of An Incompetent Mayor

Something different today. Those of you who are Canadian will know this alcoholic rage machine utter moron who thinks he's the mayor of Toronto. He has made international headlines too, regularly putting his foot in his mouth over and over again, having allegations of fraud, crack smoking, electoral shenanigans, and other less than savory innuendo against him. Rob Ford is the blowhard who somehow managed to weasel his way into office back in 2010, a loudmouthed oaf who never learns from his mistakes, is unable to work with people who don't agree with him on everything, and is spectacularly unfit to be the mayor of a major city. His friends tend to have long, long criminal records. He actively ignores the most important newspaper in the country because they refused to endorse him. And yes, this is the same guy of whom there were allegations of a video with him smoking crack. Given his extensive record of shadiness, admitted use of recreational drugs ("I've smoked a lot of weed", he's said), boorish behaviour, alcoholic streak, temper tantrums, and much more, I'm inclined to believe the reporters. 

He and his idiot brother Doug, a city councillor, are only in the place they are in life because their father was rich, otherwise they'd be the angry drunks down at the corner bar complaining how everyone else gets ahead but them. These are men of no talent, no intelligence, no social skills. If work is done at all in municipal politics in the city of Toronto, it is despite these two jackasses. Time and again, they have lurched from crisis to crisis of their own making, blaming others for their own problems, and at this point, have so humiliated the city that their remaining followers, the so called Ford Nation, must surely be complete and utter morons to still think they're effective leaders. That fits with their idol, who is one of the dumbest people on the planet.

So without further ado, shall we begin?

9:40 AM. Wake up at home. Feeling grouchy. Massive headache. Hung over. Pop some aspirin, maybe smoke a joint, anything to make the hangover end. Got things to do, people to see. Reporters to avoid. I hate reporters. Unless they love me.

10:10 AM. Phone call with Dougie. Strategy session to throw mud on opponents in council. Lousy latte drinking tree hugging hippies. Why they don't do everything I tell them to do is beyond me. We need to smack some of those people around. 

10:45 AM. Driving out onto the street. Narrowly miss hitting the postman with the SUV. Get outta my way, you idiot!

11:05 AM. Sneaking in the back way at City Hall. Don't want to be seen by any of those pesky reporters. Those jackasses have way too much time on their hands. Wonder if I can call the Prime Minister, have journalists outlawed. Stop to confer with my Chief of Staff. Third one this year. Standup kind of guy. Always knows the best people to buy weed from. Tells me we lost another staffer. 

You mean I'm gonna have to hire another communications director? I hate having to interview people! Cuts into my drinking time!

12:15 PM. Interviewing new candidates. Ask if they're willing to fall on their swords for me, or take my place for a drug test if the need arises. Surprised by negative answers. Might have to just appoint one of my buddies to take the job. Wonder what Butch is doing right now. He just got outta prison last week.

12:30 PM. Email from one of those ****ers at the ****ing Toronto Star. What part of drop dead and I will never ever respond to questions or emails from these ****ers do they not understand? First thing I do when I take over the country is have that paper shut down and the whole building razed to the ground. All part of our secret operation to rename the country Fordlandia.

1:30 PM. Council meeting. I spend my time rolling my eyes and belching whenever someone I don't like starts to talk. 

2:10 PM. Come on, let's wrap this up already. I got drinking to do! Plus I've gotta figure out if I can sneak my way into coaching another high school football team.

3:10 PM. Finally. Walk out of council chambers, pass reporters on my way out. They fire off all sorts of questions. I stop briefly, blame the Premier, mutter something about the gravy train, and yell "Subways subways subways" as I leave.

Damned reporters. We need to drop those ****ers into Lake Ontario.

3:30 PM. Having a glass of Jack Daniels while on the phone with schools. Trying to find an opening in a coaching capacity for football. Hey, everyone loves football. At least everyone who matters to me. Anyone who doesn't love football isn't worth talking to. Libraries? The arts? Community centres? Who gives a **** about that?

I wonder why all the officials I've talked to keep turning me down.

4:10 PM. Figuring out my excuse to avoid attending any events at Pride next year. It's only eight months away, and I've gotta hustle to make sure I'm not seen near anyone who's even remotely gay or bi or whatever the hell they wanna call themselves this week. No rainbow flags near Robbie Ford!

5:00 PM. Downing my eighth glass of Jacks. Helps keep that throbbing in my head at bay. I wonder what that is. Same with the odd thumping in my chest... maybe I oughtta see a doctor.

What am I saying? I'm in great shape! Hell, I arm wrestled Hulk Hogan just a few weeks ago. Sure, Dougie talked him into letting me win, but still...

5:25 PM. Dougie and I talk with our staffers about the party up at the cottage this weekend. Since my usual source got nabbed by the cops- stupid cops, I hate 'em- I'll need to figure out how to supply the usual volumes of weed and booze.

I don't want no reporters sneakin' up there and takin' pictures. So we'll have to have interns patrolling the property. Hey, I don't care if your grandmother's funeral is this weekend, you're gonna do it!

5:35 PM. Dougie tells me about a shindig up at Casa Loma this evening. Hey, I think I'll put in an appearance. What could possibly go wrong, Dougie? First though, I think I'll have another drink. 

8:10 PM. Stumble out of my SUV down at Casa Loma. Lots of people around. Hey, where's the party? Anybody know where the kegger is? I'm feelin' thirsty.

8:15 PM. Walking around, slurring my words. Sure do hope no one's filming this. I've had to buy up and destroy enough videos with incriminating evidence this year, thank you very much...

8:25 PM. Stumble into some moron. Words are exchanged. Fight breaks out when I smack him across the jaw. Don't really remember what happens next.

8:55 PM. Under arrest. Cops are cuffing me. Hey, how was I supposed to know that moron I hit was the King of Spain? You ****ers know who I am? Uncuff me right now!

9:10 PM. Perp walked right past the press into a police precinct. Those ****ing reporters are screaming questions at me. I hear Dougie behind me insisting this was all a big misunderstanding.

9:20 PM. Being booked by the cops. Heads are gonna roll for this one. Starting with the police chief. No one does this to me and gets away with it! 

9:35 PM. Placed into holding. I spot some familiar faces in other cells. Hey, when you swim with the sharks, you're gonna get... what's that expression again?

All I can figure is that King of Spain must be against me too. Just like all of the press, now the cops, anyone who calls my abilities into question, they're all out to get me. It's a huge left wing conspiracy, and I've had enough of it. 

Ford Nation still loves me.

11:40 PM. Dougie manages to get my attorney in to force the cops to release me. Where would I be without a brother like that? After warnings from the cops and a promise that I'll be in court in the morning for a hearing on the charges, I leave. Stupid cops. Every last one of 'em. Arrest me, will they?

The press are waiting outside. Vultures. Every last one of 'em.

I just say this was all a big blowup over nothing, and it's all a conspiracy against me. They're all out to get me, but the hard workin' taxpayers are with me, and we're gonna get that gravy train derailed. Subways subways subways.

One of those ****ers asks me why I think it's okay to deck the King of Spain. I say back that the guy had it coming. Dougie hustles me away.

1:10 AM. Up late. Having a drink. I'm on the news. The Spanish ambassador is demanding formal apologies and a promise that I'll be fully punished if found guilty. Stupid ****ing Spanish ****er. You're out to get me too. They're all out to get me. It's not as if I'm the problem, right? Right? Of course not, that'd be silly.

Doesn't matter. Ford Nation loves me, and that's all that matters.