To: Liberal Leader Justin Trudeau
From: Someone who can help
Re: Your little problem
Dear Justin: I realize you are an extremely busy guy, what with being young and energetic and ruggedly handsome and trying to prove to voters you are a politician of both style and substance.
But I think we need to take a moment today to talk about your recent shocking confession, which surely has raised eyebrows throughout this great nation you one day hope to lead into a bright and shining future.
I am not referring here to the fact you admitted to firing up a joint at a dinner party three years ago while serving as an MP. Being a hip, modern parent, I am not overly disturbed by that sort of youthful, um, exuberance.
But I have to tell you I began perspiring heavily and wringing my hands over the unexpected admission, delivered without an ounce of shame, that you voluntarily choose not to drink coffee.
As a crusading journalist and a proud middle-of-the-road Canadian, I am forced to ask you the following probing question: What the (bad word) is up with that, Justin?
Seriously, you don't drink coffee? I hate to sound judgmental, Justin, but that is a pretty un-Canadian thing to say, don't you think? I mean, if we, as a nation, demand any particular quality in our politicians it is most definitely the quality of being able to stay awake.
And, as anyone who has ever spent even a few minutes watching the daily question period in the House of Commons is well aware, it is all but impossible to keep your eyelids open during that political snooze-fest unless you are jacked up on enough caffeine to give a horse a heart attack, as can we see from this fictitious transcript of a recent parliamentary debate:
One honourable member: "Seeing as how this is the start of National Maple Syrup Awareness Month, it behooves us, as Canadians, to remember the important role sugary condiments have played in the formation of blah blah blah... "
Other honourable members: "Zzzzzzzzzzzz!"
As with most Canadians, Justin, I start my workday with several gallons of strong coffee. I don't do this because I enjoy the taste of coffee. No, I do it because, just like the millions of patriots who at this very moment are trapped in gridlock at a Tim Hortons drive-thru window, I have a certified medical need for caffeine. Without it, I cannot remember my own name, let alone how to drive to the office, what my ATM password is and how many children I have.
I don't like to admit this in a family newspaper, Justin, but without coffee coursing through my aging veins, my gastrointestinal system would refuse to perform its vital daily duty, even if terrorists were pointing rocket launchers at my head, if you catch my pathetic drift.
So I think most of the electorate couldn't care less about the fact you have, admittedly, taken the odd puff on a fattie, Justin. However, telling us you refuse to drink coffee is like telling us you don't watch hockey or you have never collected Canadian Tire money. It's just unseemly.
I am not saying coffee does not pose certain health hazards, because it does. I know the dangers because, as a teenager on the West Coast, I once foolishly drank 32 cups of coffee in a single sitting to impress my classmates during a high school retreat and, not only did I not close my eyes for an entire week, but the huge ball of sludge that formed in my digestive system began burbling like the La Brea tar pits.
So, yes, if you hope to one day be prime minister, I think you should try experimenting with freshly brewed coffee, but, because you're a newbie, you shouldn't overdo it. Start slowly with a small amount.
Maybe just try a little pot in the morning, Justin. Oh, no, wait...