Shed a tear for Canada. February was a rough month for her. It’s not enough that Indian activists, still irate over the Colten Boushie decision, are hurling recriminations of discrimination in her face and making her feel guilty (admittedly, not hard to do). It also isn’t enough that, in the recently completed Pyeongchang Olympics, Canada’s vaunted men’s hockey team captured a dismal bronze medal, and its equally vaunted men’s curling team didn’t even make it to the podium. No, the cherry on the sundae had to have been her professional gadfly Justin Trudeau’s catastrophically ill-conceived trek to India, a venture so laden with self-inflicted humiliations it makes Clark Griswold look like a master of organization. And in true narcissistic fashion, Twinkletoes seems blithely unaware that anything at all went amiss.
Why did our very own not-quite-Millennial Lord Mountbatten opt to visit the Raj in the first place? Well, to hear him tell it, it was all part of an extremely important trade mission to settle a Canadian-Indian dispute over legume shipments. It was so important, in fact, that Twinkletoes didn’t see fit to invite Canada’s international trade minister along for the negotiations – filling the seat thus left vacant on the plane with his space cadet wife, and commandeering three other seats for his children, besides. Seeing our illustrious Commander-in-Cheese and his family stalwartly giving up the bracing cold air of home for this honorable excursion thus bolstered national morale greatly in this oh-so-harrowing Great Pulse War of 2018.
Right from the get-go, the trip had the imprint of humiliation writ large across its strained facade of bonhomie. Indian prime minister Narendra Modi is a notoriously touchy-feely chap who is prone to embracing every head of state that comes for a visit. Not this time. He merely sent his agriculture minister to rather tepidly welcome Twinkletoes – and the former compounded the intended sleight by appearing dressed in a casual jacket and jeans, as though he was a Mahindra tractor salesman. The reason for this seeming rudeness on India’s part became obvious once the trip was over: Mr. Congeniality had not been invited, and was in fact urged to postpone his trip for a more opportune time. But that would not pass muster, for reasons I will elaborate on a little later.
As it turns out, India was more than justified in their cold shoulder treatment, for Twinkletoes proceeded to ditch any pretensions that he was there to conduct business and instead engaged on an appalling virtue-signalling jag that will easily go down as the most embarrassing diplomatic faux pas in Canadian history – and it stands a good shot at making the short list for most embarrassing diplomatic faux pas in world history as well. Obama’s legendary fits of bowing before potentates cannot compare to the spectacle of the Trudeau family appearing in front of all the tourist destinations decked out in garish Oriental finery, looking for all the world like they were trying to score some pot in between photo shoots for the album cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Many times the family was photographed engaged in phony blissed-out decidedly un-Christian prayer. To whom and for what, no one can say for sure. To some elephant-headed demon who’s been lurking around the periphery of the 4,817th caste for the past twelve hundred years? Or perhaps for enlightenment to be attained under the nearest bodhi tree as soon as the photographers can get their equipment set up? Hey, it’s all one and the same thing, right? At least the one boy had the good sense to look mortified in a picture that quickly went viral:
And may he praise God that Jeremiah 31:29 is still very much in effect, and that the sour grape gluttonously devoured by Twinkletoes need not set his own teeth on edge.
The costume party – which was so outlandishly queer that Twinkletoes went through several changes of garb in one day, and this being the winter he could hardly use excessive heat as an excuse for doing so – was not the only low point. Far from it. That honor would probably have to be bestowed on his meeting (at numerous receptions) with a notorious Sikh separatist terrorist permanently exiled from Canada on account of his failed attempt to assassinate a future Hindustani premier of British Columbia in the 1980s. Profuse apologies were later issued over this alleged organizational snafu (ha!), but the damage had already been done. As a Canadian satirical piece put it, what would have happened had Modi visited Canada dressed as a Mountie and scheduled talks with some violent FLQ separatists in Quebec? On top of that kick in the gonads, Trudeau also flew out, at government expense, a celebrity Indian chef from Vancouver to cook his meals for him – I suppose because he knew at what proper ratios to mix the maple syrup and the Molson beer in with the curry and yogurt. Top this off with more than a few demonstrations of Twinkletoes’s by-now-patented spastic dance moves and an utterly gratuitous meeting with India’s national women’s ball hockey team, where he finally was granted a pathetic sampling of the adulation he presumed would be his due the second he stepped off the tarmac, and the entire debacle finally came to a merciful close. Had the Brits of a previous century seen the spectacle their senior dominion would have wrought, perhaps they would have said ‘Know what? The Russkies can have the bloody Khyber Pass!’
The ramifications of the wannabe poster child for global white SJWs playing Bollywood and making a complete ass of himself are so painfully obvious they probably don’t warrant any further commentary on my part. I will admit, though, that seeing the backlash directed Castro Jr’s way from Indians themselves has been most satisfying. Turns out post-identitarianism isn’t selling so well over there either, and many Indians have jeered at Twinkletoes’s wondrous wardrobe and pathetic mannerisms in extremely politically incorrect terms – pointing out that while it’s bad enough for a Great White Bwana to be donning ceremonial robes most native Indians themselves will never have cause to, wearing attire not indigenous to the region he happened to be visiting is the apex of poorly thought-out liberal ostentation. Encouraging! Now if they’d only realize that the proper place to engage in such cultural preservation is on their home turf and nowhere else…
This leaves the unanswered question: what, then, was the purpose of all this? Just another pleasure excursion/publicity tour for this wannabe jet-setter that went horribly awry? Not quite. After all, a mere week or two before, he concluded a successful leisurely adulation-fest to some of the more left-wing American states, and even a pampered Pomeranian can only be patted so much before he starts getting bored and petulant. The fact of the matter is that this was some pretty blatant polticking, and very incompetently executed, at that. Canada’s Liberals have some potent competition on the left – Jagmeet Singh, newly minted leader of the avowedly socialist New Democratic Party and a proponent of Sikh radicalism. As can be expected, Canada’s sizable numbers of resident Punjabis are swooning pretty shamelessly over this fellow with the mangy beard and multicolored turbans…and Twinkletoes’s Liberal caucus in British Columbia is largely dependent on their votes. On top of that, BC’s non-Indo voters are already irate at the Liberals due to their vacillating over a nasty interprovincial pipeline dispute, and more and more observers are predicting all of the Liberals’ 18 BC seats could flip over to the NDP. What else is an embattled man-child prime minister supposed to do but run madly off to Hind to cozen an ex-Tamil Tiger or two in an attempt to curry (geddit????) favor with this most worthy base back home? Who knows – maybe he even found the time to arrange for a shipment of immigrants to be delivered to Vancouver Island before the next election, to be resettled in electoral ridings the Liberals are weak in? It was, after all, BC Liberal MP Randeep Sarai who sent out invitations to the Sikh terrorist to attend Twinkletoes’s overseas fetes to begin with. Even the abominable outfits were politically tinged, with the designs furnished by an activist feminist designer from Toronto who makes a point of hiring Syrian refugees to do the dirty work for her and who advertises her wares as ‘jewels and lace mixed with social change’. She apparently subscribes to the mantra that there is no such thing as bad publicity, at least. Given the fat government cheques she received for her sweatshop apparel, I shouldn’t wonder.
And as a worthwhile postscript to the whole sorry affair, Twinkletoes is currently engaging in some flights of fancy that make one suspect he was inhaling something that decidedly was not incense in a Kashmir monastery, and the hangover has come back to bite him but good. During a couple of all-night ecstasy binges, he apparently stumbled across an Alex Jones podcast or two and hazily perceived of something previously unknown to him called the ‘deep state’. Brilliantly deducing that such a malevolent apparatus must be functional within the world’s largest democracy, he concluded that the machinations of India’s SMERSH-like intelligence service was the only possible explanation as to why his excursion wasn’t a resounding geopolitical triumph. And yes, friends and neighbors, he is quite literally running with this drug-addled fantasy as though he just fished the Holy Grail out of the Rideau Canal. A little bit of helpful advice, Prime Minister: when the actual deep state perceives what a liability you are becoming to them – as they inevitably must – you will be ejected from your pedestal very rapidly and very ignominiously, and there will be no more playing Bonnie Prince Justin for you, ever again. You just ensured that you will be persona non grata in India for the rest of your life, and there remains little use in Canada having any kind of a foreign policy as long as you’re around to be spat at. But as an avowed western separatist, hey, that works just fine for me. Re-elect Trudeau, 2019, sez I!
But I’m sure he cares not one little whit about any of that. His next trip to the noble kingdom of Wakanda, which so many of his advisors eagerly gush over, is sure to return him to the metaphorical international red carpet. Or perhaps he’ll pull up stakes permanently for sunny California, and take a run at Diane Feinstein’s soon-to-be-ex-Senate seat, as she is being ejected for being ‘too conservative’. I’m well assured that the state’s pederast voters are not at all immune to the charms of a middle-aged man perpetually engaging in flights of disgustingly fey whimsy.