Stratagem 27: A metaphysical interview with Stephen Harper

So it’s been a long time since I posted anything here, despite the obvious fact that there is a national election going on and everyone is in a tizzy. I’ve been busy, mostly working on a new book, which is turning out to be six billion times more complicated than I’d thought. Writing is, like, hard and stuff.

Anyway, I did manage to find some time for metaphysical interviews with the major candidates. I’ve been trying to interview the incumbent, Stephen Harper, for weeks. But his staffers refused. I explained to them that a metaphysical interview is not a real interview, because instead of talking to the person you speculate about what they might say. They still wouldn’t do it. “The Prime Minister doesn’t do imaginary interviews,” they said. “You’re not even allowed to pretend you talked to him.”

Then I got a call out of blue. “The Prime Minister is willing to speak to you, to help get his message out to Canadians.” And I was asked to meet Harper at his home in Calgary.

Harper's home was a black tower looming over what was otherwise a pleasant suburban neighbourhood. Thunder rumbled in the clouds overhead and a chill wind shook the dead branches of the trees. The yard was decorated with severed heads on spikes – Nigel Wright, Michael Sona, a bunch more I didn’t recognize.

Pierre Poilevre was waiting at the door, casually leaning an AK-47 against the shoulder of his blue suit. “The boss is expecting you,” he said by way of greeting.

In the living room, the television was playing the opening sequence of a Fox News show called When Niqabs Attack. “If their faces are covered,” said the voiceover, “how do you know they’re not hiding explosives in their cheeks?” The screen showed a picture of a chipmunk with Osama bin Laden’s beard photoshopped onto it.

The Prime Minister sat in a huge armchair stroking a cat, barking orders at a group of technicians as they worked on what I assumed was not a death ray, though it did kind of look like a death ray, and it did kind of say “DEATH RAY” on the side. Jenni Byrne was there on a laptop. I assume she was not looking up the GPS coordinates for Papineau. I also assume I misheard her say “Die, Liberals, die!” while cackling madly.

Behind Harper’s chair, half a dozen terrified people huddled against the wall, bound and gagged with duct tape. They were either hostages or Environment Canada scientists, it wasn’t clear.

When Harper saw me, he pulled off the eyepatch he was wearing and hid it behind his back. “You may speak,” he grunted.

“Mr. Prime Minister,” I said, “your campaign so far has been pretty short on accounts of what you’ll do if elected. You seem to be running primarily on your record and not promising anything besides more of the status quo.”

“Justin Trudeau will raise your taxes,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “But I was wondering about your plans. What do you see yourself doing in the next four years, if re-elected?”

“Justin Trudeau will raise your taxes,” he said.

“I, um, actually, I was asking about your plans, not the Liberals’.”