His response to the truckers’ convoy suggests he’s been taking lessons from someone down in Cuba.
It took a spurt of totalitarianism, ejaculated north of the border, to confirm what many of us already knew: Justin Trudeau is truly his father’s son.
This humble reporter is far from alone in observing that Trudeau is really Fidel Castro’s long, lost lovechild. It didn’t take two hours of guzzling Labatt beer with a bunch of fat Canadians with hats with earflaps and earmuffs watching hockey to figure that out.
Besides, I hate hockey. What the hell is hockey, anyway? Hockey has some rule called “icing,” which makes no sense whatsoever.
