By: XOXO, Pierre
April 30, 2024
Dear Diary,
Another day, another shift on Parliament Hill. During Question Period today, I dished out a flawless match against my public (and my private) heartthrob Justin Trudeau — my preordained archnemesis. Safe to say, jail-releasing Justin never saw it coming when I ambushed him with my elite, signature five-point plan of attack my interns drew up over their summer co-op.
First, I delivered a ten-minute-long lecture on #JustinFlation and how it’s to blame for the rising cost of living. I then, once again, reminded Justin of my literary genius by cycling through my snappy slogans: Trust Fund Trudeau. The Pesky Photogenic PM. Jacked Justin — wait no, hehe, that one’s reserved only for the bedroom — moving on. I reminded everyone about that one time Justin boxed shirtless in a charity match. Fun fact: he practised on me beforehand. The cherry on top was when I tore apart his Liberal policies without offering alternative solutions. Parfait.
If I’m not prime minister by next year’s federal election, then I’ll eat my shoes. I’ll have to submit to that handsome devil.
I have to say, though. Justin did not do too shabby either . . . He even called me out for being a spineless leader! Though he did yap on and on, and must have recruited his own team of interns because he then somehow exposed my kryptonite: immigrants and working-class Canadians.
Touché, Justin. Touché.
“See you at the next Question Period, Poilievre,” he whispered as he walked by my desk, winking.
“You know where to really find me, Pierre, my pookie. At the (Rideau) Cottage . . . ”
I felt my cheeks go red and quickly turned away. How I yearned for his interventionist hands all over my restrictive suit (I am a social conservative after all). When I returned to my office, my stomach wouldn’t stop churning with fluttering butterflies. The corners of my mouth did a strange thing where they turned upward. Huh — is that what people called smiling?
Big PP signing off.
January 6, 2025
Dear Diary,
Nothing’s been the same since Justin dumped me. Now I’m stuck debating the new, old dude, Carbon Tax Carney. Oh Diary, I miss the good-old days when Justin and I would spar over #AxeTheTax. Who am I without him? My therapist says I need to move on, but I can’t stop thinking about the way he’d smile at me from across the Chamber. How we would get under each other’s skins . . . Conservatives! Liberals! What does it matter? Why couldn’t we have run away into the wilderness together???
Now my failure of a party won’t get off my back and they want to put me through a leadership review? Oh, and I forgot to mention a super minor detail — Justin just announced he’s dating Katy Perry — can you believe the audacity of that backstabbing traitor!?!? What has she got that I don’t?? Six Teen Choice Awards and a ten-minute stint as an astronaut? I have a loyal fanbase of millions of adoring suburban dads and the love of Alberta! Plus, I know I have something that Katy doesn’t . . . a big . . . political career (which Justin loves).
Why are you doing this to me, Justin? Whyyy? Come back home to me. I yearn for you. Only you.
In tears, Deflated PP.
