The Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where have you gone Stephane Dion, the fate of humanity turns its lonely eyes to you! One year ago, there was hope. The last chance that we would have to launch a climate warrior into power before the Copenhagen Summit. Every night before I go to bed, I look up into the sky at the constellation of Aquarius, and I scream out his name "STEPHANE! STEPHANE! STEPHANE!" Then I collapse to my knees weeping for what could have been. I have done this every night for a year. Like Heather Mallick, I am embarrassed that Stephane Dion is not my Prime Minister. His eloquence, his charisma, the magic of his wisdom, the overwhelming awesomeness that is the strength of his convictions, gone in an instant when that bitch decided to prorogue parliament. When I wake up every morning, I smash my head against the wall, break out my wiji board and summon the spirit of Karl Marx to bring me guidance, but in the wake of the catastrophe of Harper, I can find no solace...