In his final rant on the final episode of his show, after a 15-year run of having the second curliest hair of any white guy on the CBC (trailing only the epically follicled Eugene Levy, obviously), Rick Mercer will unleash a tirade against the very fabric of time; and our own delightful, excruciating, and so quickly passing place in it.
“It just seemed like something that all Canadians could relate to,” Mercer says, reclining on his couch made of 4 billion year old rock he himself hewed from the Canadian Shield. “Right after hating the weather, wanting Tim Hortons to pay a living wage, and not understanding the descent into madness of Don Cherry’s suits.”
Mercer, who is hanging up the ire after a decade and a half of sounding off, says the unbearable lightness of being has long been a pet peeve of his. And so, realizing he was running out of time – both on his eponymous show, and on this diminutive rock speeding through the void of space in general – he knew now was the moment to rant about time.
“I don’t want to give the whole thing away, but seriously though. What is it with this place? We get plonked down here without warning, arriving into the world through the most tortuous method imaginable, given zero definitive answers as to what the objective is or what happens next, and by the way I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about it because the clock is ticking and you better get out there and do something until suddenly it’sover, hopefully not too soon but probably. The eff? That has got to be the worst designed universe possible. That’s like a hockey game with no puck, no teams, no coach, only patches of ice, some people don’t get skates, and there’s somewhere between 5 seconds and 4 minutes left on the clock but you can’t see it. Ah shit there’s the buzzer. Everyone hand in your skates and file out one at time, game’s over, sorry no idea who won, and you actually don’t exist anymore so what does it matter? Good game.”
Mercer takes a deep breath.
“That’s the gist of it anyway. Maybe I’m getting old.”
He then reminds us all to tune in Tuesday to share the polished, HD version of his rant against the passing nature of this grand parade, that might all be nothing more than the strange dream of a young child in another universe, sleeping-in on a Saturday morning in a place where busses don’t crash, musicians live forever, and Canada is just a word for looking after each other out there.
“You never know.”