Ford Nation Quietly Removes ‘Good’ From Doug’s Old Boy Status

Doug Ford, seen here trying to find the exit. 

Doesn’t mean anything,” said an embattled Doug Ford, as he waved his way through a thicket of reporters early Tuesday morning, on his way to collect his copy of the Toronto Sun from the foot of the drive, looking like a man clearing cobwebs in a forest he planted, but still can’t find his way out of. 

“Yes, I’m an old boy, that is factually accurate,” said Ford, the plush hem of his bathrobe waving ever-so-slightly in the first hints of a fresh breeze blowing out of the please-no-don’t-elect-this-man-dear-god-how-did-this-happen.

“And I’ve been a good old boy since the day I was born,” the potential premier (!?!?!?) continued, shouting over a passing garbage truck. “If people want to just up and drop the ‘good’ part of that simply because of some made-up lawsuit that -“

“Just happens to match all the available evidence,” loudly added a cyclist, as she rode by the crowded driveway, causing reporters to turn and news cameras to pan.

“And rings true like a lucky horseshoe hitting the post squarely,” said a man walking his dog on the otherwise deserted suburban street.

“And is being filed by the widow of the brother whose coattails you rode to the spot you are currently standing in,” threw in a particularly alert-looking squirrel.

Ford shook his head, and ran a hand through his gel. “Jeez Louise. Well then fine, call me Old Boy then, I don’t care. Just don’t call me late for making a hash of a provincial election.”

The allegations against the candidate – that he bilked his sister-in-law and her children out of their inheritance by a combination of greed and financial mismanagement (which, in a strange twist, are the precise complaints he has against the Liberal party) come at an awkward time; just as a substantial part of the province is psyching themselves up to smash their toe with a hammer in show Kathleen Wynne just how sad she made them.

“Yeah,” says a man with the words ‘Ford,’ and ‘Nation,’ sharpied on each of his white trainers. “Was he fit to be premier? Maybe sure. But is he fit to be a brother-in-law eh? Boy I don’t know.”


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