Big deal, the ex is squeezing me - lawyering up and going all out for a chuck of the big fat nothing I ain't got.
Ah well, I man up, tough it out - I'm still alive, corn is in season, the Internet is full of recipes for a guy who can't cook, and I'm in love.
Best of all, I can sleep tonight without worrying about Vlad Putin buzzing around the Canadian arctic in a submarine looking like Yul Brenner puffing on a cigarette in defiance of himself and the Russian naval code, seeking global ice and puffin dominance in place of losing influence in all those pesky "Stans." Yes, I can sleep well, because our boy Harper (or Harpoon Steve as he's known to his wife when he slips on his navy blue mukluks complete with logo of the Empire Club), is boarding the Prime Ministerial sled for Iqaluit to take part in military "anti-submarine exercises".
It's a mission called, if you can believe it, "Operation Nanook."
Here's how the gaming goes, according to an unnamed source:
One of our WWII vintage frigates, cathode tubes wrapped in insulation to protect against the cold, spots a nasty Ruskie sub (perhaps catching a serendipitous glace of shiny commie metal out a porthole; or perhaps by simply asking around at the whaling sheds) and the crew springs into action. The junior guys man the guns and place their fingers on the big red buttons, while the senior officers call the Prime Minister (for today's game only to be played by Albert Schultz) to report the grave breech of sovereignty, after which the PM retreats to his cabin, looks directly into the mirror, and rehearses the official, Canadian, hawkish response:
"please Vladamir, my friend (dare I say comrade?), give me a call the next time you come 'round for muktuk and I'll make sure there are no navy ships in the area - you know, out of sight, out of mind."
