Special Agent stephen harper

The corrupt, unelected "prime minister" stephen harper was livid. he would screech through his gritted teeth in frustration that so many Canadians were mocking him for what he thought was the cool expertise with which he applied his RCMP "training" when that crazed gunman attacked Parliament Hill.

Knowing that his Conservative Party colleagues were all useless, expendable and replaceable, harper didn't even tell them what he was doing as he skittered for the door of the closet attached to the caucus meeting room. Silently (so as not to alert his traumatized fellow "conservatives") he turned the door knob, opened the door and dashed inside, closing the door quietly behind him.

There he sat in the comforting darkness as the noises of gunfire echoed off the hard surfaces of the marble hall outside the meeting room. Applying an individual touch to his "training" harper emitted a war stream of piss into his trousers as his fevered brain imagined a whole cadre of Ay-rab Moozlumm fanatics, armed with AK-47s running around (to no purpose) shooting wildly in every direction. (Neither CSIS, nor the RCMP had informed him of the existence of any terrorist organization in Canada with this capability, but harper thought it a good use of his "training" to imagine the most frightening, ludicrous dangers possible as he pushed his back further into the back corner of the closet.)

Eventually the shooting stopped. It was all over. Either the attack was over and the terrorist(s) were either killed or had conquered Parliament Hill and Ottawa was now a satellite capital of the new Caliphate under the sway of ISIS and the preserved brain of Osama bin Laden.

harper sat quietly in the darkness. Soon he could hear his colleagues' voices, speaking low, wondering if it was safe now. Then he began to hear "Where's Mr. harper?" and "Where's the prime minister?" harper smiled slyly to himself:

"That's right! Wouldn't you like to know! If you knew where I was and the terrorists burst in, you'd tell them in a second! Wouldn't you? You'd cravenly say - 'He's in the closet over there! Oh please don't kill me Mr. Big Mean Terrorist! I've served you well! I've betrayed my leader! Spare me!'"

harper's mind continued to play-out this scenario. Either the Conservative MP who blabs his secret is dispatched with a bullet, or their miserable life is spared, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that heavy footsteps approach the closet door, it is pulled open and harper's startled eyes behold a towering figure of a gunman, silhouetted in the door frame from the light from the meeting room.

harper was unable to stop the terrified whine that escaped his throat as his nightmare fantasy became too much for his fragile psyche.

Now he could hear those idiots, he could picture their heads turning towards the closet. "What was that?" they asked. "Is he ...", "I think he's in the closet!"

At that moment, harper desperately hoped the shooting would start again and that all of those hypocritical stupid assholes would be slaughtered. And then, of course, the gunman would leave, never having noticed the closet door. And then everything would be all right again.

But it was not to be. harper continued to sit, huddled in the corner of the closet as the cretins became more and more certain of his whereabouts. "Is he there?" "He has to be there." "Did anyone see him go ..." "I didn't." It became excruciating. They kept making idiotic suggestions to each other and harper found himself unable to move. Unable to force himself to stand on his own two feet and exit the closet of his own volition and spare himself the embarrassment of ... TOO LATE!

They opened the door to find him cowering on the floor at the back of the closet. he could tell from their eyes, the confusion, the hurt, the scorn, ... none of those fools knew a professionally trained hero when they saw one. What would happen to Canada without harper's steady hand on the tiller? he would have allowed them all to be killed to save himself and thereby his country! he would have kissed the terrorists' feet and sucked their dicks if necessary. To survive! To live! Thats the main thing! To live to fight again!!!!

Somehow, beneath this shell of pathetic rationalizations, harper realized how revolting he was. he wanted to call his mommy. Over the next days and weeks, harper gradually decided that the only way he would NEVER find himself in such a situation, ever again, was to give CSIS the powers to spy on everybody, all the time, for anything. Besides, weren't environmentalists all leftists? And don't leftists love terrorists? Monitor 'em all! And when CSIS finds something out, IT STRIKES!!! No waiting for the RCMP! No warrants! No busybody bureaucrat standing in the way of harper's safety!

For some reason, this line of thinking always causes harper to cry.