I preferred Question Period on Twitter because the decorum was better and I got to do it naked - The Beaverton

I preferred Question Period on Twitter because the decorum was better and I got to do it naked

By , Leader of the Opposition

Now that the House is back in session I’ve come to a conclusion. I was sitting in QP (what we pros call Question Period), and realized that it was a lot more enjoyable when my party did its own over Twitter back in September. For one, the decorum was a hell of a lot better. But more importantly, I could do it butt-naked as the day I was born.

The only thing that feels better than leveling the Conservatives with my finely honed prosecutorial skills is doing so from my den in Stornaway, the exquisite leather of my favourite armchair tenderly embracing my scrotum and buttocks.

There was no yelling, and you didn’t have to worry about putting on a suit or making sure your beard was trimmed. Even though we weren’t in the House of Commons, it worked pretty much exactly the same on Twitter. We were still firing our questions out into a forum where nobody was really paying attention, and the government still refused to answer us in any meaningful way. Canadians got the same lack of accountability, and it was done without all the screaming, kindergarten taunting, or restrictive, restrictive clothing that ruin our current QP.

With all the technology we have today, there’s no reason to continue doing Question Period in person. It’s just a tradition we follow without really thinking about it. You know, like wearing clothing indoors. It’s pointless. Every room in Ottawa is climate-controlled, so let’s get with the program, people! If we could only break these chains of thought we could be free to question governmental policy at any time and in any place while the ceiling fan tickled our nipple hairs.

September was my one my best months as an MP: not only did I hold the government accountable but I proved that I could do it with my pale thighs soaking in the gentle radiance of the fire: shiraz at my side, the silence interrupted only by the serene crackling of the photos I’ve thrown on my teeming hearth.