“Oh, your wife is going to leave you?” scoffed Scheer to another bar patron who explained his marital problems. “Well my entire party is going to leave me, and I tried everything. No matter what I was doing, I was always doing it wrong.”
Scheer downed his sixth shot of chocolate milk before slamming it down on the bar.
“If I say being gay is a sin, the moderates hate me, but if I don’t say it’s a sin, the socons hate me,” muttered Scheer staring at the empty shot glass.
“Trudeau did blackface and gets away with it, but poor Andy gets a public horse whipping because he once lied about being an insurance broker,” said Scheer referring to himself in third person. “An insurance broker! IN SASKATCHEWAN! Who gives a shit?”
Other patrons pretended to ignore the belligerent opposition leader who had a white moustache gleaming over his five-o’clock shadow.
“Somebody should cut him off of the moo juice,” whispered a woman to her friend watching Scheer sob about his electoral defeat. “He was already half-and-half in the bag when he got here.”
After 15 minutes of ranting about Doug Ford and the backstabbers in his party, Scheer tried to drown the pain with more rounds of the white or brown liquid.
“Hey bartender, another shot of the 2%,” demanded Scheer as he stammered side-to-side. “And don’t water it down with skim. I’ll know if you did.”