Being Mike Duffy

I really have nothing insightful to offer today, merely a brief reflection on what it must be like to live a life devoid of even a shred of honour.

By now, most will have learned that the Senate has moved to suspend without pay Senators Brazeau, Duffy and Wallin for the duration of this session, which could be up to two years. The motion, introduced by Sen. Claude Carignan, the government leader in the Senate, is undoubtedly a mere ploy to convince the public that the Harper regime is as outraged by the excesses of this terrible trio as the rest of Canada. I doubt that such subterfuge will succeed, given the widespread knowledge that each of them was handpicked by Dear Leader both to promote the regime's agenda and enrich the Conservative Party's coffers.

Yet such political machinations are nothing new, and are, at this point, only of secondary interest to me. No, my fascination is with the rotund Cavendish Cottager (a sobriquet penned by The Disaffected Lib), the disgraced Mike Duffy.

How does it feel to be the object of such widespread odium that you have virtually disappeared from public view? Do you have some grand internal justification for your alleged larceny and pork barreling? Do you, like your elected Conservative colleagues, dismiss all of this as a mere conspiracy of the leftist elite media?

Perhaps you take comfort from having at least one friend left in high places, the one who tipped you off about your impending Senate suspension so that you could, like an errant schoolboy seeking to avoid his day of reckoning, gets his doctor to write a note allowing for a sick leave?

Or did you, in a moment of wistful fancy, think that such a medical leave would somehow engender a measure of sympathy from a seething public that, to put it delicately, cares not a whit for the state of your health? Indeed, some might unkindly suggest that cardiac trouble is the almost inevitable consequence of feeding too heartily at the public trough.

Always remember, Mike, that delusional thinking, no matter how momentarily comforting, is unhealthy in the extreme. Better a bitter truth than a sweet lie.

And please remember this, Michael: Nothing you can do, no steadfast denial, no mea culpa, no act of contrition, no public penance, will ever atone for the ignominy of being Mike Duffy.