January 29, 2013

Pierre, Justin, Michel and Sacha Trudeau

Pierre, Justin, Michel and Sacha Trudeau

At the height of its power”€”it was called “Canada’s natural governing party” for generations”€”the Liberals made no secret of their desire to make the Great White North more “European.”

(Hence Pat Buchanan’s famous nickname for the smug, spayed, socialized-everything nation they proudly created during almost three quarters of a century in power: “Soviet Canuckistan.”)

So it is with more amusement than surprise that we learn that among those currently vying for the Grit’s leadership are a former prime minister’s son…and his father’s former mistress.

How veritably French, non?

“The same Canadians who irrationally claim to loathe anything ‘American’ actually pine for a photogenic, dynastic Kennedy family of their own.”

The “son” is Justin Trudeau, whom I introduced to Taki readers last year as a flouncy-haired, forty-year-old Fauntleroy, “slender of body and of resume,” “living in the moral equivalent of his father’s basement.”

Justin’s most notable accomplishment to date has been forcing Canada’s conservatives”€”for whom the former PM’s surname is a spittle-flecked swear word; as a child, I’d assumed the man’s first name was “That””€”to pay the late Pierre pere backhanded compliments, à la “As least the boy’s father had a few accomplishments to his name at that age….”

So who’s the broad?

Meet Deborah Coyne, seen here at Trudeau’s state funeral with her love child by PET, standing next to the PM’s infamous ex-wife (and former Rolling Stones groupie turned bipolar drunk driver) Maggie and her kids, including Coyne’s future opponent (and her daughter’s half-brother), Justin”€”I told you this was all tres français, did I not?

Years ago, Coyne telephoned the divorced, out-of-office Trudeau to bluntly inform the 67-year-old (she was 30) that he was her soul mate. Never one to turn down a chance to get laid, Pierre embarked on a May-Jurassic affair with Coyne, which produced a daughter, Sarah”€”who, given her unpromising genetic makeup, is shockingly cute.

Less cute is the notion that someone, anyone, with some unbroken-chain-of-custody connection to Pierre Elliot Trudeau’s penis is somehow automatically qualified to run the man’s party and perhaps even the nation.


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