Let's amend that headline to reflect a little reality

This.

Prime Minister Stephen Harper "strongly advised" Liberal Leader Michael Ignatieff Wednesday against bringing down the Conservative government.

No. This is the same Harper that, to avoid the effects of Westminsterian parliamentary democracy, pulled an Oliver Cromwell and had the doors of Parliament nailed shut to prevent a vote which would have forced him to move out of 24 Sussex Drive, Ottawa.

That's not advice. That's begging.

"I've had three elections in four years," Harper told reporters in Quebec City. "I think that's more than enough for the Canadian public. I don't meet anyone … of any political persuasion who wants to spend the summer fighting an election."

Oh... cry me a friggin' river. How very.... conservative of you, Steve. Who gives a red rat's ass what your personal quest for power has put you through?

For one thing, you self-serving asshole, Steve, the last election was your doing! You broke your own goddamned law to get it... all because you thought you could get a parliamentary majority.

For another, it's not just about you. People are losing their jobs, unable to find an adequate safety net and unable to rely on your bag of ideological sociopaths for anything resembling immediate assistance in a crisis. The fact that you might have to actually face a direct review of your performance and character by the people that employ you doesn't bother the average Canadian in the slightest.

You're a nasty little prick with a mean streak a mile wide. We have the right to decide whether you measure up to Canadian standards whenever we get the opportunity.

Despite any hardship you may claim as a result of that system... bucko!

Hell, you may even win another minority. Just think about it. Then you could press GM to name a car after you.

The Chevy Harpo, (with a Fat Daddy decal on the stern). A cheaply produced gas-guzzler with a second rate frame and a spot welded body. The minute it hits 80 k/mh it starts to vibrate. But man, does it have an engine: A twelve cylinder Packard that hasn't been seen in four decades. No emission control and a list of options which you can remove at will and throw out the window. By the time you've driven it across the country it doesn't even look the same. In fact, it looks like a Ford Model T, but you're happy because, oh man, THAT was a car and we didn't really need anything better. Nothing like a mussel car, eh Steve?

Men who are trying to tell you they had an abortion

It must have been a slow news day. I can't believe the LA Times actually gave this any space. Mind you, they let Jonah Goldberg shit all over their pages so maybe I shouldn't be so surprized.

Thankfully, Birth Pangs laid right into it.

Yeah. Men are now claiming they have had abortions and, well, they're suffering buckets full of remorse... for going to the clinic shrugging their shoulders so many moons ago.

Here. Let me show you a couple of them from the LAT article.

Morrow, the counselor, described his regret as sneaking up on him in midlife -- more than a decade after he impregnated three girlfriends (one of them twice) in quick succession in the late 1980s. All four pregnancies ended in abortion.

Oh really... ?

That's not regret. That's a mid-life crisis. Give the guy a Mazda Miata and he'd probably forget all about it. But more to the point is that this guy is completely impeachable. Three girlfriends in quick succession? Did they know each other?!

The thing is, it suited his needs perfectly then. I doubt, when he was getting laid by whoever would remove her pants for him, that in the throes of sexual climax he was yelling, "I'm making a baby!" Given that he apparently moved around a lot, pregnancy was probably not on his mind at all. That was clearly the woman's problem... as he moved on to the next one.

Chris Aubert, a Houston lawyer, felt only indifference in 1985 when a girlfriend told him she was pregnant and planned on an abortion. When she asked if he wanted to come to the clinic, he said he couldn't; he played softball on Saturdays. He stuck a check for $200 in her door and never talked to her again.

Played softball on Saturdays. Right.

Aubert, 50, was equally untroubled when another girlfriend had an abortion in 1991. "It was a complete irrelevancy," he said. But years later, Aubert felt a rising sense of unease. He and his wife were cooing at an ultrasound of their first baby when it struck him -- "from the depths of my belly," he said -- that abortion was wrong.

Hmmm... but then we have Aubert converting to Catholicism and feeling there's something missing in his life.

He might have endured a loveless marriage and, perhaps, a sad divorce. He might have been saddled with child support as he tried to build his legal practice. He might never have met his wife. Their children -- Christine, Kyle, Roch, Paul, Vance -- might not exist.

Touching.

And irrelevant.

Have you noticed anything about any of these clowns? They're all in mid-life and they're all regretting some decision in their past. But in both these cases, these guys treated the women involved like throw-aways. Now, they want to go back and revisit a teaspoon of released semen as though they had intended to become fathers.

The stories they tell of their past speak of a level of remarkable immaturity. Now that they're all grown up, they can't wait to tell others how to live their lives.

And to get you to understand how they feel now, they're willing to force out some crocodile tears. Proof that they still haven't matured beyond a self-absorbed adolescent.

But for the killer line from Chris Aubert, the man who had to play softball while his pregnant girlfriend went to the clinic, you'll have to go to Birth Pangs.

More! More! More! at Unrepentant Old Hippie.