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(Fred Lum/The Globe and Mail/Fred Lum/The Globe and Mail)
(Fred Lum/The Globe and Mail/Fred Lum/The Globe and Mail)

City hall

You call that a transit showdown? Pffft. Where was the drama? Add to ...

Attention City Hall: If you're going to tease voters with promises of a “Transit Showdown,” then here's a thought – have an actual Transit Showdown. Here's another idea: Sell tickets. I suggest the following:

City Hall – Council Chamber. A gong is struck. Toronto's left-leaning councillors file into the chamber, one by one.

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Councillor Joe Mihevc sports a beret and revolutionary beard reminiscent of Che. He is followed by Councillor Shelley Carroll, who waves a placard that says, “Tax the Rich (and by rich, I mean middle class),” followed by Councillor Mike Layton, whose T-shirt reads, “I've been struck by CUPE's bow.” Up in the viewing gallery, David Miller gorges on fair-trade popcorn with Fidel Castro, Hugo Chavez and the ghost of Joseph Stalin.

The Loony Left take their seats. As the lights dim, a talentless, government-funded modern-dance troupe takes the stage. Dancers in black leotards impersonate cars. They accelerate, honk and screech to halts as children choke on fumes and cyclists are cut off.

Amid the pandemonium, three dancers form an LRT, which cruises calmly through the angry traffic. The other cars look on with anger and envy. But lo! They recognize the foolishness of their ways and join their communal-minded brethren, forming one giant LRT. There is much rejoicing.

As the lights come up, the left-leaning councillors cheer and shower the dancers with money, which they charge as office expenses.

Councillor Adam Vaughan, dressed as a Buddhist monk (or perhaps a Sith lord), rises and says, “It is time.” The left-leaning councillors raise their hands in solidarity, voting to resurrect Transit City.

As counting nears completion, a tremendous rumbling is felt. Chandeliers sway! Dust falls from the ceiling! A great pit opens in the middle of the council chamber, revealing a vast and expensive subterranean tunnel. The sharp whine of engines is heard and a motorcycle gang, led by Doug Ford and clad in black leather and helmets with spikes on top, zooms out of the tunnel. They circle the Loony Left, revving their engines and sending patches of fire-retardant carpet flying. The Loony Left cower in terror, weeping as they cover their ears.

More rumbling. A subway bursts from the tunnel, ridden rodeo-style by Mayor Rob Ford, who waves a cowboy hat above his head and shouts, “Chugga-chugga choo-choo!” More hands rise. City council's Radical Right holds its own transit vote.

The vote is even! Council is deadlocked. What will happen?

High up, above the din of partisan squabble, the tie-breaking vote appears. Councillor Karen Stintz, suspended by an invisible wire, descends from the rafters. The Ford brothers high-five. The Looney Left turn their tear-stained faces to look for David Miller, but he is on a Porter flight to New York. Transit City is surely dead.

As Councillor Stintz's feet touch down, she walks over and joins the Radical Right. But instead of raising her hand, as everyone expects, she dumps a bucket of diverted downspout water on Mayor Ford's head, then dashes over to the Loony Left. Her raised arm joins theirs.

“Transit City! Transit City!” they shout, amid the mayor's shrieks of “I'm melting...” Ms. Stintz and her new friends join hands and sing Kumbaya. When at last the song finishes, Mayor Ford has disappeared. All that is left is a rumpled suit lying in a pool of … gravy.

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