dustycool
03-05-2015, 10:57 PM
I was reading the transcripts from the session of the Legislative Assembly on March 2 following the rally by resident hunters in Victoria on Monday. Those draft transcripts are available here: www.leg.bc.ca/hansard/40th4th/20150302pm-House-Blues.htm
It continues to amaze me the dance that Mr Thomson does to try and demonstrate that the allocations resident hunters are upset about are like fighting over crumbs. He doesn't get it. I wrote a little story in his honor, I hope the members here enjoy.
Looking to fill the fruit bowl in the family kitchen, a man walks into his local grocery store. He spies a delicious looking BC grown apple on his right and places it in his cart. He spots mouth watering BC grown blueberries on his left and places them in his cart. A bright BC grown plum catches his eye in the rack above the apples and he places it alongside his other fruit in the cart. Next the man reaches for a beautiful BC grown peach at the end of the fruit aisle. Suddenly, however, a stock boy steps out of the darkness and slaps the man’s hand away from the peach. ‘No,’ the stock boy snaps, ‘You must stand over there in that lineup if you want a BC peach.’ The man, brow furrowed, suspiciously eyes the line of locals in the line. Some of them are dear friends.
Reluctantly the man joins the line, hoping for the opportunity to bring home this prized local fruit. Soon, however, the store manager’s voice plays over the store PA, ‘To all of our voters, ahem, I mean loyal local customers in the peach line: We’re sorry, but the rest of you will have to wait until next year.’ The man looks around at his friends in line, all with disappointment clearly written on their faces. As they begin to disperse, a strange looking fellow with a distinct American accent saunters into the store, right up to the peach display. He looks around carefully, as the stock boy points out the options available. The American picks up two or three, turns them over in his hand, and finally chooses the one he likes the best. He holds up the peach, as if for all to see his trophy, and asks the man with the peach-less cart, ‘This should look alright above the fireplace, huh?’
‘I-I-I don’t know,’ the man stammers, ‘but it sure would taste good.’ Laughing, the American turns with a smile as long as the Fraser River, flipping the store manager a couple of coins on his way out the door. The coins land in greasy hands with George Washington’s head reflected in the managers eyes. ‘It’s just business,’ he mutters to no one and everyone at once, ‘nothing personal.’
The man approaches the store manager, lifts his eyes and offers a his sentiment, ‘Sir, I’d like an opportunity to take home a BC peach too.’ ‘What?’ the manager queries back, ‘There are over 47,000 fruits harvested in BC every year. You can have your pick of some of the other fruits. The 100 or so peaches allocated to foreigners every year are just a fraction of one percent of all the fruit available. Why are you complaining?’ ‘Well Mr. Thomson,’ the man replied, reading the managers name tag and stiffening his back in resolve, ‘Apparently you don’t know the difference between apples and peaches. You’re not comparing apples to apples here anymore. I know the difference and I would like a peach. Next you’re going to tell me that a deer and a sheep are the same thing.’
It continues to amaze me the dance that Mr Thomson does to try and demonstrate that the allocations resident hunters are upset about are like fighting over crumbs. He doesn't get it. I wrote a little story in his honor, I hope the members here enjoy.
Looking to fill the fruit bowl in the family kitchen, a man walks into his local grocery store. He spies a delicious looking BC grown apple on his right and places it in his cart. He spots mouth watering BC grown blueberries on his left and places them in his cart. A bright BC grown plum catches his eye in the rack above the apples and he places it alongside his other fruit in the cart. Next the man reaches for a beautiful BC grown peach at the end of the fruit aisle. Suddenly, however, a stock boy steps out of the darkness and slaps the man’s hand away from the peach. ‘No,’ the stock boy snaps, ‘You must stand over there in that lineup if you want a BC peach.’ The man, brow furrowed, suspiciously eyes the line of locals in the line. Some of them are dear friends.
Reluctantly the man joins the line, hoping for the opportunity to bring home this prized local fruit. Soon, however, the store manager’s voice plays over the store PA, ‘To all of our voters, ahem, I mean loyal local customers in the peach line: We’re sorry, but the rest of you will have to wait until next year.’ The man looks around at his friends in line, all with disappointment clearly written on their faces. As they begin to disperse, a strange looking fellow with a distinct American accent saunters into the store, right up to the peach display. He looks around carefully, as the stock boy points out the options available. The American picks up two or three, turns them over in his hand, and finally chooses the one he likes the best. He holds up the peach, as if for all to see his trophy, and asks the man with the peach-less cart, ‘This should look alright above the fireplace, huh?’
‘I-I-I don’t know,’ the man stammers, ‘but it sure would taste good.’ Laughing, the American turns with a smile as long as the Fraser River, flipping the store manager a couple of coins on his way out the door. The coins land in greasy hands with George Washington’s head reflected in the managers eyes. ‘It’s just business,’ he mutters to no one and everyone at once, ‘nothing personal.’
The man approaches the store manager, lifts his eyes and offers a his sentiment, ‘Sir, I’d like an opportunity to take home a BC peach too.’ ‘What?’ the manager queries back, ‘There are over 47,000 fruits harvested in BC every year. You can have your pick of some of the other fruits. The 100 or so peaches allocated to foreigners every year are just a fraction of one percent of all the fruit available. Why are you complaining?’ ‘Well Mr. Thomson,’ the man replied, reading the managers name tag and stiffening his back in resolve, ‘Apparently you don’t know the difference between apples and peaches. You’re not comparing apples to apples here anymore. I know the difference and I would like a peach. Next you’re going to tell me that a deer and a sheep are the same thing.’