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"You all want to strip me of my authority as mayor of Toronto? So I can’t answer these 2,200 calls?"
Editor's note: What follows is satire, mostly.
“Are you aware that 2,200 people call me?”
I mean, what if I missed a call from Jane Swinson, or Delia Clumgutty? I gotta talk to Jack Finder about that little Santa hat he was going to make for my dick. And also, what about Clay Matachek? We were gonna go hunting with firecrackers. We were actually going to shoot firecrackers at a deer. What if I miss that? What about Henry Goodlot and Patricia Baker? They call me all the time, and I need to talk to them about the add-on they’re doing to my house, where they’re putting a bio-dome for my hamsters in my living room, so I can watch my hamsters try to fraternize. It’s crazy to think you would want me to miss all these calls.
2,200 people call me. Regularly. They say “Hi there, Rob, you mayoring up a storm?” And I say, “Sure I am Larry, a storm of cocaine, and gallivanting around chambers, too, how’s that for ya?” And then Larry says, “Wouldn’t have thought anything less.” Or what if Jane Ingersoll calls and says “Hiya Rob, how ya doing? Could we reschedule that hand job?” And I say, “Sure, Jane, how’s two tomorrow afternoon?” And she says, “Well, I’m taking my kid to hockey practice, how’s three?” And I say, “Can we make it 3:30?” And she says, “Sure, Rob, sure.”
And you all want to strip me of my authority as mayor of Toronto? So I can’t answer these 2,200 calls? Look, I admit, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve missed calls regularly in the past. But what would you do? You’re stuck on someone’s roof, tied up in Christmas lights, you’re coked to the gills and one of the Blue Man Group is passed out on the walkway below. Under these circumstances, would you be able to answer the phone?
So, please, I implore the people of Toronto. Let me keep being mayor. Did I mention that 2,200 people call me?