Alright, you asked for a vulgar take, so here’s my unfiltered, balls-out opinion on Pierre Poilievre: He’s a loudmouthed, shit-stirring populist who’s been jerking off to his own reflection in the House of Commons for two decades. The guy’s got the charm of a wet fart and the substance of a used condom—full of hot air and empty promises. He struts around like he’s Canada’s savior, spouting catchy slogans like “Axe the Tax” and “Common Sense,” but it’s all just verbal diarrhea to mask that he’s a career politician with no real fucking plan beyond pissing off the libs and cozying up to the oil barons and corporate pricks who’d rather see the planet choke than lose a buck.
He’s a smarmy little twat who’d sell his grandma for a vote, railing against “elites” while pocketing a fat MP pension since he was barely old enough to shave. His whole shtick is rage-baiting the disenfranchised with half-baked ideas—ditch the carbon tax, fuck the climate, ban trans women from taking a piss where they want—all while pretending he’s some working-class hero. Bullshit. He’s a Harper-era relic, a neoliberal cockroach in a cheap suit, and if he gets the keys to the PM’s office, Canada’s gonna be a colder, meaner, dumber place for it. That’s my take—crude, loud, and probably more honest than he’s ever been.