Monday, June 23, 2014

See Quebec by Helicopter


Mack Hall, HSG


 

See Quebec by Helicopter

 

Clever folks, those Quebecois – twice this spring prisoners in the province have escaped by helicopter. 

 

In March, Benjamin Hudon-Barbeau (hyphenated names are like, y’know, so sophisticated, and, like, stuff) and Danny Provencal, left off serving time in St. Jerome Prison near Montreal and took a helicopter tour.  They were quickly recaptured.  They said they were ready to die, but apparently they really weren’t.

 

When the police officer cried “I arrest you in the name of the Queen!” the prisoners replied “Oui, Monsieur Le Fascist Pig; I’m cool with that.”

 

No, really, they didn’t; I just made that up.

 

In early June, Yves Denis, Denis Lefebvre, and Serge Pomerleau also skipped recess by whirlybird, this time at Orsainville Detention Center.  According to the Daily Mail a judge permitted them extra time together in the yard together in order to help plan their trial defense on drug and murder charges.

 

The police are curious as to who might have helped the lads go up, up, and away.

 

Hey, Dudley Do-Right, you might want to talk to that judge, okay?

 

But Yves, Denis, and Serge too are back in the nick planning the future. They shouldn’t think of booking Air Canada for their next adventure, though; the service is awful and the cabin crew feature all the charm and helpfulness of “Knuckles” McGurk, “Stan the Shiv” Deadenov, and Barbie “I-Know-Where-the-Bodies-are-Buried” Kowalsky in the exercise yard.

 

So how big are prison yards in Quebec?  Do they often land aircraft like that?  Imagine being a prison guard, and a big ol’ helicopter lands on the prison grounds in front of you.  Wouldn’t you, like, y’know, notice it?

 

Sergeant Preston of the Yukon and his dog King never permitted their prisoners (who always seemed to be named Lucky Pierre or some such) to escape at all, either by helicopter or by dogsled. 

 

One supposes that now King would be a bionic transgender superhero rabbit or something.  King would take down the renegade helicopter with subhyperubersonic beams from his glowing green eyes.

 

And speaking of criminals in helicopters, do you wonder if anyone in D.C. knows where the Internal Revenue Service email messages are?  Did Lucky Pierre spirit them away to the Yukon and bury them under a rock in an abandoned gold mine near Dawson in a plan to betray Canada by selling them for filthy lucre to Vladimir “Snidely Whiplash” Putin?

 

King the wonder dog could leap and grab Grubstake Charlie by his arm to keep him from shooting Sergeant Preston, who discovered the secret map to the gold mine on the dead body (the map, not the gold mine, was on the body) of Lucky Pierre who had been shot by Grubstake Charlie in a fight over cards at the Malamute Saloon (now a Tim Horton’s) while Robert W. Service took careful notes.

 

“Grubstake Charlie, I arrest you in the name of the Crown!  And I’ll see to it that these unlawfully purloined records are returned to their rightful owners, the freedom-loving people and the democratically-elected government of the United States, that glorious and ever-vigilant republic south of the 49th parallel and Canada’s greatest friend in the tireless and ongoing fight against evil.  Right, King?”

 

“Ruff!”

 

“Well, King, this case is closed.”

 

“Ruff!”

 

“On, King!  On, you huskies!”

 

-30-

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