This is the most important leadership race - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Giddily, The Chaff staff gathered last week to witness the beginning of what can only be described as the greasiest leadership race in the history of our prestigious column. Four candidates - Dervid Hamson, Scott Stephenson, a buttered ham and a leaky bean bag chair - are vying for control, and their campaigns are as crooked as they are crocked; as crisp as they are crossed; and as crimped as they are cromped. The debates so far have been ugly and unseemly affairs, leaving us to wonder whether anyone is truly qualified to lead a column like this one.

 

Hamson entered the race with all the enthusiasm of someone with pithecophobia being dragged into a monkey-themed movie marathon they didn’t know was happening. Their opening statement, delivered with an energy best described as “mid-yawn” set the tone: “If no one else wants to do it, I guess I will.” Hamson’s platform is a curious blend of indecision and passive agreement, with promises like “maintaining the status quo unless it’s inconvenient” and “considering new ideas if they’re not too challenging.”
Stephenson, on the other hand, brings an intensity that could power a prison. His campaign is a whirlwind of sticker-covered binders, nonsense chart after nonsense chart, and baffling and bizarre bozo slogans, including “Chaff the axe!”, “Axe, axe, Chaff”, and “Shake that axe; show me what you’re Chaffing with.” 

 

Then there’s the buttered ham, whose candidacy has raised more questions than answers. Lacking a platform, a voice, or, indeed, any discernible goals, the ham has nonetheless captivated the public imagination. During the debate, the ham’s silence was interpreted by its campaign manager as a bold critique of modern media sensationalism. “The ham doesn’t need to speak,” they insisted. “Its buttery flavour says everything we need to know.”

 

Of course, not everyone is convinced. Stephenson repeatedly referred to the ham as “a lunch, not a leader,” which only galvanized its supporters. “HAM! HAM! HAM!” they chanted, angrily waving cold cut slices in the air. 

 

The leaky bean bag chair is the true underdog in this race. Once a beloved fixture of The Chaff’s break room, the chair was relegated to the alley after spilling its contents during a particularly heated editorial meeting. Now, it’s attempting a political comeback on a platform of comfort and nostalgia. “I may be broken,” it creaked during its debate debut, “but aren’t we all?” The statement earned a standing ovation from the audience, although this may have been due to the sheer and disturbing number of foam pellets it had scattered across the stage.

 

The chair’s campaign promises include mandatory nap times and the replacement of all desks with ergonomic recliners. However, its tendency to lose structural integrity at key moments has raised concerns about its ability to handle the pressures of leadership. During the debate, the chair attempted to absorb the buttered ham into its fabric, leading to an unprecedented five-minute intermission while staff tried to separate the two.

 

The debate itself was a glorious mess. Stephenson accused the bean bag chair of being “an unprincipled blob,” to which the chair replied with a low hiss that may or may not have been intentional. Hamson repeatedly tried to steer the conversation back to practical matters, only to trail off halfway through sentences like, “What if we just…” or, “Does anyone actually care about….” The buttered ham, true to form, said nothing, while its campaign manager shouted, “Silence is a statement!” loud enough to startle a reporter into spilling coffee all over the crotch area of their second-favourite pair of corduroy pants.

 

One particularly surreal moment occurred when Stephenson attempted to prove the ham’s unfitness for leadership by presenting a slide show of meats that have failed in public office, including a mortadella that briefly served as mayor of an Italian village and a turkey that used to be reeve of North Huron. The presentation was interrupted by air horns from the ham’s supporters, who then began pelting Stephenson with slice, after slice, after slice.

 

As the leadership race barrels toward its chaotic climax, it’s clear that none of these candidates is equipped to handle the monumental responsibility of leading The Chaff. Hamson’s disinterest, Stephenson’s overbearing micromanagement, the ham’s buttery indifference and the bean bag chair’s structural instability and purported links to far-right fringe groups each offer their own unique brand of dysfunction.

 

This leadership race will be decided not by ballots, not by debates, and certainly not by reason. It will be decided through art. Specifically, through papier-mâché sculptures and dioramas. Once your sculpture is complete, snap a photo and fax it in. This is how we’ll choose our leader. Have your say!