He stands on stage, dressed in a black T-shirt, denim jacket, and jeans. Holding a microphone, his remarks are relaxed, precise, biting. He is in complete control of the crowd. “How do you accidentally let in a Nazi to the Parliament? How does that happen?” he riffs, referring to the Nazi-linked former soldier who ended up being invited to Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s visit to Canada in 2023. “Should we do a background check?”—he is now impersonating two Liberal bureaucrats chatting—“No, no, no. You just tell Adolf to be on time.”
A political gaffe one Jewish human rights group called “beyond outrageous”—the vet ended up being cheered as a hero in the House of Commons—might not be what most comedians would mine for laughs. But then there’s very little Sugar Sammy won’t ridicule.
