In a land of rugged individualism and endless prairies, where political dreams come to die faster than a sandwich left in the back of a pickup truck, there emerged a band of audacious dreamers. They were the Forum Party of Alberta, and their vision was as grand as it was baffling—an Internet-era political movement that believed the world could be changed one online discussion at a time, armed only with a keyboard, a love for social tolerance, and a questionable grasp of electoral politics. Founded in 1995, the Forum Party set out with five noble goals: fiscal accountability, grassroots democracy, environmental responsibility, social tolerance, and the reform of the First Past the Post electoral system. What could go wrong? After all, who wouldn’t want to partake in a riveting online discussion about revenue sharing through an antiquated bulletin board system? It was the political equivalent of asking people to gather 'round for a rousing debate over which brand of margarine is best, but with more jargon and fewer snacks. In its quest for political glory, the Forum Party even boasted a revolutionary online think tank that was less of a think tank and more of an online chat room full of well-meaning people arguing over whether to put pickles on a burger. Alas, mixing politics with internet forums is a little like mixing oil with water—one side floats, and the other sinks into a murky abyss of confusion. As discussions turned into debates turned into digital shouting matches, it became clear that melding activism with cyberspace resulted in less of a political platform and more of a hostile digital neighborhood watch. Then came 2000 and the great rebranding: the Forum Party became the Equity Party. Perhaps the change was meant to clarify their mission, or perhaps it was an attempt to dodge the confusion of being associated with the Reform Party, which, let’s be honest, wasn’t exactly the gold standard for political clarity. “Equitists” they called themselves, a not-so-catchy moniker that sounds like a quirky fraternity of social equity enthusiasts more interested in lawn care than electoral success. The Equity Party soon realized that politics was less about clarity of vision and more about the art of persuasion—something that can’t be achieved by typing away in a dimly lit basement with nothing but a bag of Cheetos and a poorly conceived slogan. Their new goals of social tolerance and grassroots accountability fell flat, like a politician at a barbecue who has just announced they are vegan. When the 2001 election rolled around, the Equity Party had an epiphany—a kind of political Memento moment, where they decided to think “outside the box” by simply not nominating any candidates. And thus, they became the first party in history to run a campaign based entirely on “please think about us while you vote for someone else.” It was a revolutionary tactic, bold in its futility, like wearing a raincoat in the desert. By 2004, after a series of vigorous “we really exist” campaigns, the Equity Party vanished into the ether faster than an online dating profile gone wrong. Their grand vision of grassroots democracy and fiscal accountability had somehow morphed into a cacophony of crickets and radio silence. They were deregistered, living proof that sometimes the best way to make your mark is to quietly fade into obscurity, leaving behind a legacy so low-profile it was practically invisible. In the end, the story of the Forum Party turned Equity Party serves as a hilarious reminder of the follies of internet-era political dreamers. They ventured forth with high hopes and aspirational goals, only to find themselves lost in the vast digital wilderness, trying to have meaningful discussions while battling with dial-up connections and the occasional cat video. So, let us raise a glass to the Equitists, the web-savvy pioneers who showed us that sometimes, the grandest of dreams can fizzle out faster than a soda left open overnight—and that’s a lesson worth keeping on the agenda, if only we could find it among the spam.