Hold on there, Canada. I’ve had just about enough of the notion we Americans have taken our right-wing cooties to the border, dropped ‘em off and ruined your country.
“American-like” behavior by rowdy Canadian truckers protesting a vaccine mandate is enough to make y’all…well, sigh very deeply which in Canada is evidence of homicidal rage.
Canada, a frozen country I once flew over, isn’t perfect. So, make like a Mountie and get off your high horse.
What am I talking about? Well, for starters, Nickelback. No, sorry. I hate when people pile on Nickelback. I loved that “Savin’ Me” video if I’m being honest. I meant to say Celine Dion. OK, that’s not fair either — great pipes if a trifle underfed. Her heart can and should go on. No, the worst thing you have done to art and culture was to allow YOUR William Shatner to release a spoken word version of Elton’s “Rocket Man.” Although, to be fair, the lyrics do include “All of this science I do not understand!” which could well be the anthem of the protesting border truckers.
And another thing, Canada: Your food is weird. The national dish is poutine (pronounced “poo-TEEN”), a combination of deep-fried potatoes smothered in gravy and solid pieces of curdled milk known as “gross.” Sorry, I meant to say “curds.”
And don’t get me started on your national beer. At a Blue Jays spring training game last year, I enthusiastically ordered the Canadian national beer: Labatt. So THAT’S what happened to all the Stroh’s inventory from the ‘80s. Mystery solved.
But wait; there’s more, Canada. In the good old U.S.A., we know better than to make a national sport out of essentially shuffleboard on ice with weird brooms. Look, I don’t want to call your curling ridiculous, but, to be clear, it so is. Fun fact: We only watch curling at the Olympics so we can enjoy the fleeting image of grown men using brooms with such obvious enthusiasm. Where is this on a weekend, wonders every overworked woman in America.
And then there’s the whole “Eh” thing. It pretty much ends every sentence spoken by a Canadian in the same manner Americans use the far superior “right?” It’s pronounced “Ay” so why not spell it “Ay”? While I normally embrace linguistic quirks — my native American South is awash in them, after all — this one seems less eh and more meh. Speaking of language, pick ONE. Quit showing off. Merci you.
But, without a doubt, the very worst thing Canadians have done to us Americans is invent Hawaiian pizza. Yes. As in the universally despised addition of pineapple chunks to a perfectly tasty pie. You inflict that kind of abuse on a helpless planet and you’re all miffed because we sent a few loud-mouthed rabble-rousers to agitate your normally unflappable populace? You should’ve called it Manitoban pizza and left us out of this heresy.
Canadians like to say, “Living in Canada is like living above a meth lab.” OK, I got nothing. Because that’s honestly hilarious. Moving on…
Don’t think we Americans haven’t noticed your smug superiority about your good-looking prime minister, Justin “Joy Chunks” Trudeau.
Yes, he’s easy on the eyes but that’s because he’s spent his entire life living in a country where the biggest controversy has been boxers or briefs. (Disgraceful systemic discrimination against indigenous peoples? Shhhh. Now have some universal health insurance, eh.)
In America, even if we go into the presidency looking youthful, it doesn’t last. Barack Obama aged approximately 529 years during his first four years in office. That’s OK. A world leader with a freakishly youthful face doesn’t inspire confidence. I like my presidents to have the trusted, craggy patina of a coagulated week-old poutine. You can trust a face like that.
Celia Rivenbark is a NYT-bestselling author and columnist. She tried Tim Horton’s coffee and didn’t love it.