Canada’s 150th From A to Zed

June 29, 2017

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Canada’s 150th From A to Zed

Canada turns 150 this weekend, which is weird because it’s only 37. The left is trying to make this aboot “a celebration of indigenous genocide” because they’re party poopers, but the best way to deal with people like that is to party. I moved there from England in 1975 and left in 1999, but there isn’t a day goes by I don’t long for a beaver tail. Here are ten other things you won’t quite get about Santa’s homeland.

Canada began in 1980 when it chose “O Canada” as the national anthem and decided to ignore the fact that, technically, the Queen is still the head of state. Even though we declared independence in 1867 (hence the 150 years), we kept the Union Jack on the flag until 1965 when the last British person finally wandered home. America lost about 50,000 people kicking the British out. We just ignored the redcoats until they left on their own accord. That’s how you conduct a revolution—you bore them to death.

One of the advantages of being new is you’re not steeped in centuries of class where people are defined by their accents and aristocrats don’t understand what the working class are saying. Here in Canada we all speak hoser and we’re down for anything new, even metric, eh?

Canadians are known for being overly polite. In fact, saying “sorry” is so common, we had to pass the Apology Act so the term couldn’t be used as an admission of guilt in court. However, being polite does not mean you are not willing to get into a flailing fistfight at the drop of a hat. “Goof” may be a go-word in juvie, but goon is something every young Canadian strives to be.

On the smash hit “Out for a Rip,” Rich B discusses the way Americans keep telling us we’re too nice and then he explains, “Yeah we got manners/But fuggin’ buddies still fight/And fuggin’ swear and fuggin’ drink all night.” He then describes pounding the crap out of a buddy who wasn’t sorry after he burned a hole in his jacket with a dart (cigarette). This is the way all civilized Western males should behave. We don’t start fights, but we’re happy to finish them, eh?

Rich B is not unusual. There are no nouveaux riches in Canada. There is no class system. It’s just the bureaucratic parasites in Ottawa and the rest of the country hating them for wasting our money. Britain has wine connoisseurs planning elaborate demographic pranks like flooding working-class neighborhoods with Muslims. We have hosers.

“What they call being sociable in Canada is called alcoholism in the States, eh?”

Toronto’s mayor had the exact same accent that the local plumber has and we loved him for it. He beat back the unions and preserved the city’s real estate when it was collapsing everywhere else in the Western world. Of course, to Hollywood liberals he will always be Canada’s crackhead, but what do they know? They give their kids speed. Besides, what kind of pussy hasn’t tried crack at least once?

Hosers are just cold rednecks, and outside of talking like curious leprechauns in a good mood, there are no differences between the far North and the deep South. Checking in on national treasure Puglife will confirm this. Check it out, buddy has a dart in his hand while he’s checking to see if the guy’s dead or just having a dirt nap, eh?

Although there is still a place called “Nigger Rapids,” nobody would ever call a black person that. The name is actually a great example of Canadian naïveté when it comes to race. It’s named after a lovely black couple everyone liked. The Underground Railroad ended in Halifax, where the town Africville was built. In the ’60s, black celebrities such as Miles Davis and Sammy Davis Jr. would come to Montreal to perform and be dumbfounded by how little their race mattered. It was like that Eddie Murphy sketch where he’s white for a day.

Unfortunately, the plague that is victim culture is seeping north, and Toronto has a Black Lives Matter that constantly complains about Canada’s racist history, which accidentally proves how totally irrational, insatiable, and inconsolable that entire movement is, eh?

A beaver tail is just a wider, flatter version of Natives’ fry bread but with brown sugar on it. When you’re skating on the canal and you need to warm up, nothing beats a hot cocoa with this sugary treat. It reboots your hard drive.

Similarly, poutine is hangover kryptonite. You can be at death’s door, but there’s something about hot gravy, fries, and cheese curds that fills in all the gaps a night of Molson Canadian creates.

Canada is basically Scottish and that means Irish and that means potatoes are heavily revered. You can’t drive more than a mile down the highway (a.k.a. the Queensway) without seeing a chip van making hand-cut fries from scratch. This extends into potato chips, which are adorned in all flavors, including “all dressed” and “ketchup.”

One little-known secret is Canada is also the home of anti-fry nightmare McCain Foods, which has brought frozen fries to America and Britain, and across the Western world. We’re really sorry about that, eh?

I used to DJ at the college radio station CKCU and we were expected to play 60 percent Canadian content, a.k.a. Cancon. This meant if you were doing a punk/hardcore show, you were forced to play SNFU, No Means No, Death Sentence, and DOA on a loop before earning enough chips to play, say, Discharge.

This makes for a state-sponsored pop chart where meritocracy comes in way after mediocre Canadian acts have hogged the spotlight. Whenever my wife and I visit, I turn on the radio in the car and wait for her to say, “What the hell are we listening to?” I can then explain whether it’s “Strange Animal” by Gowan, “Crying Over You” by Platinum Blonde, or of course the megahit “Rise Up” by the unfathomably gay Parachute Club, eh?

Much of what Canada does is out of spite toward America (despite a good 80 percent of Canada’s economy being contingent on American business). The U.S. touts itself as the home of free speech, so we created the Canadian Human Rights Commission, which proudly announces, “Free speech is an American concept.” Part of Canada’s culture is now not being able to say what you want. This includes hate facts. That’s right, even if the statement you made is true, you could be fined for being offensive, especially if Muslims are involved.

Americans may scoff at this, and it’s true their Supreme Court is very fair when presented with free-speech cases, but these cases rarely get that far. The American left has joined the Canadian government in spirit and decided that certain people must be fired if they stray from the PC narrative. The big picture is, if the people don’t stand by the laws, they’re not worth the paper they’re written on, and in both countries, free speech is at the back of the lineup, eh?

I love Canada and think it has a bright future, but there is a giant stain on it named Justin Trudeau. I blame women for this, but right now the second-largest country in the world is run by an extra from Zoolander. He wears Muslim socks to Gay Pride parades. He says we need to get into “Investigative national security stuff” and prays for a future where “We’re resilient enough to handle bad things happening without falling into a bad space.” These are just from the past couple of weeks. There are entire websites devoted to recording his idiotic expressions. I think my favorite is “We have to rethink elements as basic as space and time—to go all science fiction-y on you in this sense,” eh?

You can tell a lot about a culture by its airports. In Glasgow, it’s perfectly reasonable to take your drink right up to the gate and even have it in your hand as you board the plane. Denying it would be like taking insulin from a diabetic. American airport bars tend to stay empty until the afternoon, but every bar in every Canadian airport is packed from opening time until closing. This too comes from our Scottish roots (that’s also why we’re funny).

When I was at Fox News, only a select group of employees would go for a drink after work. Kennedy, Greg Gutfeld, a few libertarian staffers, and the odd Hannity producer were the only ones you’d catch having a drink, but at Sun News (now Rebel Media) up in Canada, the local bar was an extension of the office. If you snuck out for a wee nippy sweetie at noon you’d bump into two cameramen and a researcher slamming back a cold Molson Dry during break. After work, everyone in front of and behind the camera would be at the bar. We had the whole back section to ourselves. What they call being sociable in Canada is called alcoholism in the States, eh?

Canucks have a reputation for being cold, but that’s because we’re fuggin’ freezin’. Once we get our parkas off and sit down at the bar, we’re anyone’s dog for a bone. You don’t get that in many places outside of the U.K. I find American conversation is harder to get going and when it does, it’s sluggish. It often leads to the other person wanting something from you like info on a vacation you just took or whether they should buy that bike lock on Amazon. They don’t see chatting as an amusing pastime and again, I think this comes back to booze. Canadians aren’t shy. They’re polite. They’re not timid. They just want to make sure we’ve explored all other options before we get into a kerfuffle. It’s a great country that’s agile and curious with a populace that talks with a blue-collar accent but has traveled the world. There is only one thing wrong with Canada and that’s the government.

Trudeau will be gone in 2020 and that’s when the Great White North can get back to being great again. Until then, we’re going to focus on getting hammered. So, whether you’re on pogey with barely two toonies to rub together and you’re fuggin’ the dog all day in your housecoat and track pants, or your bum’s parked on a fancy chesterfield with a monogrammed serviette in your hand, it’s time to celebrate 37/150 years of hoser culture. No matter what postal code you’re in, from toques to top hats, grab a mickey or a two-four and just fuggin’ give ’er, eh?

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