the Canadian Resistance

Since the whirling elder idiot has taken to making the world miserable it is time to announce the deployment of the pub crawling, civic brawling, not so partial to name calling Canadian Resistance.  This underground civilian all-volunteer force will spread out across the northern continent, from its westernmost frontier to the Maritimes, from Vancouver to Halifax, every territory and province, every inch of her soil, the Canadian Resistance will lurk.

For example, I know in the interior of British Columbia that from the province of Quebec arrive chanterelle hunters who will gather these delectable mushrooms for the delight of Canada’s best cooks. In alliance with the Canadian Resistance, they will diabolically gather such weaponized fungi as the Destroying Angel, Panther Cap, or Fly Agaric. Ingesting such types of fungi induces a profound regret and doom that is soon followed by more regret and then an agonizing slow freedom sucking death by democracy destroying hallucinations. From the Okanagan, Shuswap to the Kootenay’s no enemy may survive this underground fungi armed resistance movement.

Further east on the northern prairies it is loneliness and bitter cold that can kill. In Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba should a foreign fighter’s diesel engine fail they will be slow walked into hypothermia by con artist like Canadian’s stalling for time, faking repairs, lowering their heaters output while secretly layering up claiming that it “isn’t that cold,” it is no more than “a little nippy.” The invaders will be dead before their engine ever runs again.

For those that are not killed by the cold seductive female Canadian Resistance soldiers will lure the libidinous soldiers into their lair where before any pleasure they are ladled heaps upon heaps of artery clogging poutine eaten with the fattest fried potato fries ever to be found. A plague of cardiac arrests will haunt the invaders. Belts will break, zippers will fail and once fit men will have been swollen to the size of terrestrial whales and will die a blubbery slow death beneath the shade of the most forlorn grain silos.

There will be death by grizzly bear, wolverine and violent moose. Windchill will take pieces of noses and exposed tips of fingers. Ice skating drones will mow down unsuspecting invaders. In summer to the north mosquitos will bite to death and drain the misguided fighters morale. Hallucinogenic Northern Lights will frighten the wits out of the men who have never encountered such terrifying celestial lights. Expeditionary forces will be tormented by trap lines. Mad Canadians swarming by snowmobile will at night by stealth steal the invaders snow boots. When dawn finally arrives in the dead of winter there will be no more than 6 hours where the disoriented unwelcomed interloper may have any hope of seeing his enemy.

Maple syrup will be responsible for bogging down the armored columns. The great growers of the north will fight by cannabis fueled smoke screens. The stoned will wear their love like heaven, sing do you know the way to San Jose, and find it impossible not to eat themselves to death by donuts from Tim Horton. 

The Canadian Resistance fighters in Toronto will come armed with hockey sticks. Death by pucks slapped with fury will send the invaders fleeing for their dentists. Whole garrisons of fighters will return toothless and traumatized. There will be the Celsius problem, trying to comprehend the true meaning of beavertail. Postal codes, track pants and hydro will remain a complete mystery. Of course, a captured Canadian Resistance fighter will answer all questions with one syllable— Eh? They’ll mutter words like hoser and keener. You’ll be treated to a kerfuffle. Every foreign invader will be put at risk of growing a Molson muscle.  

There is only one way out of such a horrible fate as waits any foreign soldier daring to test the might of the Canadian Resistance. Only one sure way to dodge a fate worse than the collapse of democracy and signed unbreakable for all time treaty of 1842 when it was decided that it was the 49^th parallel the who cleave the two nations, one to the north called Canada and the other to the south called the United States.

A signed treaty between two nations is unbreakable, eternal and as sacred as a fine glass of rye whiskey. Quarreling over Kentucky’s rye or Canada’s rye and which is the better is open for debate and disagreement. A treaty knows no known such space where questions may be raised, or new answers found. A treaty is inviolable. It exists beyond the mere human realm of an oath or vow. One nation’s treaty is a reality that may not be amended by the desires of another country’s newfound want. It is permanent. All questions have been resolved. A people of one generation send into the infinite future an unbreakable eternal promise to all succeeding generations. The breaching of such a solemn instrument as a treaty may be met with all necessary force. 

If you have a problem with our good neighbors to the north perhaps you will want to stand before a mirror and look into the eyes of the empty soul that you have become. Channel your own inner Gordie Howe put on your skates and play the game of mutual respect for one nation to another as if your soul depends upon it. 

Our good friend’s to the North count on our remaining faithful for all time.