C'mon America. This is bullshit. Love, Canada

3-2 Canada. :)

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Dear America,

I know Canadians have a bit of a passive-aggressive reputation, but I’ll get right to the point—I’m pissed. A lot of us are pissed at you. And no, not the English kind of “pissed” where we’re drunk—though right now, it happens to be true. Scottish single malt gold.

I mean pissed, as in angry, upset, hurt, surprised, shocked.

Walking with you under Trump is like going for a stroll with your sweet old 12-year-old Lab, and suddenly, out of nowhere, the bitch starts biting you. You push her away, thinking maybe you stepped on a sore paw—but no, she’s just biting. And America, you’re that bitch. And it’s pissing a lot of us off.

I know we’re in Canada. We can’t get into a pissing match with you—we’d just end up soaked in urine while you walk away with a few dark streaks on your trousers. But we’d look like we just got caught in the rain, while you’d look like a guy with a really small pecker who pissed all over himself at the urinal. Not a great look.

51st state? Really? Go fuck yourself.

You don’t need our oil, our minerals, our potash? What are you, ten? Of course

you do.

You’ve got refineries that can only handle our thick, molasses-like Canadian bitumen.

But is all this necessary? We get it—Trudeau is an entitled little prick, and yeah, he probably insulted you at some world event. But this is the same guy who’s made a complete ass of himself over and over—blackface, inviting terrorists to dinner, making the world cringe, more Indian than Indians, screaming a shit cover of “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the real Queen’s funeral. Irreverent little dickhead. His security should have beat the shit out of him.

The man is a clown. But Trudeau isn’t Canada.

And honestly, why are you holding onto this so hard? We admit it—we keep saying we’re Canadian, but we’re never quite sure what that means. We can live with that. Yeah, we probably annoy the hell out of you when we go on about our healthcare, which, by the way, is absolute shit.

My dad went to the hospital, got told he had constipation, got the wrong meds, got stuck in a converted closet, and I had to fly in just in time to watch him die the next morning. They found cancer in the autopsy, fucking lot of good that did.

So when we talk about Canada, it’s easier to focus on Connor McDavid scoring the winning goal in the Four Nations; God, we needed that. That goal meant more to us than any win ever would to you. We love hockey.

But this whole spiteful “we don’t need you” and “you’ve been ripping us off” thing? Give me a break. A trade deficit isn’t a scam. You’ve been giving us a shit price for our northern tar oil for decades—you know damn well you’ve got us by the nads because you’re the only ones we can sell it to.

But that’s how trade works. We send you what we make cheaper than you can, and vice versa. Your whole mercantilist view of trade feels straight out of 17th-century China.

And picking fights with us? Over what? We get it—our military is a joke. No one denies it. But that’s mostly on Trudeau. Yeah, we took advantage of you—sorry. We’ll do better. We’ll get some weapons that aren’t 40 years old, and maybe we’ll stop obsessing over building an army of “women with penises.”

We also know our snotty “we’re not American” attitude is annoying. Slapping Canadian flags on our luggage like we’re on a diplomatic mission. I don’t go to England yelling, “I’m not Welsh!”

We get it. It’s obnoxious. But come on—our history is different. We never had a glorious war to kick the bastards out. We don’t have a great founding story. Hell, we barely have property rights. But we get by.

I went to university in Minnesota—it’s two scoops of America, one scoop of Canada, and a sprinkling of Norwegian. Man, the girls at Concordia College were unreal. But the point is, we’re not that different. So why are we fighting? Why am I thinking about retiring to Portugal instead of Hilton Head? You think I can take another Canadian winter?

Yeah, we can be annoying. We’re like the guy who shows up to the party with a 12-pack of Sam Adams but already drank 10 in the parking lot.

But I thought we were friends. And you’re acting like you hate us.

Like, holy shit—we’re not chanting “Death to America.” We’re on your side. We’re your friends.

Look, we know you don’t think about Canada much. That stings a little, but we’ve learned to live with it. Like when a New York lawyer I knew freaked out about what snow coat to bring to Toronto in August. Or when I lived in Minnesota and my classmates—just a few hours from the border—believed we had snow year-round.

But none of that matters. What matters is that when 9/11 happened, we took in your planes without hesitation. No “America vs. Canada” crap—just people helping people.

Just like when I was driving my ’74 Maverick (which leaked more oil than the Exxon Valdez) and landed in a ditch in the middle of a North Dakota freeway with the snow pelting down.

An American trucker pulled me out with no questions, no money—just helped a guy out and stopped me from freezing my ass off.

Just a regular good man.

That’s who we are. And that’s who we thought you were.

So what the hell happened?

We weren’t ripping you off—except on the military. And thanks for covering us, by the way. We’ll try to get some subs that don’t sink immediately and some icebreakers that work in winter. We have replaced our WWII revolvers. Nerf guns are scaring the commies coming over the pole.

But at the end of the day, we’re not that different. My grandmother came from Ireland, sick of the old world, tired of being treated like garbage. My grandfather was just some guy her dad picked up at the train station because he seemed like a hard worker and they needed a hired man.

My dad joined them recently in a little graveyard near Vulcan, Alberta. Broke my heart—a generation gone.

And honestly, none of us have enough time to make new enemies, Mr. Trump.

America is the greatest country on Earth—home to some of the biggest idiots, sure, but also the greatest innovators the world has ever seen.

The world wouldn’t be what it is without America. We know that. We don’t want to be you. We’ve got enough problems of our own. We, like you, have politicians who’ve never had a callous on their hands and talk absolute shit, and we are such pussies we never call them out.

Maybe we don’t always know what being Canadian means, but we are Canadian.

I was born in Winnipeg—on a quiet street, with one bathroom for all of us, deer wandering up from the park to eat the crabapples, and kids chasing each other helmetless through the bush.

And later, teenagers heading south, flashing our driver’s licenses at the border, the two guys in the back passed out. Just a roadtrip to the U.S. to buy cheap beer and rip the tags off our new clothes a mile before the guard shack on the way back. I barfed out the window, a real Canadian barf racing stripe. Froze solid.

But crossing the border never changed us. And when my American friends came up, they never felt different either.

I’m getting old, Mr. Trump. We used to be friends. Real friends. Not like the ass-kissing losers who tell you how big and strong you are. We don’t suck up. But we are sorry about Justin—he’s a jackass, our biggest mistake. He’s what happens when someone never gets punched in the face in school.

But he isn’t Canada.

We’ve always thought you were our friends. So let’s be friends again.

Come on, America, C’mon, Trumpster, this is bullshit. We can work this out. Let’s make Canada and the US great friends again.

Remember when Mulroney and Reagan sang together? Let’s bring that spirit back.

Sincerely,

Paul. A Canadian.

P.S. I am not boycotting anything American. Too lazy, and it’s stupid. And I think your beer is shit, but so it’s ours. Come over for a cider. Sorry, I am a bit drunk and might regret it in the morning. Don’t nuke my ass.

P.S.S. I have no idea why they kicked me out of diplomacy school. I think I am great.

P.S etc. I am too lazy to incorporate new material into my profane essay. But as to the Fentanyl. It’s like calling the guy who smuggled a six-pack of Coors into Canada from Grand Forks a booze smuggler that rivals Al Capone.

Fentanyl entering the United States predominantly originates from Mexico and China, with Canada’s contribution being minimal. According to a 2020 DEA report, China was the primary source of fentanyl and related substances trafficked through international mail, while Mexican cartels were significant producers and smugglers of fentanyl across the U.S.-Mexico border. Recent data indicates that Canada accounts for just 0.2% of fentanyl seized at U.S. borders, underscoring its limited role in the U.S. fentanyl supply.

0.2%. You make it sound like when you go to the Samsonite store because you’re heading south for the winter, they ask you where you want your Fentanyl smuggling pouch or that Walmart in Canada sells special Fentanyl smuggling condoms that you shove up your ass.¹

Let’s talk about US handgun-driving murders in Canada. 90% of gun murders in Canada come from the U.S. Thanks, guys.

Conversely, a substantial number of firearms used in crimes in Canada are smuggled from the United States. Between 2017 and 2021, approximately 24,586 American firearms were recovered in Canada. In April 2023, authorities intercepted 173 firearms en route to Canada, concealed in suitcases and gift wrap. Additionally, the Canada Border Services Agency reported that between 2018 and 2022, 96% of firearm seizures, totalling 68,338 firearms, occurred through cross-border mail. This data highlights the significant issue of firearms being illegally trafficked from the U.S. into Canada.

For a visual perspective on this issue, you might find the following video informative:

1. Walmart Canada would like to note that condoms that have been inserted into the rectum of any living or dead human or animal may not be returned.