Polite Decline: Canada - A User’s Guide to National Decay

Libs are ten years in, our legacy is fentanyl, fraud, and federally subsidized delusion. We’re not a country—we’re a lightly regulated daycare

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Ladies and gentlemen, gather round for another grimly comical episode of “Oh Canada!”—that slow-moving, taxpayer-funded farce in which the national sport is no longer hockey but the art of fiscal self-immolation. The Oilers may be in the finals (okay, they lost game six last night), but don’t get too excited—they’re proving once again that mediocrity is not just tolerated in this country—it’s practically a job requirement.

Let’s begin with the crown jewel of our collective idiocy: ArriveCan, an app so banal that it should have cost the equivalent of a few semesters of community college tuition—$ 8,500.

But when you unleash a feeding frenzy of bureaucrats, subcontractors, and government barnacles, you end up with a bill that smells suspiciously like $65 million. In Canada, software development isn’t just done—it’s performed for audiences of auditors and journalists who don’t bother showing up.

And what’s the response from the masses?

Let’s reelect them.

A shrug, a vape pull, a mumbled complaint that Tim Hortons discontinued their favourite doughnut. A nation that once stormed Vimy Ridge now needs to be emotionally bribed with sprinkles before giving a damn about grand larceny in digital form.

Treason, But Make It Quiet

Speaking of giving a damn—how about elected officials colluding with a hostile foreign power? MPs caught playing footsie with Beijing, inviting the Chinese Communist Party to massage our elections like a tired bureaucrat at a Macau spa.

And when asked to name names? Silence. Privacy. Sensitivity. National security. All the usual euphemisms, spoken with the hush of priests concealing a scandal.

Treason, you see, has had a facelift. It’s no longer a crime—it’s “working collaboratively with foreign partners to enhance democratic participation.” A phrase so grotesquely Orwellian it deserves its pronouns and a DEI keynote slot.

So yes, we bussed in Chinese international students, threatened them with visa limbo, and lined them up to vote for the Party’s preferred stooge. Canada’s response? A national shrug, followed by a doughnut.

What happens next? Nothing. These MPs will coast to re‑election, boosted by yet another busload of “students” who know their next rent cheque depends on their vote: democracy, Carney-style.

We will yawn our way into authoritarianism—not by coup or conquest, but by polite procedure.

The Liberals had already attempted to grant themselves unlimited spending powers during the COVID-19 pandemic, bypassing Parliament under the pretext of an “emergency.”

Now Carney and company want to make it permanent, not for war, nor crisis, but for “efficiency”—as if too much dissent in a room full of MPs, many with little real world experience, is what’s holding Canada back, rather than, say, the fact that we only replaced our WWII pistols last year.

And mark this: they’ll get it. The grinning simps in the NDP who once represented men with callouses and opinions now bend the knee to green-haired activists with master’s theses in “Postcolonial Beekeeping” and “Queer Cartography.”

They’ll sniff their ideological armpits for hints of systemic stink, declare the air clear, and vote “Yes, Daddy.”

The rest of us? We’ll tweet, maybe. We’ll roll our eyes. Then we’ll dutifully queue for the next booster, like livestock to the hypodermic rhythm of state-approved virtue. At the same time, our democracy is quietly defiled without so much as the decency of a reach-around.

Because in modern Canada, treason isn’t punished—it’s subsidised.

But don’t worry, most Canadians won’t hear a word about it—not unless TikTok momentarily glitches out between faux Tourette’s videos and “mental health influencers” describing the trauma of mismatched throw pillows.

Pandemic Spending: The Gospel of Waste

And now, let’s enter the Temple of Economic Stupidity.

During the pandemic, the federal government allocated $82 billion in pandemic relief, roughly 27% of which—$22.3 billion—was deemed to have been completely wasted. That’s not “oops.” That’s a systemic looting of the treasury in broad daylight.

We handed out CERB payments to the dead, the imprisoned, and underage teens in wealthy households—because even if you’re six feet under or behind bars, Ottawa thinks you’ve earned a little cash for your sacrifice. Fifty-one thousand employers who didn’t need assistance? Sure, here’s $9.9 billion—and a handshake from the Ministry of Economic Absurdity.

Even better, for low-income Canadians, sitting at home paid better than working. The CRB turned jobs into hobbies and idleness into policy. This wasn’t an oversight—it was an ideological experiment in government dependency, and damned if it didn’t succeed.

After-tax incomes rose across the board. Not because we became more productive, but because we became more proficient at siphoning from the future. Government largesse is a hell of a drug, and we’re still high.

And while we tolerate this, the real pill is the pandemic payouts — a perverse alchemy of taking from the poor and giving to the rich. According to the Fraser Institute’s data, nearly $4.6 billion was distributed to ineligible recipients through CERB and companion schemes.

In effect, for every $1 lost in labour income, $4 poured out in benefits.

Picture this: you’re flipping burgers at flea markets on weekends, barely scraping by with $485/month in wage income. But thanks to CRB’s rule that you can earn as much as $ 38,000/year without losing a cent, suddenly you’re pulling in $2,000/month — Netflix, Prime, and cider all included. The system isn’t supporting the needy; it’s rewarding the idle.

The result? A society where inertia pays handsomely and hustling is voluntary. We wonder why jobs sit vacant while the streets hum with entitled leisure.

Meanwhile, our elected élite sleepwalk toward authoritarianism.

Canadian MPs have become ornamental relics—trained seals clapping on cue, reading scripts drafted by 24-year-olds in the Prime Minister’s Office. Once tribunes of their constituents, they now serve as set decoration for the ever-expanding imperial court of the PMO.