I’ve decided I’m Canadian.
I’ve only been to Canada twice: once when I was a small child for reasons I don’t recall, and again when I was 13 because my father was attending a convention in Toronto. I don’t have any paperwork to prove I’m Canadian. It’s a matter of will: If I want to be a Canadian hard enough, I’m sure I can become one.
I think I’ve been Canadian since I was a small child. I’ve always been very polite, thrifty in my spending, and I love beer and maple syrup. I’m not particularly fond of beavers or Celine Dion, but I’ll learn to like them if I have to.
If you’re wondering about the reason for my sudden Canadian-ness, it’s really very simple. Americans are embarrassing. The rest of the world figured that out a while ago, I suspect, but I’m just starting to get it. We’re a bunch of obnoxious, loud, overbearing bullies with no tact, little intelligence, and questionable taste. We’re prone to fits of senseless violence, our beer is pisswater, and we can’t provide doctors for our poor.
Need more reasons? Gay people marrying scares the crap out of us, we only speak one language, we get off on blowing shit up, and our country’s overrun with religious nuts who think hating you is God’s will. We insist on driving SUV’s capable of carrying more than even we can buy at one time, environment be damned. We think we’re the good guys, and that justifies a little torture and carpet bombing once in a while. We’re so afraid that one of the people who hates us (and there are a lot of them) will drop a bomb on us that we’re willing to let our government do whatever they want, as long as they tell us it’s to fight evil. We call ourselves the land of the free, then let the NSA tap our phones without a warrant. We’re the home of the brave, but all we really want is soft, warm safety.
I’d rather not be a part of all that. From now on, if anyone asks, I’m Canadian.
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