Recently, I took a trip to Canada (of all fucking places); Ottawa to be specific. Naturally, I had no idea what was actually in Ottawa except for a few examples of gorgeous Gothic architecture that I could see any time I want in America through something called Google. So why does anyone travel anywhere? What the fuck do I want with awe-inspiring architecture?!
What am I gonna do with this shit?!
As soon as I arrived in Ottawa, my nasal passages were overcome by a sensation that practically floored me. The air was actually refreshing! Canada, if I want to be refreshed, I’ll buy a $3 bottle of Spring Water. I don’t need your fucking charity. It’s almost as if the entire pompous city is patronizing me; pointing and laughing as I struggle to breathe in this purified oxygen.
The first thing I did when I entered the Canadian Hellscape was grab some fast food at a Wendy’s rest stop. I couldn’t wait to absorb the dirty looks from the underpaid cashiers as I flaunted my American Money like Scrooge McFuck. But no. Nothing works in Canada the way it’s supposed to. The Wendy’s cashiers are all pleasant young women and they actually talk to you like they give a shit. Where the fuck am I?!
What have I gotten myself into?
This trip has already gone south and I only just stepped out of the car.
Alright, so I’ve seen all the giant buildings and shit, and then I start thinking…where are all the cell phone stores and check cashing places? Where can I trade my gold in for cash? On first glance there was nothing around but monuments and memorials. I didn’t even know Canada had fought in any wars!
I can do this at home...
So after wandering aimlessly around my prison-like hotel room with king-size bed, giant bathtub and flat screen tv (what good is a huge TV if it only plays Canadian television shows?!), I realized that I needed to exchange my good old American currency for some queer technicolor Canada cash.
Sexually ambiguous military men cross multiple cultures.
What the fuck is a looney? A tooney? Who came up with this concept? You know how much fun it is to have spare change in your pocket? Well, let’s make you carry bigger and bulkier change to replace your practical $1 Bill…and the $2 coin?! We got rid of $2 Bills years ago. Get with the program, Canada!
If my money is worth more, what the fuck am I doing with all these coins?!
After trying to figure out what great American heroes were trying to be portrayed in these Canadian memorial statues, I came to the disparaging conclusion that I wasn’t getting anywhere. I needed to have a drink; so I popped woefully into the shittiest-looking bar I could find. Perhaps in a local dive, I could acquire some of American bar hospitality. All I wanted to do was witness someone quickly jolt into a blind rage or an elderly gentlemen sipping his sorrows away until his inevitable grim death.
“Have a beer, eh!”
“Where’re you guys from then?”
What the fuck is that all aboot? I don’t come to a bar to be chatted up by pleasant, interesting people. It’s a bar, goddammit!
So I needed a cigarette; but where to find them? No cigarette ads, no flashing signs encouraging myself and mature-spirited children to come on in and puff away.
In Canadian culture, naked incestuous dancing is a time honored tradition.
Finally, I find a shop selling cigarettes, which I can hardly afford…almost $10 a pack?! Shame on you, Canada. Poor people need to be able to kill themselves quickly. Making it so that only happy rich people can afford cigarettes is torture. And the tobacco industry is no doubt suffering. Canada, embrace your Cigarette Industry!
It's like drinking a bottle of water that says "SOMETIMES PEOPLE DROWN"
And lastly, when on vacation, you hope to get away from your government. Everything in America is Obama, Obama, Obama. Can I just escape from the blinding glory of Chocolate Jesus for a week??
I’m ready to embrace a new government…whatever government Canada has (I suspect none).
And all I see in Ottawa is “OBAMA CAME HERE!” They’re much more excited by our politics than their own and Obama has become bigger than Brad Pitt. I was compelled to buy an Obama cookie, but what would that do to aid our economy? Dick.
The cookies were a chocolate/vanilla swirl. Appropriate.
And in a nutshell, that was my trip to Canada. Luckily I got out of that hellhole when I did. Imagine being trapped there forever…the horrors of socialized medicine…the pristine air and weather…the brazen friendliness of everyone you meet? Get me the fuck out of here.
(for more information on Canada, visit your local Library. Oh, it’s closed?…uh…well, it wasn’t really important anyway)
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