back home ders a lotta money in bear shit
talking to 'mericans about Canada
Once upon a time I dated a valley girl.
Like a real valley girl. Like totally. To the max. She was like totally from the central valley in California.
On one of our first dates we went out for burgers.
Having been a vegetarian for five years, this posed a problem.
But as a Canadian in ‘Merica, I didn’t want to look like a wuss so I ordered one with bacon and cheese. Though my guts were not stiff, I was for three hours after. Apparently they feed ‘Merican cattle viagra along with the growth hormones.
When we went out and I forgot cash, she’d laugh and flip her hair and say That’s ok, I’ll charge it.
Charge it. I’ve never heard a Canadian say Charge it with so casually, so freely all silky hair flipped and smiling. It was as though she were invading some sovereign third world nation, she was so causal, so confident and non chalant - charge it!
Like Oh my god! Charge it!
Her high rising up talk was so pronounced she almost launched into space at the end of each phrase - like totally - to the max!
I was just waiting for her to stark talking about Reese Whitherspoon’s sister Gagme
Gagme Witherspoon?
Yes dear reader, there were times that I heard her utter the phrase gag me with a spoon.
I was young and she was cute so this didn’t seem to matter at the time.
I visited her home town - the garlic capital of the world. She paraded me, her Canadian prize around to visit her friends.
One of her friends lived with her mom. He mom was a stunning example of an incredibly vibrant subspecies of felines: Cougarus menopausalis Californicus. Everything in her home was glossy black and white with a shock of red here and there to make the place xxxtra lusty.
They all wanted to know about Canada.
I told them all about it.
There are many traditions in Canada.
Some, like Christmas and Easter are present in much of the Anglosphere. We like a lot of the same music - Tom Petty, Elvis and Parliament Funkadelic
But there is one thing we are particularly good at:
Scoopin’ bear turds.
They all froze, unsure what was coming next. My girlfriend shot daggers at me with her eyes. He friends mom was less sure.
As if she protested.
Tits the gawd’s truth, I continued:
Back home, there’s good money in bear shit.
The cougar mom sat there gaping so long some of the flies from her shorts were landing in her mouth.
Bear poop? No way
I responded in a language she could understand: Way
She was aghast. No way!
Way.
No way!
Was this really happening? Was I having a real life Californian debate? I was giddy at the thought of it.
Oh sure. I continued while putting on my best rural Nova Scotian accent, ders really good dough scoopin’ bear turds.
The California girl and her friends began to wilt. Their toes curled up into the black and white shag carpet as though they were trying to hold me back with their ruby painted talons.
Despite the obvious cues in the room, there was no holding me back. This troll had hooked a big one and was ready to reel her in.
I used to work for a real estate agent cleanin’ out cottages. Bears would break in in the winter and shit everywhere. I’d clean them out then make orso-mud coffee cups to sell to ‘Merican tourists.
She smiled politely and nodded, unsure of how to handle me. It wasn’t long after that I was ushered out the door.
My girlfriend was furious.
Why did you do that? You’re much more charming than that.
I am.
And?
I’m Canadian.
On the car ride home I slid The Hip into the CD player. I sang along with Gord
Fingers and toes, fingers and toes
Forty things we share
Forty one if you include
The fact that we don't care
In an instant, my glory was interrupted. She ejected the disc and biffed it from the car.
Imperialistic aggression! I shouted in protest.
You were such a dick to my friends mom.
Of course I was. I’m Canadian. I was being Canadian.
One of our great Canadian traditions is trolling ‘Mericans and making room for your natural stupidity to shine.
She hit me but it’s true. (she likely hit me because its true)
You’re a massive country. We are stuck living next to you. Sure we’re family. But in the family? We’re the annoying little brother. Sure you could beat the snot out of us any time. Given that, we’ve had to become smarter than you. You might be able to win a war with your fists but I’ll take Canada any day in a battle of wits.
Rick Mercer’s Talking To Americans is an incredible example of Canadian trolling.
We’re blessed as Canadians.
For one?
We’re not ‘Merican.
Instead, we live just outside, on the fringe of a country that regards itself as the centre of the universe. It’s a position of great privilege. Much of the time we can see ‘Mericans much more clearly than they see themselves.
That's the thing about being Canadian, eh? We're polite, we apologize... and then we subtly undermine your entire worldview with a well-placed anecdote about animal excrement.
It's in our national DNA, right next to maple syrup and passive aggression.
So if you ever find yourself trapped in a room with a ‘Merican cougar and several hungry cubs?
Pull out the bear shit and tell ‘em Gord sent ya
.