I am a bad Canadian
I love Canada. I pay my taxes. I try not to be too much of societal drain.
But still, I’m an outcast. I don’t fit in. And there are 3 main reasons why this is so.
1. I am not crazy about Tim Horton’s coffee. If you tell a Canadian that you don’t like Tim Horton’s they will look at you like you’ve just offered them a bowl of dead kittens. But I don’t like it. It tastes like brown crayons melted in tobacco water.
People wait in ridiculously long lines to get this stuff.
And then they throw the cups into the streets.
Tell me, what could be more un-Canadian than littering. Tsk tsk!
2. I am really, really irritated by Don Cherry. I make Brian mute Coaches Corner. Don Cherry yells stuff that makes me want to rip off my own face. He dresses like a circus clown. He gets more media attention than all Canadian nurses put together. One of his suits costs as much as a nurse’s monthly wage.
I expect, for this, that I will someday be walking down some street of an evening and see an effigy of myself burning like a freakin’ candle.
3. I’m kind of meh about The Tragically Hip. Mutual love of the Tragically Hip is how Canadians abroad identify each other and later exchange Twitter info. All Canadians should carry a valid passport and a copy of “Road Apples” in their car, or Immigration Canada officials will investigate. To the point of harassment. Canadians can be put into two categories: A. Those who like The Tragically Hip, and, B. Those who steal money from senior citizens.
I also do not have an “I Am Canadian” tattoo, I’m not fond of bacon (don’t tell Brian, it might be a deal-breaker), and I don’t drink beer.
But I like Liona Boyd. If you’re a real Canadian, you’ll know who that is.
