Break out the frozen yogurt and your red-blooded maple leaf! Every year the citizens of Kanadoodle gather quietly in clusters, wearing their distinctive leaves in a typical understated show of public pride. The days when there was fierce debate raging about which symbol was going to represent Kanadoodle are long gone. I, for one, am eternally grateful that the maple was chosen instead of the fig leaf – it’s much too cold to wear a fig in our climate. There’s so much we in Kanadoodle can celebrate, having accomplished a great deal in our country’s short history. From the time our ancestors stepped off their leaky little boats, plunging their skinny legs into the frigid waters of the Sadlantic Ocean, stubbing their toes on the rocky shores of Neverfoundland and watching their breath create clouds of vapor in the icy air, “SACRE BLUE! IL FAIT FROID!” has been our sacred motto.
It isn’t easy being Kanadoodle. Take the fact that we’re famously polite, a trait that has proven both a boon and hindrance. Every winter as we huddle in our igloos, we bemoan the fact that our army defeated the mighty ‘Murican invasion back in 1812 at the battle of Queenisstoned Heights. Unfortunately our victorious army has been forever denied any success in conquering a nice warm tropical island so our citizen can flee the winters without having to leave their beloved homeland. Conquer some other country? We’re just too damned polite to even give it a thought.
And what’s the consequence? The winters have gotten even more depressing since our dollar (the Loonitic) plunged in value against the ‘Murican greenandblack. Worse was when the ‘Murican Grand High Imperial Twitterbug (GHIT), Ronald Rump, started building a colossal wall around ‘Murica’s southern borders. He said it was to help their Olympian squad practice their pole vaulting, but we know better. It was really intended to keep northern ‘Muricans from vacationing in the warmth of Mehickoh. Now everyone is terrified that their vacation planes will crash into the wall. So there went a bunch of winter dreams into the deep freeze.
And while we’re talking about being too polite, I ask – do we get thanks for it? Recently we were being extra polite to our ‘Murican friends (we’ve patched up a few differences since 1812) and promised to help them out of a real chimney problem. At the behest of Ronald Rump, we clipped the wings of a citizen from Porcelain (sometimes known as Bone China for the many bones strewn on their deserts) named Munged One Joke. Munged was in Kanadoodle but the ‘Muricans suspected Munged of carrying Avian flues into corporate ‘Murica, plugging up the chimney’s of commerce and causing endless clouds of extra pollutants. Yes, ‘Murica was interested in having a beak to beak with Munged and Kandoodle was just trying to be nice and helpful, as USUAL!
Well it turned out that Munged is a Grand High PooBah of WowWee, a huge and powerful conglomerate based in Porelain. The Exalted PooBah of Porcelain (called a Premium there) was furious. Premium iXXX (pronounced ‘Ihotstuff) Jum Ping ordered that two citizens of Kanadoodle, visiting Porcelain, have their wings clipped in retaliation. Now I ask you, does that sound FAIR? Why not two ‘Muricans? It was them ‘Muricans, after all, that wanted Munged in the first place. WE were just being polite and somehow got caught in the middle of someone else’s fight.
And what happened when the ‘Murican GHIT started a trade war with Porcelain? Porcelain stops buying Kanoooolala oil and our pork rinds. DID WE START THE TRADE WAR? Not only that but another country, the Phillupthebeans, demanded that we take a whole shipload of our garbage back to Kanadoodle. Of course we’re just too polite to refuse. It’s cost us a bundle. You SEE WHAT I MEAN about being too polite?
What with trade wars and merry-go-round garbage and Munged getting us into hot stuff we have a real mess! But isn’t that why we elect a Prime Ribber? Our Prime Ribber, Dustbin Truthless is just oozing with politeness. We’ve already sent him off to the big international GEE ZERO conference (sometimes called the OH-GEE), where all the world’s PooBahs will meet. I have every confidence Dustbin will hose the delegates with politeness and flush away our every problem. I can practically hear him now: I’m… ahh… am… ah…. prepared… ahh… on behalf of… um… Kanadoodle… to offer… ahhh… the… ah… complete…
Well, you know what he means. He’ll finish in his own good time and pour Kanadoodle’s oil on the troubled waters. Back here in Kandoodle we’ll be celebrating our collective birthday as we politely discuss whether all these OH-GEE efforts will just end up with all of us surrounded by another large oil slick. It’s hard to tell at this point, eh?
So, for a change, as we kick back in the igloo and watch the ice freeze in our drinks, we can give thanks that we live in our wonderful country. Wave those flags, oh ye stalwart peoples of Kanadoodle! Hold them high and wave them proudly! Yes… you know… they’re the ones bordered on both sides by red bars that represent blood banks. They’re needed for quick access to the transfusions that keep that old leaf in the middle from wilting.