Comrades, I write to you in a rage this early morning.
Just watch that bowl of Ramen Turd. Stare at it. Let it sink the fuck in.
Then, Canadians, ask yourselves: Does this sort of arrogant imperialist crap from those heartless Cowboy Yankees even need an explanation? Does it need to be tolerated any longer? Hell, does it even warrant our words? Hell Fuck No!
This...this cock bufoonery requires nothing short of our full range of Great Canadian action. If a spectre is haunting the Blue Jays, why can't it haunt those pansy Americans, too?
If Red Eye, a stoolie show for the United States to swing its tiny media cock around, wants to fuck with Great Motherland Canada, then Great Motherland Canada will Nixon-bomb every last staple of Petulant, Inferior America's culture.
The yellow-blooded bastards will rue the day they fucked with Shaun Wax On Marcum or Dustin Grease Lightning McGowan. Our brave ships will crash upon the shores of Lake Erie and proceed to bring them down systematically from the deepest pools of their wretched souls.
With the help of our spies, Section Eh, Plan Flapping Head Is Racist will be officially underway once we inflitrate their filthy McDonalds from the inside. Gone will be Quarter Macs, or whatever the fuckbuckets call it. And in their place will rest a salad.
I can picture it now, patriots. The youth of America's eyes will explode, their hair will melt, and their disgusting, fake orange tan skin will boil. "Ranch dressing? What the fuck is ranch dressing?!" they'll ask in a flurry of deep-fried fat panic, before our Special-Ops forces- headed valiantly by Adam Lind and His Majesty Matt Stairs- bust through bearing freshly planted trees and clear skies.
At this point, this third-rate nation of self indulgent PenisPenguins will be at our absolute mercy. We'll demand $40 and sell Texas to the highest bidder. We'll ban Lynyrd Skynyrd. We'll put lipstick on that hideous, unspayed healthcare bitch.
These fuckers will drink Labatt Blue and watch Raptors, Leafs, Jays, and old Grizzlie, Nordique, Jet or Expo games only. Not to mention, we'll of course take the 'Spos, Nordiques, Jets and Grizz back to where they rightfully belong- Great VanCity, Marvelous Manitoba, and Decent Quebec.
The shitbuckets will smoke copious amounts of weed, free of police persecution. NHL '94 will be a staple of every family. Motherfuckers gon' listen to Rush, and Neil Young, and all them other good shit. Sunglasses will only be worn from the hours of 8 P.M. to 6:30 A.M.
They'll spell harbour with a U, Centre like I just did, and pronounce schedule without that retardo-fuck "K" sound in the middle. They'll know the metric system, and fucking know it well...unless they want to be placed in a really fucking polite concentration camp, where every morning they'll be asked if they'd like to be burnt to a flaming crisp.
Americans, the revolution is on. We have the power. Fear an angry Canuck- this is a Milton Bradley one. We ain't just mounties. OJBO is a pack of raging lunatic nationalist-communist Jays fans with a strict agenda to follow. We're like fuckin' Riot Grrls, without a bunch of average bands and tampons. Stand in our way and pay the consequences.
And don't forget our ultimate secret weapon, if one of you freetards has the blind audacity to try goin' Die Hard on a brotha:
WE WILL GARBLE THE MEANING OF IRONY BEYOND ANY FUCKER'S RECOGNITION.
Other than that, though, we come in relative peace.
Oh, Canada! Oh, Canada! Joe Carter sleeps with thee!
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