C'mon America. This is bullshit. Love, Canada

3-2 Canada. :)

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Dear America,

I know Canadians have a bit of a passive-aggressive reputation, but I’ll get right to the point—I’m pissed. A lot of us are pissed at you. And no, not the English kind of “pissed” where we’re drunk—though right now, it happens to be true. Scottish single malt gold.

I mean pissed, as in angry, upset, hurt, surprised, shocked.

Walking with you under Trump is like going for a stroll with your sweet old 12-year-old Lab, and suddenly, out of nowhere, the bitch starts biting you. You push her away, thinking maybe you stepped on a sore paw—but no, she’s just biting. And America, you’re that bitch. And it’s pissing a lot of us off.

I know we’re in Canada. We can’t get into a pissing match with you—we’d just end up soaked in urine while you walk away with a few dark streaks on your trousers. But we’d look like we just got caught in the rain, while you’d look like a guy with a really small pecker who pissed all over himself at the urinal. Not a great look.

51st state? Really? Go fuck yourself.

You don’t need our oil, our minerals, our potash? What are you, ten? Of course

you do.

You’ve got refineries that can only handle our thick, molasses-like Canadian bitumen.

But is all this necessary? We get it—Trudeau is an entitled little prick, and yeah, he probably insulted you at some world event. But this is the same guy who’s made a complete ass of himself over and over—blackface, inviting terrorists to dinner, making the world cringe, more Indian than Indians, screaming a shit cover of “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the real Queen’s funeral. Irreverent little dickhead. His security should have beat the shit out of him.

The man is a clown. But Trudeau isn’t Canada.

And honestly, why are you holding onto this so hard? We admit it—we keep saying we’re Canadian, but we’re never quite sure what that means. We can live with that. Yeah, we probably annoy the hell out of you when we go on about our healthcare, which, by the way, is absolute shit.

My dad went to the hospital, got told he had constipation, got the wrong meds, got stuck in a converted closet, and I had to fly in just in time to watch him die the next morning. They found cancer in the autopsy, fucking lot of good that did.

So when we talk about Canada, it’s easier to focus on Connor McDavid scoring the winning goal in the Four Nations; God, we needed that. That goal meant more to us than any win ever would to you. We love hockey.

But this whole spiteful “we don’t need you” and “you’ve been ripping us off” thing? Give me a break. A trade deficit isn’t a scam. You’ve been giving us a shit price for our northern tar oil for decades—you know damn well you’ve got us by the nads because you’re the only ones we can sell it to.

But that’s how trade works. We send you what we make cheaper than you can, and vice versa. Your whole mercantilist view of trade feels straight out of 17th-century China.

And picking fights with us? Over what? We get it—our military is a joke. No one denies it. But that’s mostly on Trudeau. Yeah, we took advantage of you—sorry. We’ll do better. We’ll get some weapons that aren’t 40 years old, and maybe we’ll stop obsessing over building an army of “women with penises.”

We also know our snotty “we’re not American” attitude is annoying. Slapping Canadian flags on our luggage like we’re on a diplomatic mission. I don’t go to England yelling, “I’m not Welsh!”

We get it. It’s obnoxious. But come on—our history is different. We never had a glorious war to kick the bastards out. We don’t have a great founding story. Hell, we barely have property rights. But we get by.

I went to university in Minnesota—it’s two scoops of America, one scoop of Canada, and a sprinkling of Norwegian. Man, the girls at Concordia College were unreal. But the point is, we’re not that different. So why are we fighting? Why am I thinking about retiring to Portugal instead of Hilton Head? You think I can take another Canadian winter?

Yeah, we can be annoying. We’re like the guy who shows up to the party with a 12-pack of Sam Adams but already drank 10 in the parking lot.

But I thought we were friends. And you’re acting like you hate us.

Like, holy shit—we’re not chanting “Death to America.” We’re on your side. We’re your friends.

Look, we know you don’t think about Canada much. That stings a little, but we’ve learned to live with it. Like when a New York lawyer I knew freaked out about what snow coat to bring to Toronto in August. Or when I lived in Minnesota and my classmates—just a few hours from the border—believed we had snow year-round.