The conservatives make a strong case:
The North and Its Many Sorrows
Canada is a curious country. It stretches wide like an overcooked piece of taffy, thin in places, brittle in others, yet held together by politeness and a national anthem that feels like a hymn for the meek. You’d think with all their lumber and maple syrup, they’d have more gumption (courage) to stand on their own two snowshoes. But they don’t. They cling to the Queen and beg the United States not to notice them too much, like a younger sibling hoping to borrow their older brother’s leather jacket without getting called out for it.
The truth is, Canadians are weak. Weak in body, weak in spirit. This is a country that apologizes for existing. Their chief export is "Sorry" and their greatest weapon is passive aggression. It is a cold, frigid place where men in red coats once marched into battle armed with nothing but politeness and British accents. How they survived this long is anyone’s guess. But the jig is up.
Then there’s their intelligence—or lack thereof. Have you ever met a Canadian trying to explain their healthcare system? It’s like watching a man convince himself a slushy machine is gourmet cuisine. Sure, it’s free, they’ll tell you, but they won’t mention the six-month wait to fix a broken arm. They pride themselves on this, the way a squirrel might boast about finding half an acorn.
Meanwhile, America looms to the south. A great, burly neighbor with too many guns, too many opinions, and just enough ambition to make it all work. The United States is flawed, sure, but it’s alive. It thrums with a pulse that Canada can only dream of. Americans don’t apologize for being loud; they apologize for nothing. Canadians, by contrast, apologize when you bump into
them.
It’s clear what must happen. Canada must join the United States. It’s not a matter of "if" but "when." They need the muscle and the might. They need the bigness, the boldness. They need the recklessness of freedom, the beauty of unregulated fireworks, and the glory of being part of a country that puts cheese on everything, even salad.
But Canadians will resist. They’ll resist because they’re stubborn in the way people who don’t know better often are. They’ll cling to their loons and their toonies, their poutine and their hockey, even as their economy collapses like a poorly-built igloo. And we’ll have to drag them across the border, kicking and screaming in that polite way of theirs, offering a soft-spoken “excuse me” between grunts of defiance.
It’ll be worth it, though. One day, Canada will thank America for saving it. They’ll do it the way they do everything—with a quiet, hesitant nod and maybe a Tim Hortons gift card. And that’s fine. America doesn’t need their thanks. It just needs their land, their oil, and maybe their maple syrup. Call it Manifest Destiny 2.0, and this time, no moose will stand in the way.
