Hate A Random Country: Canada

It’s waaay too easy to find a picture of a vagina on the Internet.

It’s widely known that there is only one country in North America that matters.  America[1]. All others are entirely irrelevant.  This scientific fact has been proven time and again, during Olympics, world wars, and presumably obesity contests (we have the most mass, so we matter the most).  However, there are other countries that we are unfortunately stuck sharing a continent with, and sadly, one of them is Canada.

Imagine that you were stuck in a never-ending Northwestern winter.  Now imagine that in the middle of the snow, the only life you could see was a lonely moose jacking off.  Also you routinely got hit in the face with hockey pucks, and your tears froze and turned into little balls of ice before they hit the ground.  Oh, and in the background, Nickelback’s newest album played on an infinite repeat, only occasionally intercut by a song or two from Drake, the rapper who has singlehandedly infected over 39 women with syphilis.  The situation I just described is pretty much what it’s like to live in Canada.

Firstly, Canada is known for hockey.  Their national sport involves various large and drunk eastern European men bashing each other with sticks and fighting for a disc on ice.  Occasionally they pummel each other for no apparent reason.  What the fuck?  Despite Canadian claims of ”originating” the sport of hockey, they actually stole it from Russia, which according to historian “Mittens” Romney, is our #1 enemy.  So not only is Canada responsible for bringing the wretched sport here, it’s also collaborating with our enemies.  It’s like the old saying: “Bring me hockey, shame on you; conspire with Russia, and why the fuck aren’t we invading Toronto already?”

A part of the daily life of a Canadian.

Secondly, their national food is Maple Syrup.  I don’t know about you, but I, like most normal people, don’t like drinking trees.  I don’t swing that way; I don’t like putting liquid that comes from wood in my mouth.  Yet that’s exactly what Canada shoves down the throats of the world.  In Canada, maple syrup is required by law to be 66% sugar (which goes to show what Canada’s government is concerned with regulating useless shit, rather than helping fight Terrorism like REAL countries).  Well thanks a lot for that, Canada.  If I wanted to drink something terrible for me that would burn with sugar as it went down, I would just drink a Smirnoff Ice[2].

Then, there’s the music.  Not only does Canada want us to “call them maybe”, but they have unleashed many terrors on the world.  For one, Justin Bieber, or as I call him, “pussyface.”  Then, Nickelback.  Fucking…Nickelback.  Baby, baby, baby…NO.  Also, Cher.  Anyone with a soul hates Cher.

Yet they get even worse.  Canada is still sucking the metaphorical dick of England.   England is not worth sucking up to (although Pippa Middleton definitely is[3]).  They still have the queen on their (bizarrely multicolored) money!  They could at least grow some balls and put Canadian flags on it, but no.  Random-ass British people.  Yet while Canada remains England’s little bitch, they are also French, which inherently makes them pussies.  This fine line that they walk between kissing the ass of the English and being a pussy like the French makes them even more insufferable.

In short, there’s nothing more despicable than Canada.  From the fact that they originated Nickelback, to their creation of hockey and maple syrup, to their creation of Nickelback[4] they truly are the shittiest and most pathetic excuse for a country on this entire planet.  After all, as their national anthem says… “Oh Canada…goddamn it, why do I live in you?  Fuck my life.”

– Horatio Fourgasm

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[1] Techincally “the United States of America,” but since all other countries are irrelevant, America will here be used EXCLUSIVELY to refer to the U.S of motherfuckin’ A.

[2] Maple Syrup is one of the few things on earth that is even less healthy than Smirnoff Ice.

[3] Side note: Pippa, if you’re reading this…I love you.  Please respond to my letters/e-mails/flyers I’ve tried to distribute around the UK.

[4] A crime so terrible I listed it twice.

Hate A Random Region: The Caribbean

I know what you’re thinking.  “Aren’t you only supposed to violently scrutinize one country, not an entire region of the globe?”  So before I embark on my xenophobic hate journey, allow me to succinctly answer your question: No.

Now, without further ado, let’s get this slander ball rolling.  In rather uncharacteristic fashion, I have organized this rant into an enumerated series of grievances against that pathetic excuse of a geographic region known as the Caribbean Sea.

The Gulf Coast is also great for tourism, assuming you want to light yourself on fire while scuba diving

Grievance 1: The Gulf of Mexico

Remember that scene in the Lion King in which Mufasa explains to Simba that everything the light touches is his kingdom?*  Well, the same goes for The Gulf of Mexico, it’s just different in that everything it touches is unbelievably heinous.  Allow me to elaborate on this disgusting area that kind of qualifies as the Caribbean Sea.

Hate a Random Country: Costa Rica

One of the numerous heinous individuals populating this tainthole of a country

A few weeks ago, a member of our presteinous (that’s prestigiously heinous, if you’re wondering) blog was approached at an off-campus party and asked if we would write an installment of our unnecessarily abrasive “Hate a Random Country” series on his home country, Costa Rica. The member of the blog, who was most certainly not Evander Jones, got down from the table on which he was exuberantly belly-dancing and happily agreed to have the article written. That being said, this article is not being written only by request – it’s being written because Costa Rica is home to a massive concentration of twatitude that can be rivaled only by the Seneca Falls Convention.

“Costa Rica” is a country similar to “Democratic Republic of Congo,” in that its name in no way reflects the country itself. Spanish for “Rich Coast,” Costa Rica is truly only rich in two things: Trees and tainthood. I’ll focus mostly on the tainthood.

Red, white, and blue!? BRILLIANT!!!

For those of us who don’t give a flying fuckstick about shithole countries like Costa Rica, it may be a surprise to learn that the currency in Costa Rica is the “colón” – presumably named for either the human colon or Cristobal Colón, a.k.a. Christopher Columbus. After all, who wouldn’t want their currency named after a raging cockbottle who exploited their people? For fuck’s sake, Costa Rica. You don’t see Cherokees running around paying with Jacksons, or Northwestern’s defense running around paying with Anyones. Worse yet, the abbreviation for the Costa Rican Colón is, surprisingly enough, CRC – an acronym that, to Northwestern students, encompasses nearly all the School of Comm’s limitless atrociousness.

Besides their poorly-named currency, the country with a president named “Chinchilla” boasts many more aspects worth scrutinizing. For example, its coat of arms is the feeblest display of culture I’ve seen since Kappa Sig went to the Shedd Aquarium. The image consists of several features:

Contrary to initial beliefs, this is not a 5th Grade Social Studies project

• A landmass.  Presumably representing Costa Rica, the landmass is a strip of land with three unnaturally phallic geographic features.
• Two bodies of water.  Divided by the landmass, they likely represent the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans.  Because clearly, Costa Rica is the only fucking country that borders two oceans.
• Two ships.  Likely representing the Nina and the Pinta.  Or the Nina and the Santa Maria.  Or the Pinta and Santa Maria.  Or maybe just two generic coming-to-totally-fuck-your-people-over ships.
• A banner over the top reading “America Central.”  Apparently, no one ever informed these dumbshits that it’s called “Central America.”

The only thing rivaling Costa Rica's lack of defense is the Northwestern secondary

Perhaps the most unique fact about Costa Rica is that they don’t have a military.  Yes, you heard me.  To show you the full impact of this absurdity, allow me to put it into perspective.  On Monday nights, the backdoor of the Keg is more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.  On weekend nights, Burger King’s line-forming traditions are more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.  Two hammered college students bumping uglies in the basement of ZBT are more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.

You know, you’d think that a country bordering Nicaragua and Panama wouldn’t look too bad. But Costa Rica did it. And to be honest, that’s the one feat of Costa Rica that honestly impresses me. The nation’s four all-time Olympic medals aren’t impressive. The national soccer team’s four visits to the World Cup aren’t impressive. But damn – those Costa Ricans sure do know how to make themselves look like dickbrains. Well done, Costa Dickbrains. Well done.

Hate a Random Country: France

A Frenchman overcoming his existential ennui with wine, bread, and unbridled douchiness.

Have you ever had your testicles sawed off with a rusty butter knife at a Nickelback concert? Although that may sound like the worst possible fate one could suffer, there are over 60 million people in the world who suffer a fate much worse. I’m not talking about AIDS victims, I’m not talking about human rights violations – I’m not even talking about Cubs fans. I’m referring, of course, to the French. Those elitist semensicles are the physical embodiment of everything heinous about the world, which is a substantial claim, given that they inhabit the same planet as other notorious twatbarrels like Iceland and New Zealand.

I’d like to begin this exposè by clarifying one crucial point: The French did not help us to gain our independence. “Historians” may assert that the French came to our “rescue” in “boats,” but we all know that those were just patriotic pirates mistaken for Frenchmen because of their tragic speech impediments.

Don't be fooled by the buxom and idyllic French Lady Liberty

Now, where was I? Oh that’s right – I was talking about how France is the most pitiful heap of Le Scrotum upon which humanity ever laid its sorrowful eyes. The first point of scrutiny is their flag, which boasts the triumphant red, white, and blue color combination, just like the United States. Don’t be fooled, though – while the American flag’s colors stand respectively for valor, purity, and justice, the French flag is merely a white flag of surrender with red and blue bars symbolizing red wine and bleu cheese.

You can't sit with us! That's the second time this week you've worn pantaloons!

France’s history of “leadership” is also notably heinous. Ranging from Louis XIV (who held the title of “Biggest P-tripper” for almost 300 years until Sherman Ave was created) to Nicolas Sarkozy (the only attendant of the G20 summit who could easily double as a cast member on Jersey Shore), the presidency and monarchy of France were never lucky enough to see any George Washingtons or Andrew Jacksons take office. The most successful leader they had was Napoleon, who can only be compared to an atrocious illegitimate lovechild of Danny DeVito and Jim Cramer. Napoleon accomplished some things as a leader, but all of his achievements are effectively canceled out by the fact that his men killed Prince Bolkonsky. Fucker.

To be fair, it was the first French combat victory in quite a long time.

Another hilariously sad aspect of France is its athletic culture. Like most nations that are absolutely rancid, France’s national sport is soccer, or “football,” as known by Brits and hipsters. One of my personal favorite highlights in France’s history is the national team’s 17-1 loss to Denmark in 1908. I don’t think there’s really too much more I need to say here – I’ll just humbly point out how demoralizing it must be to get clobbered by a country whose Queen fucked her brother-in-law. However, an even more humiliating event in the team’s history happened in the 2006 World Cup Final, when Zinedine Zidane – someone who stands out as a douchegargler even among the French populace – found it necessary to blatantly headbutt a member of the opposing Italian team. And then they lost! That’s like being ass-raped and still getting pregnant. Better yet, when the French national team qualified for the 2010 World Cup, they didn’t even make it to the primary elimination round; they were bested by the national teams of Mexico, South Africa, and – I shit you not – Uruguay. That was certainly a gargantuan blow to their ego, but thankfully they have enough ego in just their waxed mustaches that it didn’t do any permanent damage.

Some pansy French guy, probably after finding out how fucking lame the 5th Republic is or something

If you’re looking for more reasons why France is innately inferior, the proof is in the crêpes. Remember that time we landed at Normandy and showed the Nazis that they were not(sy) going to win World War II, while the French were too busy cultivating their fucking grapes? Remember that time the French thought they were going to win the 4×100 swimming relay in the 2008 Summer Olympics, and then American bamf-stick Jason Lezak came from behind like he was Kobe Bryant (not a basketball reference)? Remember that time an American athlete with a trunk only half-full of junk (or half-empty, for all you private-part pessimists) went into France and beat them at their own sport 7 times in a row? Because I remember. So, to all Frenchmen and Frenchwomen (often a difficult distinction to make), I leave you with this last thought: Next time your flagrant self-centeredness convinces you that you’re the best country in the world, you can escargot fuck yourself.

Hate a Random Country: São Tomé and Príncipe

NASCAR hasn't quite caught on here yet

It is widely understood that island nations are the gingers of the international community. Under that model, the pitiful African state known as São Tomé and Príncipe is the global equivalent of Molly Weasley. Boasting a population slightly smaller than that of Boise, São Tomé and Príncipe, (henceforth to be referred to as STP, so I don’t have to type all of those goddamn accents) is a volcanic island chain off the coast of the prosperous, stable nation of Gabon. The country is technically a “Democratic Republic,” but it’s safe to presume that whoever told them they were a democratic republic is the same person who told Dr. Dre he was a doctor. However, since the atrophied remainder of my moral fiber prevents me from scrutinizing a country for its legitimate poverty and instability, I’ll just stick with my tried-and-true routine of scrutinizing a country for its culture and heritage.

Even a high James Franco could design a better flag than this.

We’ll start with the national flag. The predominant colors on the flag are yellow, green, and red; a ground-breakingly creative move on the part of STP. The only other West African countries with those colors are Ghana, Togo, Benin, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Mali, Senegal, Cameroon, and Burkina Faso. And you thought those nights of drunken Sporcle wouldn’t amount to anything. To add to the cliché color scheme of the flag, note that the flag displays a whopping two stars. First of all, since everyone’s thinking it: by default, the United States is 25 times better than this lamentable excuse for a country. Really, though, two stars? In the context of constellations, two stars can get you the left half of a belt or about one-third of a fucking spoon. In the context of kindergarten, the kids who wound up twenty years later with meth labs in their basement had no trouble getting a pair of stars on a spelling test. Even the hardly-picturesque Chicago night sky shines with more than two stars. Skeptics may conjure up horseshit excuses like “They represent the two islands that make up the nation,” but at the end of the day, the two stars are about as pathetic as Oprah Winfrey standing next to Pippa Middleton.

It's kind of tough when your soccer pitch is a fucking sandlot

As if the national banner didn’t shed enough light on the nation’s inherent rancidness, a little Wikipedia page called “São Tomé and Príncipe national football team”offers some more material. One fascinating table on this page revealed STP’s World Cup record; the words “Did Not Qualify” appeared so many times, you’d think Rosie O’Donnell was trying to run in the Boston Marathon. On several occasions, they even failed to qualify for the African Nations’ Cup – essentially, they got a rejection letter from a community college. Even more laughable are STP’s record games; in 1976, STP suffered an 11-0 loss at the hands of The Congo. That’s almost as bad as losing a night game to Purdue. On the bright side, there are two games tied for STP’s biggest win: the 2-0 decimation of Equatorial Guinea in 1999 and the 2-0 rout of Sierra Leone in 2000. However, after the magnificent 1999-2000 season, the glory days of two goals in one game became nothing but a fond memory amidst a sea of pimp-slaps from various Western African republics. STP’s next match is against the Republic of the Congo (yet another rival yellow-green-red flagged country) in November 2011 – who knows? Perhaps they’ll break a national record and win by more than 2 goals. But more likely, they’ll be curb-stomped into submission by the country that inspired “Heart of Darkness.”

This country is almost as disappointing as The Matrix Revolutions

It goes without saying that STP is a steaming cocksicle of a nation. Yes, it’s tropical and shit, but so is Brazil, and we all know how atrocious that place is. Any nation that prides itself on the number of stars that Ebert and Roeper would instinctively give a movie with Keanu Reeves, has never won a soccer game by three or more goals, and is located on a fucking island can count of being devoid of my adoration. So join the ranks, São Tomé and Príncipe – Uruguay, New Zealand, and dozens of other horrendous countries will welcome your unabashed taintitude with open arms.

Hate a Random Country: Kyrgyzstan

Kyrgyzstan: a geographical AND linguistic bitch

You’ve all experienced it. It’s 3:30am on a Saturday, you’re more plastered than an ex-convict uncle at an open-bar wedding reception, and you’re staring with insurmountable anguish at Sporcle’s “Countries of the World” quiz as the clock ticks down to 00:00 with all but one country entered. The moment of despair strikes when the missing country flashes on the page: Kyrgyzstan.

“MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A SHITCLOWN IN MY ASSHOLE!”

It’s a sad day for our society when hundreds of dollars in furniture damage can be attributed to the unreasonable spelling of one measly fucking nation. Not even a nation –- a “stan.” Indeed, the word “Kyrgyzstan” can only have been produced by a bowl of alphabet soup special-ordered by Helen Keller. And if that isn’t atrocious enough, the only redeeming value in Kyrgyzstan’s name –- the disgustingly high Scrabble score it would yield –- is canceled out by Scrabble’s unthinkably heinous “no proper noun” rule (I’m still bitter about that time I could have played “Kiribati”…fuckers). Kyrgyzstan is a haven for all things contemptible; the life-ruining spelling of the country is only the tip of the iceberg.

Nothing compares to the bitter Kappa Delta-Kyrgyzstan rivalry, not even the infamous Tri Delt-Pakistan decade-long feud

Kyrgyzstan’s sports culture, or lack thereof, is just as horrendous as the country’s use of 8 consecutive letters without a true vowel. Let’s start with the 2010 Olympics –- Kyrgyzstan sent a whopping TWO competitors (one for each letter in the country’s name worth 5 or more points in Scrabble) competing in three events. Of those three events, there was a “Did Not Qualify,” a “Did Not Finish,” and a “76th place.” Kyrgyzstan, for fuck’s sake, are you serious? Your athletic abilities are being scrutinized by a Northwestern student right now; that’s about as rough as it gets. If by some stroke of confused magic, the Kyrgyzstani National Soccer team was lined up against, I don’t know, let’s say the Kappa Delta Intramural Soccer team, the Kyrgyzstanis would certainly be the underdog. To add to the sad stature of their sporting lifestyle, it should be noted that one of the most popular up-and-coming sports in Kyrgyzstan is a game called “Bandy” –- a game which, judging from its half-assed Wikipedia page, appears to be some mixture of soccer, ice hockey, and sexually frustrated middle-aged men. Don’t get me wrong, though; to Kyrgyzstan’s credit, they did win two medals (not gold, of course) in 2008 in Greco-Roman Wrestling. So if you’re ever in a situation where you’re wrestling with someone but not allowed to attack the legs, know that if your opponent is Kyrgyzstani, your chances of winning the fight are very slightly diminished.

The hottest woman in Kyrgyzstan

Let’s turn this conversation to a lighter topic: Sex crimes. One very prevalent issue in Kyrgyzstan is “bride kidnapping,” in which a man abducts the woman whom he would like to marry. Studies show that approximately half of all marriages in Kyrgyzstan are a byproduct of bride kidnapping, or ala kachuu (which literally translates to “to take and to flee”). This clearly stems from a misunderstanding; what we call “bride kidnapping” is what Kyrgyzstanis call “chivalry.” Kyrgyzstani men merely want to save their future spouse the stress of one of those notoriously gaudy Kyrgyzstani weddings.

While we’re on the topic of customs and celebrations in this steaming shitwaffle of a nation, we might as well talk about the primary Kyrgyzstani holiday: Nowruz. Recognized on the spring equinox, the holiday centers around a game called Buzkashi, in which grown men literally ride around a field on horses trying to pick up a goat carcass off the ground. Essentially, it’s Central Asian Quidditch. However, don’t get Buzkashi confused with Kokpar, another regional sport that involves riding on horses and carrying around goat carcasses.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with Kyrgyzstan?

Hate a Random Country: Brazil

Here at Sherman Ave, we take great pride in our irrational xenophobic rants about seemingly random (yet indisputably heinous) nations. But in light of recent events, we have recently come to believe that Brazil is such a flaming conglomeration of fecal matter of a country that it deserves to be called out as the nation of jackasses it really is. Fuck them.

With God on our side, America conquered

For most of the world, the USA-Brazil Women’s World Cup Game on July 10th, 2011 was their first introduction to how abhorrently vile Brazil is as a nation. The play of the women from the Federative Republic of Brazil, the only country that could possibly be worse than a commonwealth comprised solely of FIFA referees, merely typified the country’s flagrantly inferior and odious nature. Instead of simply bowing down to America’s soccer superiority, even despite the USA Women hailing from a country that follows the sport with slightly more interest than the game of sky ball, the Brazilians instead decided to force the Americans to break out their overflowing reserves of defiance and tenacity in order to give the nation the athletic bitch-slapping it deserved.

In one shocking example of Brazil’s proud spirit of douchiness, Brazilian defender Erika faked an injury with only 6 minutes left in extra time, only to spring off her stretcher once a sufficient amount of time had been sapped from the clock and the crowd was sufficiently convinced of the Samba Queens’ astounding bitchiness (also leaving me wondering that if Brazilian women are so good at faking, then how much have all those sexy Brazilian women I’ve been cavorting with really enjoyed my love-making capabilities?). But Karma is even worse of a tramp than Brazil’s Marta, allowing Abby Wambach and Hope Solo to lead the man-down American team in a glorious come back that prevented the South American nation of 190 million wankers from thinking they were any better than the scum of the earth that they are.

The nations inhabitants, fleeing to a better country where they can make a living outside of the oppressive supermodel industry

But as any Brazilian expert knows, the country’s ass-clown nature extends far beyond the soccer pitch. The nation’s flag, featuring a celestial blue orb inside a yellow rhombus inside a green rectangle, totally blows. A South Sudanese child soldier could have designed a better one for his own fledgling nation. Their President, Dilma Rousseff, is a notorious twatmuffin who reminds me of a combination of Casey Anthony and a drilldo. Other notable fuckballs from the country include soccer superstar Ronaldo and dictator Getùlio Vargas, both of whom were pompous douchebags unworthy of the ground they walked on (they also ended sentences in prepositions to showcase their hubris). Even the country’s language displays Brazil’s absurd awfulness, seeing as Portuguese is really more like drunken Spanish than an actual language of its own.

To be fair, Brazil has produced some good in the world. But besides Brazilian waxing and Adriana Lima, I’m kind of drawing blanks. Otherwise, Brazil is nothing more than a country of dickwads determined to ruin the rest of the world and the 2016 Olympic games with their crime, poverty, and Jersey-like levels of shittiness.

UPDATE: We have recently been notified that, besides producing Brazilian waxing and Adriana Lima, Brazil was also responsible for producing the magnificent wonder that is Chenny Ng, hosting Ms. Ng for an important duration of her formative years. Sherman Ave regrets this error, as Chenny is quite possibly one of the greatest humans in the world, and can guarantee that whoever was responsible for this heinous mistake has been punished accordingly.

Hate a Random Country: Uruguay

The only thing that burns brighter than that sun is my hatred for this worthless excuse of a country

There are 12 nations in South America, and all of them are heinous. But there is one country whose unfathomable taintery exceeds even the regional standard. I’m looking at you, Uruguay. First of all, the stupid bastards broke the cardinal rule of country naming: Never use more than two U’s. Even those scrotum-headed assmuffins in Vanuatu figured that one out. Yet, the unforgivable frequency of that obnoxious vowel pales in comparison to the other obscene actions of Uruguay. In this educational essay, I will unveil just a few of Uruguay’s fatal flaws.

American are constitutionally obligated to not give a shit about soccer, but even we know you can't do that.

To find an instance of flagrant bitchdom perpetrated on behalf of the Uruguayan wasteland, we need not look back more than a year. In July 2010, Uruguay competed against Ghana in the quarterfinal round of the World Cup. The game stood at a 1-1 tie in overtime when Uruguayan Luis Suarez – a notorious twatpocket – used his hands to deflect a shot that would undoubtedly have gone in otherwise. Obviously, Suarez was given a red card for his blatant assholiness, and Ghana was allowed a penalty kick, but the penalty kick hit the crossbar, and Uruguay proceeded to score the go-ahead goal and advance to the next round. Thanks to the scarce forces of karma in the universe, Uruguay received a brisk pimp-slapping from the Aryan, dreamsicle-donning Dutch national team, but that doesn’t change the fact that Uruguay’s soccer team pulled one of the most pronounced dick-moves the world has ever seen. Yes, winning is good – but if you cheat, you’re not a winner. And if you cheat against Ghana, you’re just a complete cockfiend. The American soccer team was kind enough even to let Ghana win, because Americans are classy. If they had so desired, the American team could have handed the sub-Saharan nation the largest helping of ruthless beat-down that they’ve seen since – well, probably fairly recently. But a large helping of ruthless beat-down nonetheless. Uruguay should have certainly followed us down the high road, but instead, they decided to be raging doucheaholics.

Let's talk when your coat of arms doesn't look like a 6th grade social studies project

Another aspect of Uruguay that is intolerably bitchtastic is their coat of arms. If you’ve read my rant on the inherent inadequacy of Latvia, you probably think I’m hypercritical when it comes to Coat of Arms. Maybe this is true, but it’s not my fault that most coats of arms resemble the doodles of a mentally handicapped chimpanzee. Uruguay’s coat of arms depicts, among other things, a shield with four images. The first is a set of scales – an image that traditionally symbolizes justice, but in the case of Uruguay, just symbolizes the fact that they haven’t yet invented electric scales there. The next image on the shield is a castle on a hill hovering over a sea. I feel like there’s little to say about this, only that a coat of arms should contain items that are real. The American coat of arms, for instance, displays an eagle – an animal that’s pretty goddamn real (although not as frequently encountered as the Awk Hawk). The last two pictures on the shield are of a black horse and a brown cow – cool story. It looks like Uruguay – like most countries – has plagued itself with a coat of arms as unimpressive as Michele Bachmann at… well, anywhere.

In conclusion, it is imperative that we maintain the lowest possible level of respect for the nation known as the Oriental Republic of Uruguay. No, that is not a joke or a poorly construed racial slur – that is actually the country’s full name. It only makes sense, given that as much as 2% of the population is from the Orient, and the country’s cultural influence is almost entirely European. As I mentioned earlier, there are a mere 12 nations in South America, and if each one represented a line in “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” Uruguay would certainly be “Ten Lords a-Douching.”

–Ross Packingham

Hate A Random Country: Iceland

What do geothermal energy, lesbian prime ministers, and unforgivable amounts of twattery have in common? If you guessed “They occur in the United Kingdom,” then I say to you, excellent guess — Margaret Thatcher did make us all wonder. However, the correct answer would be that the aforementioned items occur in Iceland, or as it translates in the native tongue, “Island that we’d all willingly leave if we knew how.” In researching my scathing criticism of Iceland, I have come upon the frequently-occurring issue of having just too many judgments to pass on a country. Therefore, humble reader, know that beyond what I will mention in this exposé, there is an additional plethora of aspects of Iceland that can be mercilessly scrutinized.

One of Iceland's most famous churches. Think they're compensating for something?

I’ll start out with Iceland’s language: Icelandic. First of all: real creative, Nordic buttsponges. We all know that a true country commandeers another country’s language, removes the obnoxiously superfluous u’s from words that clearly require only an “or,” and claims it as their own without adjusting it to their own country’s demonym. But the acquisition of their language isn’t even the most laughable part of it; the language itself is based on an alphabet presumably engineered by Jerry Garcia after a routine wake-and-bake. The Icelandic Alphabet is a haven for oodles of unnecessary umlauts, accents, and all sorts of other bizarre letter supplements that would never be accepted south of the Arctic Circle. What’s even sadder is that they’ve bastardized letters from the English language; according to Wikipedia, the letter “T” is pronounced as “t with a puff of air.” Wow, Iceland. Wow. Be careful with how much air you’re puffing pronouncing seemingly trivial letters – especially when your nation is covered with so much volcanic ash that it resembles Mordor after Sauron gets blue-balled by that one unfortunate-looking orc general who leads the river-crossing.

No, this image isn't from a Megadeath t-shirt

That brings us to Exhibit B – that volcano that totally ass-pounded Iceland. Now I’ll be a man of integrity: The incident was sad for everyone across the world. Until everyone learned that the name of the volcano that spewed its apocalyptic man-chowder all over the Scandinavian island was a sixteen-letter juggernaut that only the Icelandic tongue could force out of its saggy linguistic womb. Legend tells us that the volcano – Eyjafjallajökull – was dubbed so by an Icelandic citizen with Parkinson’s trying to drunk-text on a roller coaster. The tragic news of the Eyjafjallajökull’s eruption was instantly lightened up by the always-competent American news media, which chose to focus not on the severe infrastructural and environmental damage caused by the eruption, but rather on the absurdity of the volcano’s name. Complain all you want, Iceland, but it’s your own damn fault that your language looks like Bananagrams on LSD.

Rather than simply donning flannel and teaching P.E., this woman had what it took to rule a rock with a slightly larger population than Saint Louis

Moving on from Iceland’s “language,” let’s get to the most important aspect of Iceland’s existence: the lesbian prime minister. Before you go check out lesbianprimeministers.com (I already tried, it’s not a real website), bear with me, because I’m about to do something unprecedented; I’m going to compliment Iceland on their lesbian prime minister. It’s great to see that in a country of stereotypes (after all, her name is Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir), there are still people who break them. In many scenarios, this woman would follow the beaten path and become a librarian or professional golfer, but in Iceland, she became the prime minister of an entire country. Okay, maybe not an entire country, but Iceland.

In conclusion, while I give props to Iceland’s non-truck driving lesbian community, I want to remind readers that I still think Iceland is a worthless piece of shit. I think of Iceland as the Scandinavia of Scandinavia – and I assure you, that is not a favorable remark. So, next time you use a word with fewer than twenty letters, or look up in the sky and see something other than a gray mass of ecological screwedness, say to yourself proudly: “Well, at least I’m not an Icelandic titnugget.”

Hate A Random Country: New Zealand

This sheep is literally the most coveted female in the entire country

It is common knowledge that New Zealand is an awful, awful place. But before I delve into the endless depths of why this feeble island-nation is lamer than a cross-breed of Christopher Reeve and Stephen Hawking (okay, admittedly this joke is tasteless), there’s one point I want to make clear: Yes, I recognize that Lord of the Rings was filmed in New Zealand, and yes, I recognize that Lord of the Rings is, for lack of a better term, the tits (to clarify, that means I like it). However, Lord of the Rings was not the only movie filmed in New Zealand. Cinematic shitmounds like Whale Rider, Mission Impossible 2, and Without A Paddle (literally the worst movie ever created that didn’t feature Nicolas Cage) were also filmed in that Maori cesspool known as New Zealand. Thus, we can all agree that any credit given to New Zealand for its association with Peter Jackson’s directorial hotness (not to be confused with his physical hotness, which is purely non-existent) is effectively canceled out by its association with scientologist douchecake Tom Cruise and proverbial assbasket Seth Green.

One does not simply walk into Mordor!

Another fundamental flaw in New Zealand can be seen in their sports culture. Primarily, it is crucial to note that the national sport of New Zealand is rugby, a sport known far and wide for its absolute insignificance. The national team of New Zealand is fondly referred to as the All-Blacks — a racial slur that is purely incomprehensible to me or any other member of the fine educational institution of Northwestern University. And even the famed All-Blacks aren’t that big of a deal; anyone one who has seen Invictus could tell you that. I’m sorry, New Zealand, but losing to South Africa in anything (except racial dichotomy, obviously) represents a severe absence of excellence.

Ooooh, featuring the Union Jack, how original.

Speaking of severe absence of excellence, New Zealand’s soccer team is also renowned for its habitual suckage of ass. I am a regular player of FIFA, as Evanston residents continually kept awake by my bloodcurdling shrieks of anguish and/or triumph can attest. In FIFA 2011, New Zealand is literally the worst international soccer team, taking the back seat to such laughable countries as Slovakia, Finland, and even France. Furthermore, the primary color of New Zealand’s jersey in soccer (and rugby, for that matter) is black. Is the color black featured on New Zealand’s flag? No. As if we didn’t already have enough reasons to detest this country, they are on the list of obnoxious countries that insist on representing themselves with a color not depicted on their flag (I’m looking at you, Netherlands).

I think I’ve made my point pretty clear. But just in case I haven’t, I’ll conclude with one last contention: Can we ever really respect a country whose demonym is a fruit? Case closed, Kiwi bitches.