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.

Super Tuesday Predictions

Wolf Blitzer can't stop trimming his beard in anticipation.

It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The closest thing we’ve got to a national primary. The kind of day Karl Rove and George Stephanopoulos have wet dreams about. The moment we finally find out just how ambivalent Americans feel about Mitt Romney. It’s Super Tuesday! Follow our state-by-state guide for a comprehensive examination of how these 10 states will select their 2012 Republican nominee.

OHIO
I’ll be honest. Most of my knowledge regarding the state of Ohio comes from either Bristol Bacchus or Cleveland jokes. But if this state thought that it would be a good idea to induct the Beastie Boys and Neil Diamond into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame, then I’m not sure how well I can trust the judgment of its citizens. The race between Santorum and Romney might be more unpredictable than a LeBron James televised announcement, but I think Romney pulls ahead after he is quoted at a campaign stop admitting that, like LeBron, he’s working on an autobiography but just can’t come up with a title.

GEORGIA
At the time of me writing this post, the New York Times has already called Georgia in favor of Gingrich with less than 1% of the polls reporting. Which is a relief, as it saves me the time of having to come up with jokes about Sherman’s March to the Sea, Coca-Cola, peaches, or how the 76 delegates up for grabs seems like a remarkably similar figure to what I assume the ex-Congressman’s BMI looks like.

OMG guyzzz y doesnt nybody lyke me??!?

TENNESSEE
Just once I want to see Mitt down a fifth of Jack, stumble through the electric slide at a Nashville honky tonk, drunk dial Tipper Gore, and finish the night sobbing outside of Graceland. I think if he can pull all four off before the polls close, he might have a fighting chance is stealing this Southern state from Gingrich. At least as much of a fighting chance as Johnston and Beauregard had at the Battle of Shiloh.

ALASKA
After ringing endorsements from Balto and Jewel, Ron Paul carries the Alaska primary by appealing to voters’ enthusiasm for legalized weed to help get through the winter and increase appreciation for the Northern Lights. Rumors abound that Gingrich promised to “drill baby drill” Sarah Palin if he was victorious, but are dismissed by Newt as a smear campaign invented by the devious liberal media hell-bent on distracting the American people from the real issues at stake in this election.

MASSACHUSETTS
In a surprise upset, Governor Romney arrives in a time machine from 2003 to defeat the current conservative incarnation of Mitt. The 2003 Romney also extols on the virtues of comprehensive health care, the success of the invasion of Iraq, and the musical brilliance of Evanescence.

IDAHO
What’s bland, white, and favored by many Irish Catholics? The Republican Party! Also, potatoes. Seeing that Idaho has a lot of both, I predict that a bland white Republican will win the Idaho caucus. Or maybe just a really fat potato dressed in a suit that many voters mistake for Newt Gingrich.

NORTH DAKOTA
North Dakota sucks so much, it’s developed an inferiority complex towards its neighbor to the South whose main claims to fame include a palace made of corn and a brief cameo appearance in North by Northwest. The state’s main exports are natural gas, lonesome prairie wind, tumbleweed, and depression. Even the nuclear missile silos left as soon as humanly possible. Like my seventh-grade self at the middle school dance, North Dakota’s willing to devote itself entirely to the first poor soul who shows it a shred of interest. All Romney has to do is show up and call North Dakota within the next three days to seal the deal.*

Pyrotechnics would really bolster his campaign stops

OKLAHOMA
The official rock song of Oklahoma is “Do You Realize??” by The Flaming Lips, which is pretty awesome until you imagine every citizen in the state singing “Everyone you know one day will die!,” and that the closest competition to The Flaming Lips for this prestigious title was the All-American Rejects’ “Move Along.” This, along with the fact that Oklahomans couldn’t come up with anything more original for their actual state song than fucking Rodgers and Hammerstein means that this state is bound to go for Ron Paul.

VERMONT
So long as the citizens of Vermont can find enough time to vote in between their busy schedule of wearing flannel, tapping for maple syrup, and not showering, I bet they go with the pride and joy of the Northeast, Scott Brown.

VIRGINIA
Considering Rick Santorum’s penchant for desperately holding on to socially conservative values that went out of vogue in the 1960s, the former Senator’s statement that Chief Justice Warren’s ruling in Loving v. Virginia “makes me want to spew some sort of vile amalgamation of vomit, semen, feces, and bile out of every orifice possible,” provides the essential vitriol necessary to win this key swing state despite not even making it on the ballot.

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*Imagine, if you will, the charming Mitt Romney sauntering up to North Dakota, standing in the corner looking forlornly at all the cool kids being courted by swarthy Super PACs, and asking it to slow dance with him while Jessica Simpson’s “Take My Breath Away” plays in the background. I bet North Dakota would immediately take Romney home to Fargo and let him frack her all night.

Culinary Dorm Corner: The Waffle-Maker

Life isn’t really that interesting in the dining halls at Northwestern. Sometimes you just need to grab it by the lady balls and find your own way to make it interesting. How can you do that, one may ask? Well let this Professor school you, motherfucker.

It can also double as a bludgeon

The secret is the Waffle Iron. This safety hazard will literally enhance your downtrodden life here. Say you didn’t get a bid at that frat/sorority. Put a waffle on it! Say your puppy turned one and crossed that boundary into doghood, but you’re studying for a 300-level marketing class eight states away. Put a waffle on it! Say you just found out that your roommate has an Asian AND a hammock fetish and insists on unabashedly having air-suspended sex with the more intelligent half of NU’s population should you come in at the wrong time. PUT A WAFFLE ON IT. It’s practically God’s gustatory band-aid for your stomach!

So here’s how you wrangle this beast:

You walk into the freaking dining hall WITH YOUR ID ALREADY OUT SO YOU DON’T HOLD UP THE LINE LIKE IT’S AN AIRPORT. Then you walk over to the main entrée station and grab a plate. Does that vegan sloppy joe station look good? NEVER. NOT NEXT TO A WAFFLE! Walk over to the waffle thing. Grab a cup o’ dat sweet sourdough batter shit. Pour it onto the waffle iron that could inevitably lead to several clumsily self-inflicted wounds and pour that deliciousness all up on that inefficient grid pattern. Follow the directions. That is, turn it a 180-degree spin and wait for the bell. Spin it back around and take the waffle off and put it on your plate. Now the fun begins.

What are you gonna do with that hot sexy waffle tantalizing you with its butter legs open and its square holes unfilled? Points for the extreme sexual innuendo? Only in my kitchen, bitches.

This is true art

Anyway, while it’s hot, you can adventure over to the peanut butter or the nutella and slather that shit on like your grandma puts on foundation and concealer. No one wants to see you come back with a lousy butter and maple syrup confection! THEY WANT ARTISTRY! CREATIVITY! CHOLESTEROL! Bring them something with caramel syrup from the ice cream station topped with soft serve and Trix for crunch! Bring them something with peanut butter and apple sauce! Bring them something with yogurt and fruit! Don’t be a waffle pussy, get in there and get primitive!

Happy Eating!