You just made my list!

OK, before you get your hockey pants all up in a bunch, I will say that I also despise the accents of my fellow Chicagoans. And let me say this as well, I have been to Canada several times and always enjoyed myself. Any place with a chain of stores called “The Beer Store” has to be at least a little awesome. But those accents, eh?

Sure, Canada has exported some pretty important people who have made living on this godforsaken planet a little bit better… Neil Young, Rush, Pamela Anderson and, best of all, porn star and legendary “rope” shooter Peter North. I’m even willing to forgive you for Keanu Reeves and the Barenaked Ladies but I refuse to excuse those accents. Wait, I just remembered, fucking Nickelback* is from Canada. Thanks for shitting that one out of your country’s butthole all over us, Canada!

Lets get back to collectively hating the Canadian accent. It’s hard to really describe why I hate it so much. You might think it’s the annoying way they pronounce “out” as “oot,” or “sorry” like “soar-y,” or instead of saying “process” like “pra-cess” they insist on showing off and saying “prooocess,” but that’s just the icing on the back bacon. At the core of their horrible accent lies something far more sinister… over e•nun•ci•a•tion!

Every precious letter and syllable is given its chance to shine and be a star. While the rest of the world mashes sounds and words into one flowing mess, Canadians talk-like-they-are-speaking-to-a-deaf-person-who-reads-lips.

It doesn’t end there though. On top of this, Canadians end every sentence as if it were a question? “I’m going to the store? To buy some beer? If Bill calls? Tell him I’ll be back soon?” What’s with all the questions, Canada?

*I know, we gave the world George W. Bush, but still, Nickelback?

What’s wrong Rush, afraid of a little rain? What’s the deal Geddy, didn’t want the moist air to wreck your beautiful hair? Pussholes!

Thanks for making me drive through Chicago rush (hey!) hour traffic, park, take a shuttle filled with inconceivable body odor, stand outside in the rain for an hour and buy (and drink) an $11 Bud Light just so you can cancel the concert. I drank a God Damn Bud Light for you fucking hosers!

Then you have the unbelievable nerve, the unmitigated gall, to reschedule the concert on 9/11. Take off, eh! It’s official, Rush hates America.

Oh, and you owe my friend an umbrella to replace the one the cock-licking cock-ass venue security confiscated.

And once again, fuck you Chicago weather!

Come to Canada and get killed!

Apparently danger lurks around every corner in Canada. If the crumbling glacier doesn’t get you, the aggressive sea creatures probably will.

Visit Canada and watch the ice caps melt, on your face!

Come to Canada, where you will be sexually assaulted by wild seals!

Canada. Our whales don’t give a fucking fuck!

Canada. Prepare to have your nerd ass tossed off a bridge!

Hey Canada, I’m trying to have a little spring here, you wanna stop blowing your bullshit cold air in my face so I can enjoy the few months of warm weather we get in Chicago?

What’s the deal? Is this payback for George W. Bush? Limp Bizkit? Carrot Top? We are super fucking sorry about all that but enough is enough, Canada. I just want to pull my grill out of the garage and sit on my patio without a jacket. I want to feel the warmth of the sun on my face while I clean my guns, watch NASCAR and not read the newspaper. Hey, I’m American!

Look Canada, you have to choose. Either you continue to send us all your comedians or you blow your stupid cold air all over us, but you do not get to do both. You’re supposed to be “America’s hat” not America’s cold air machine that makes cold air and blows cold air… shut up, you know what I mean! I’m too cold to think clearly!