Trump thought his invasion of Canada would be swift, but it’s been tougher than any of us thought. Who knew that after deploying their entire military and reserves they’d reach the depths they did in recruitment that they did? Turning to amateur hockey players to fill their ranks. For whom violence is a hobby, and somehow seems to be about half their population.
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I thought December was the worst of the frigid torture, but January has brought a fresh new hell frozen over.
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We’re 55 miles south of Winnipeg, and temperatures go down to -25 degrees Celsius (a bad metric habit we plan on breaking them of if we win) these days.
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Many of us Yanks are freezing to death in these sub-arctic temperatures. My platoon is fighting hypothermia by taking turns in a hot tub made out of a foxhole and geothermic heat, a technique a Canadian Prisoner of War (POW), Jean-Pierre, taught us when he got bored.
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The Canadian soldiers are in t-shirts, playing bunker hockey. Damned snowbacks.
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In a rather nice display of kindness, they throw mittens over to us. Well, we thought it was ‘nice’. We learned quickly that they keep our fingers from falling off due to frostbite — but it also means we can’t return fire as our trigger fingers don’t work when mitten covered. The bilingual bastards knew this.
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These snowspooks knew a lot of things — like having winter fatigues that are entirely white. It turns out our camo uniforms stick out like a sore thumb in Canadian winter.
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Despite not having the war chest that we have, they’re surprisingly clever. They’ve whittled down hockey sticks into shanks and are using them as bayonets in hand-to-hand combat.
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These syrup-suckers trained their Canadian Geese, what they call “Cobra Chickens”, to pick our drones right out of the air. The nerds they brought in from the Canada Space Agency easily learned how to reprogram them. So they’ve found an endless source of drones, courtesy of the American government.
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Their surprisingly ample supply of groundhogs from the prairies have been trained to burrow into our bunkers and drop explosives. And their beavers have successfully choked our supply of fresh water with their dams.
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The toque-wearing poutine junkies learned to coat grenades with maple syrup, to stick to whatever they’re thrown at.
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In some ways, they are the polite adversaries that we had hoped for. Every time they throw a Molotov cocktail made out of a Molson Canadian beer bottle into our bunkers they yell out ‘sorrey’. That’s quite polite of them. However, that good grace is entirely undone by their brutal psychological warfare.
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The Canooks play Nickelback and Justin Bieber on a subwoofer, 24 hours a day, to break our morale.
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They’ve been airdropping marijuana onto our side. Half my platoon has been incapacitated by the potency of their pot. Steve said, and I quote, “I’m higher than Snoop Dogg at a Willie Nelson concert” before laughing like a lunatic for 87 minutes straight.
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Entering the war, they clearly knew more about us than we knew about them. They’ve dangerously tapped into our overwhelming urges for patriotic pride by having one soldier yell out the names of states and cities. “Is anyone from…North Dakota?” The minute the Dakotan pops up in pride yelling “ME!”, their sniper picks him off.
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For a country that doesn’t have a lot of guns, they surprisingly have some of the best snipers in the world. As we learned far too late, 3 out of the top 10 longest sniper kills in the world are Canadian.
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Thankfully, they’ve grown since their Geneva Convention days, when their official policy was ‘Fuck Around and Find Out’. I learned from our POW, Jean-Pierre (surprisingly nice guy, he taught me how to make maple taffy in the snow), that they refer to the Geneva Conventions as the ‘Geneva Suggestions’, or the ‘list of things Canada isn’t allowed to do anymore’.
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I’ve included a picture of JP I found on his Facebook (we’re Facebook friends now), although he’s more of a hugger than handshaker. Image by cookie_studio on \
I can see why the Geneva Conventions were invented in 1949 after the end of WWII. It was to stop the Canadians. They were (and are) savages, who did things like throwing canned foods into German trenches only to lull them into a false sense of security, and then lobbing grenades.
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They also took no prisoners and killed the wounded.
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My entire platoon is desperately hoping they keep to the Geneva Conventions should any of us be captured.
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But so far they’ve adapted an even more evil-maniacal strategy when it comes to POWs. They’ve been treating them so well that they turn. When captured, they get a trip to a nice Canadian hospital and a full workup. They also teach them how to ice skate and play hockey. They feed them authentic poutine, which is a welcome treat compared to the MREs our government has been purchasing from Russia. Nobody likes Borscht, Trump.
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I saw my buddy Dave the other day, he’s fighting with the Canadians now. He’s taken his new Canadian patriotism seriously, he started chanting “Build the wall!”…then he started building it.
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Pfft, turncoat.
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To boost morale, Trump sends us sporadic visits from Mr Beast and The Village People. Our morale hasn’t been boosted. And we’re starting to prefer even the Nickelback.
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But the Canadians have been successful in keeping their spirits up. Their government has kept them entertained by Ryan Reynolds, who learned some surprisingly quippy stand-up routines — and performs them in the Deadpool outfit. And Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson has been their motivational speaker, who in a surprise move activated his Canadian citizenship to distance himself from this embarrassing war.
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I have to say, there’s something paralyzingly majestic about watching the Canadian soldiers ride into battle with smiles on their faces atop their military-grade moose (mooses? meese? meeses?).
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Mom, I fear we shall not be victorious and I fear for our safety. In addition to the millions of toothless amateur hockey players, who fight like angry badgers, joining their ranks — they’re calling up an even more terrifying brigade of soldiers.
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Menopausal women.
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These fearless she-demons are seemingly impervious to cold — and have redefined the term running amok. Hailing from Gen X, absolutely nothing instills fear into their hearts. America however continually refuses to activate our menopausal brigade, due to our conservative government and gender and age discrimination.
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All of us hope not to confront these hot-flash-having lady devils in battle.
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I don’t know what Trump was thinking. We can’t even beat these hosers in battle, how does he expect to keep 40 million of these hostile Zamboni-riding bastards under control if he wins?
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I have to stop writing now, my fingers are so numb from frostbite that I can’t fathom why we want to take this land. It seems inhospitable, despite the occasional hospitality of the Canucks.
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Mom, please send maple syrup in your next care package, Jean-Pierre is going to teach me how to make even the borscht palatable with it.
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You know what, scratch that, Jean-Pierre just promised if I helped him escape he’d give me Canadian citizenship, 7 Saskatoon berry pies, and a date with Nina Dobrev.
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O Canada, here I come.

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