Canadians As Friends

Being a German National has helped me in many ways. As a lifelong Canadian citizen, I tend toward patriata, but even the most avid countryman cannot, when he is obligated to simple truth, ignore the limp noodle which is, for the most part, the main component of the national character.

It is at such times that my country goes crazy, when there is nothing about it that I can want to be associated with, that I fall back on the heritage which courses through my pure genetic code, and by birthright I am able to respectably transport myself away from the mess Canada has become.

Take, for instance, the kind of opportunistic, slime ball people Canadians become in the context of something we Germans call, "friendship."

Admittedly, we are historically guilty of fucking over our friends, although technically, we had always planned to knock them over when Britain's eyes were diverted by its poverty and general insufficiency. However, when Germans enter a covenant in good faith, the exact terms will be executed upon their exact dates of termination.

I had a friend once who, after I discovered Gmail (in its infancy, when only cool people knew about it), and shared the miracle with him, immediately went around forcing everyone to think it was, in fact, he who had brought it to the social circle of which he was a privileged guest (on my generosity) in the first place.

What word immediately springs to mind about this? Of course, poseur. Mind you, the moment he reads this, and believe me, he will read this jealously, burning in his pudgy little French head, he will stop spelling it "poser," and pick up on the lingo.

I also discovered haloscan, blogging, Matthew Good (who I immediately sent to the canister because only whiners and poseurs listen to him), St. Catherines, sexy chicks with nice tits named Chantelle, and everything else this dweeb expresses as unique aspects of his personality (except I'd be banging the sexy chick named Chantelle), only to watch the person soak them up like a wannabe sponge.

This is the reason Canadians cannot fight off American culture. If my ex-friend would have listened to me, during the days when I tried to show him he had (stress on the PAST tense) potential as an intense, introspective musician and artist, and pursued a course which, while it would have removed him from mainstream life, and thus empty, useless popularity (which still avoids him), he would be well on his way to self knowledge, and either receiving joy from his life, or, being a miserable son of a bitch, having found new and dangerous ways to be miserable.

I do not subscribe to the damaged goods theory put forth by other former friends, and state clearly that this person copped out, and is hiding behind a pair of white plastic glasses and a seventeen-year-old's haircut.

He thinks I hate him, which I do, because he somehow betrayed me by sabotaging his own life. I reply that is not why I hate him, but rather because he went from possible cool person, of which there are exactly twenty eight in all of Canada, to regular fucking schlub for whom being the real thing never really meant anything.

I hate anyone who is content to be whatever it takes to get along, and respect only those who are part of the insane struggle to live as who they are in their thoughts, their dreams, their potential, and their hope.

Until my country gets its head out of its ass, and sloughs off the American butt fucker which has dragged us into the mud, I am German, and shit on the Maple Leaf, forever.