Canadaland (A Tale About Violence, Conspiracy and Poutine)

This is a short fiction piece I'm putting together for Blogagon.

I pulled up to the McDonald's in Fort Kent, Maine with a bit of an icy slide from the barely plowed roads. The wind howled with the anger of being so far from decent civilization. I couldn't believe I drove all the way up from Manchester for this. Here I was, an accomplished private detective with a double degree in Badassery and Kicking Ass Whilst Taking Names (individually structured majors taken at the School of Hard Knocks) freezing in this winter hellscape on the edge of the Canadian wasteland.

This town was so close to the border that the McDonald's was actually owned by the Canadian branch of the corporation and the town was officially bilingual. I walked inside where the cashier looked up and said "Bonjour!"

"Parlez-vous anglais, frenchfag?"

She took on an offended look, "This is a bilingual establishment, sir. I understood that."

"Well than Jay swiss day-soul-eh my dear. Just give me a numero un with a coke and make it snappy amigo."

"Would you like poutine with that?"

"I get this place has caught the CanadAIDS, but why would you put pudding on a Big Mac?"

"No sir, poutine. It's french fries with gravy and cheese poured over them."

I must admit I was taken aback by this. Of all of the horrible pinko-French-commie Canadian bull to infect it's way over our precious border, Shania Twain, Mike Myers, that Asian chick from Grey's Anatomy, how has this glorious, all-American, artery-clogging gift of the gods remained trapped in this frozen hell?

"Yes, I would love some pudding. Actually, my fine madam, I would like to order three, extra large. Actually just pour it into the largest Chicken McNugget box you've got back there. Scratch that, I'm going to need a feeding tube. You know, who needs a Big Mac?" My blatant Americanism was consuming me with desire. My exaggerated gesticulations and loud voice were not enough to express my wish to eat this grease pile until my heart literally fucking exploded. I would've probably kept this rant up had I not been tapped on the shoulder.

"Hello, are you Chuck McClane."

"Hell yeah."

"My name is Jacques."

"Commie."

"What?"

"Nothing."

He took a moment to recoil but got back to the point. "I'm the one who hired you. I've lost something very valuable to me and your assistance would be much appreciated."

This communist was talking like I was offering some sort of charity, "Look, I don't take monopoly money Jack."

Jack's palm made swift contact his face as he let out a sigh. "I can pay you in American currency, one hundred thousand dollars of it to be precise."

Well right then Jack gave me one hundred thousand reasons to start being a bit more polite, "So what is it that you are looking for sir?"

"I'll tell you in due time, but first you must come with me." He grabbed my hand and pulled me outside where a horse-drawn carriage awaited us. I almost dropped the approximately two and a half pounds of poutine I'd ordered in the rush.

"Oh what the hell Jack? It's like forty below zero out here, it's so fucking cold you actually make Fahrenheit and Celsius agree with one another! Those horses should be legally dead!"

"Those aren't horses." said Jacques with a slight grin on his face. He was right, this man was putting me in a moose-drawn carriage. The carriage itself was covered in sticky black goop that seemed to have frozen to outside. I got inside and found it to be warm and comforting even though there was no discernible heat source. The smell of maple and molasses thickened the air.
I looked Jackie-boy right in the eye when he got in the carriage, "Okay, what the hell is going on here?"

"We're off my good boy! Off to Canadaland!"

As soon as he finished that sentence the carriage physically lifted off the tarmac and we began to fly toward the Canadian border. "HOLY HELL!" I exclaimed as we began a nosedive into the St. John River. "FOR FUCKS SAKE, IT'S FROZEN YOU CRAZY CANADIAN PINKO-COMMIE BASTAR...."

We hit the ice and passed right on through to the other side. The carriage filled slowly with liquid and I began to panic. Soon I was completely engulfed in it. I thought for sure I was going to die. Then I tasted the liquid and realized it was far too sweet to be water. It was then that I realized that I was drowning in a river of maple syrup.

Suddenly the liquid poured out and I looked out to see it was now a beautiful summer day. The landscape bore the same geography but reversed. The frozen river replaced by a stream of sweet maple syrup. The trees were no longer frozen and dead but vibrant and bearing crepes for leaves. The town below was now a hockey arena with an ecstatic crowd cheering as they drank their Labatt Blue. Jack cleaned off his face of the maple syrup and laughed. "Ha ha, welcome my good sir, to Canadaland!"

"MOTHER FU..."

TO BE CONTINUED