Canadaland Revolutions

If your just catching up, this is part 3. Part one is here.

I want to start writing this part of my tale by saying this. I really, really, really hate communists. I am so glad I got that off my chest.

"Timmy."

"Yes, Mr. McClane, eh?"

"I quit."

I started walking away from the waffle stick town. I'm a private detective, I get hired to find a missing cat or look into adulterous couples or be a comic relief for Mel Gibson. That is the job of the private detective. Nowhere does it say that I have to fight my way through the French-communist wasteland of Quebec to fight William Shatner. Although I'm almost certain I could kick his ass I needed to get back a place where everybody hates your guts and where everyone has grown plenty of a gut to hate. The good ol' U S of A.

"We have an agreement, eh. You find my kingdom, I give you one hundred thousand American dollars, eh?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, you frenchfuck. I do not take monopoly money. Besides, the moneys been circulating in Canada. It was probably used in your socialist plots! Like water fluoridation or socialized medicine. I don't want your dirty pinko-mon..."

At that point I tripped on one of the many syrup puddles and fell down a hill. At the bottom my arm hit a maple tree and I heard a loud snap. Now seeing as the tree wasn't falling over and didn't seem to be screaming in agony, unlike myself, I came to the conclusion the snapping sound had come from me.

Instantly, and I mean instantly, like Δt = 0 seconds instantly. Like the amount of time Stephen Hawking has spent as a mountaineering tour guide. I'm talking about the amount of time it takes for a photon to stay in the same fucking spot. Zero seconds after my injury a helicopter was in the sky. I knew what it was, I had learned the smell it emits long ago. It was the smell of dirty communist doctors, flying their helicopter fueled by sunshine and farts, lightly diluted with ethanol and twigs.

"No you bastards! I am a god damned patriot and I will suffer due to my lack of insurance! I will not ride with you! I will go home and wrap this up with duct tape as Uncle Sam and Jesus intended it when they wrote the Bill of Rights!"

"You just relax, eh."

I don't really know what happened next. These commie hosers drugged me up and loaded me into their pinkocopter and flew me straight to the nearest St. Comrades Glorious Health Center of the People. It flew me right into the waiting room where I spent the next 3 agonizing days reading the same copy of Highlights magazine. Then I was moved to triage where I was injected, inspected, detected, infected and neglected by an android nurse hooked to the complicated matrix of information at the Canadian Department of Life and Communist Affairs. Then, using money from who knows where, they patched me up, drugged me up and put a cast on made of recycled fabric. They even printed a joke on it,

Q: How do you stop bacon from curling in the frying pan?

A: Take away their brooms!

I didn't get it. Do these people use brooms to fry bacon? I didn't have long to ponder it though as my frostback doctor came in.

"It seems you had a bit of a spill there, eh?"

"Why the fuck would you use a broom to fry bacon?"

"Eh?"

"And for that matter, how are wafflesticks considered decent lumber? While we're asking questions, who the hell is the payer in a single payer system?"

The doctor suddenly lost the perpetually friendly complexion that plagued everyone in this winter horrorland. "That is a question best left alone, eh?"

"No. I'm on to something, I'm a detective, I see when there is something you don't want me to know. Who pays for this?"

"You ask too many questions, eh." He reached for a large lever and pulled it. My bed fell into the abyss. And by the abyss, I mean the sewage system. I floated down this horrible river of unmentionables on my bedyacht until I reached a coliseum sized room. There I saw it. A man stood on a pulpit and yelled.

"THERE STANDS A CHALLENGER TO THE AURUM FECALIS, EH!"

I got off my bedyacht and stood before the beast. I was given a hockey stick to defend myself. Of course, it all makes sense now. The only way this single payer system could work. They've got a god damn 200 ton troll that eats refuse and shits gold!

It just sat there on top of a pile of gold the size of the god damned Pyramids of god damned Giza. Then it roared at me and began to charge. It was then, that I bravely ran away.

"FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU...."

TO BE CONTINUED