Canadaland Episode II: Attack of the Scones

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

"...CKER, EH!" I screamed as the coach flew at what felt like Mach 1 over the beautiful landscape below. I was utterly confused why I said "eh" at the end of that sentence; it felt strangely necessary. I didn't ponder it long though, as this crazy flying coach was scaring me shitless with its reckless maneuvering.

We passed over more hockey arenas and molasses distilleries as we went screaming through the air. To be honest it looked like candy land if someone had spilt their breakfast on it and threw in some moose for good measure. I believe at one point I saw a forest of waffle sticks next to a lake of syrup. It didn't help that Jacques sat over there on the other side of the coach laughing like a madman.

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU LAUGHING SO HARD, EH?" Once again that last bit was involuntary, "AND WHY THE FUCK AM I SAYING EH SO MUCH, EH?"

"That is something I never understood about your world, eh. How do you know when your sentences end, eh?"

My good lord, they actually vocalized punctuation here. I realized my anger was getting me nowhere. This Canuck just found it funny. I realized I had to calm down if I ever wanted to get out of this place. "So I'm here for a case, right..." I tried to hold it off, "...eh." It came out like a sneeze.

He stopped his giggling and fell back into a reserved smile. "Yes, I told you I lost something valuable, eh? What I lost was my kingdom, eh"

"Your kingdom, eh?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I have not been totally honest with you, eh. My name is Tim Horton, former King of Canadaland, eh."

"Tim Horton, like the coffee shop, eh?"

"I am assuming you are referring to my foreign embassies, eh? Yes, the delicious Canadian food and drink seems to have reduced anti-Canadian sentiment amongst your people, eh."

"So, who took this government away from you, eh?"

"William Shatner, eh."

"WAIT?! WHAT? EH?!"

Hundreds of miles away in the Castle of Ottawa, sat the new King of Canadaland. "So...whenwill this...castlefly, eh?"

"My lord, this is a castle, it has difficulty going to space, eh."

"Indeed, eh! But, Iwill...soon...have my placeamongst... the cosmos, eh. Is...theCanadaArm, ready, eh?"

"We now have full access my lord, eh."

"Fire photon torpedoes, eh."

"Sure, eh." said his servant as the monitors in the King's chamber showed members of the International Space Station being thrown into space by the CanadaArm.

"Beam me up, eh."

"Sir, how many times to I have to tell you that you'll be flying up, eh."

"There will be more time for questions later Mr. McClane, eh. We are touching down here to transfer airships, the moose require their rest, eh."

We got out of the flying carriage in a town that literally had houses made of molasses cookies. The smell was intoxicating, the cookies were seemingly kept at their fresh-baked odor. "Look, Mr. Horton, I get you have problems but how the hell is a private detective supposed to help, eh?"

Suddenly a baguette went flying past my head and stuck into the wall next to me. I turned to see dozens of people jumping off rooftops and heading towards us. They were, well, they were fucking French. More French than a curly mustache. More French than a beret. More French than socialized medicine. More French than banana tarte tatin. How did I know? They had all of those things.

"You really should not have said my name, eh. The King's agents lurk everywhere, eh."

"Are they all this French, eh?"

"Le Quebecois have been sympathetic towards King Bill, eh."

They were running at us waving their delicious looking desserts threateningly and something inside me snapped. First of all, I hated the French, it's built into by red, white and blue DNA. Second, my anger over Timmy dragging me into this dream world had not receded in the least. Now this hellscape provided me with something to take my anger out on, and bless God they were French!

I tore the baguette out of the wall and met their charge with my own. I yelled as I ran at them with anger, pride and passion mixed into the beautiful sound of glorious battle. "YOU FUCKING FRENCH COMMUNIST FAGGOTS! HERE COMES UNCLE SAM TO EQUALLY DISTRIBUTE YOUR PETITE ASSES ALL OVER THE PAVEMENT!"

They suddenly stopped. "NOUS NOUS REVENONS, EH!" I only understood their surrender based on my own prejudice and the white flag they produced. They ran into the night whimpering in their silly hats. I turned around to find the whole town bowing to me.

"Okay what the fuck? That cannot be the first time you've seen the French surrender."

"ALL HAIL THE ONE, EH!" said the crowd in a very creepy monotone. This must be what it feels like to be Pope. The only one not bowing was Horton.

"What are they doing?"

"I knew you were the one all along, prophesized to save this land, eh."

"The who?"

"The One Who Never Finishes His Sentences, eh."

"Never finishes his wha... Oh I stopped saying 'eh' didn't I?"

"And now you are ready save the world, eh."

TO BE CONTINUED

How Does One Live Long and Kick Ass

MISSION STATEMENT

So I basically made this blog because I thought of the name while talking to Elliot. That is the only reason. I liked the name. A lot...

That being said, now that I've made it I feel a need to post. How have I fulfilled this need? By scouring Facebook and my computer for writings of mine I like. Also I am a member of Blogagon, which is the child of the failed Alfred Writing Club. Instead of meetings we're just all obligated to post weekly writings and this is working for us. I'll be copying writings from there to here as necessary. I'll also post writings that are obscenely big here, so as not to block out others writings on there.

Pic unrelated, but totally badass.

I'll probably also post life stories when it seems relevant. But the main purpose I think is just to get an internet backup and collection of shazzle I find amusing or thoughtful, but usually just absurd and lulzy.

And since this is my blog, occasionally I'll post irrelevant shit. Like the previous post. It amuses me, and I don't need it to amuse you. Whiny bastards. If there even is a you. Personally I'm fine with 0 comments/0 views, I just like the name. That is why I made this. Because I liked the title.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm not a big fan of Hemingway.

BABIES

That is all.

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

Hello World!

Greetings cohorts, and stuff.

Hmmm....

This is a picture of orange soda in a toilet.

Good day.

Psych lol, I mean 101

4 Cylon Basestars hover over a planet where Lee Adama is preparing to defend against centurions while above his father decides whether or not to fire nuclear missiles down on the planet his son is on.

FFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU...

But, but, but I want to know what happens next! Yet I do not have time for the next episode, for I have to head to my horrible excuse for a psychology class. GOR-FRAKKIN-RAMMIT! (thats right, two sci-fi franchises, one lame fake curse word) So I swallow the fact that I will have to wait until later in the night and head to the class.

I arrive at the science center, fetch some Code Red out of the vending machine and proceed into the classroom. A quiz has been doled out and I sit down and bust it out. When everyone is done, the "teacher" inexplicably waits five minutes, reading a book and not looking up to see that we are done. Then she instructs us to write our thoughts on the back of the quiz to clear our heads. So I write about the cliffhanger ending, and then I take a moment to transcribe the lyrics to the Physics Guy Rap, as is was thoroughly stuck in my head. Upon completion of that I decided to draw a penguin doing a space walk.

An example of a productive psychology class.

So we had to clear our minds because today we were going to be "meditating". She reached for the computer where she had a meditation music youtube video loaded. I got a little excited because there in inextricable link between my psych teacher and computer failure. I closed my eyes, breathed in and out and was interrupted by an overtly loud Windows BOOP. I laughed out loud, and caught myself just in time for a second BOOP to bring me back to full laughter. I caught it again out of respect, but it was hard as the computer kept BOOP-ing, which is not conducive to successful meditation.

She decided to ignore the incessant BOOP-ing and read the meditation script. I tried to play along and began to breath deeply. I begin to breathe out, she says breathe in. I try and correct myself but shes already saying breathe out by the time I'm breathing in and vice versa until I look less relaxed and more like I'm hyperventilating. Good start.

She then says to imagine we are walking down a wooden staircase. So I once again try and play along, I picture myself on a wooden staircase heading down into a study. It was intensely relaxing, there was a fireplace and books and mahogan....

"You follow the staircase down to a beach."

First thought: "What the f*** is a beach doing in my library?!?!"

Notice how distinctly not a beach this is.

Once again I was no longer relaxed, I was worried about salt water getting on my books. But I forced myself to try, try to relax and meditate damn it. So I placed my mind on a beach. So naturally my mind went to the last beach I had been too, on MDI with MSSMers last June. Which means it was cold Maine beach water, which I don't think is what she was going for. But I tried, I tried so hard to warm the beach up in my mind, tried to get rid of the feeling of seaweed wrapping around my legs while I was in the water. Soon I actually began to relax, I was on a warm beach, a nice day, I was doing good.

"Now imagine you look up and you see two seagulls circling above you."

This was supposed to be calming and for a moment it was. But then the seagulls started to kick each others ass.

Because, F*** YOU!

This was less than favorable because I started to laugh. Which than put me in a Giggle Loop.

The following is the urban dictionary definition. Remember, to know of the Giggle Loop is to be a part of the Giggle Loop.

You are surrounded by people for a moment of silence when the Giggle Loop begins...

Suddenly out of nowhere this thought comes into your head: the worst thing I could possibly do during a minute's silence is laugh. And as soon as you think that you almost do laugh -- automatic reaction. But you don't, you control yourself, you're fine. Whew.

But then you think how terrible it would have been if you laughed out loud in the middle of a minutes silence. And so you nearly do again, only this time it's a bigger laugh. And then you think how awful this bigger laugh would have been. And so you nearly laugh again, only this time it's a very big laugh, it is an enormous laugh. Let this bastard out, and you get whiplash. And suddenly you are in the middle of this completely silent room and your shoulders are going like you are drilling the road. And what do you think of this situation? Oh dear Christ, you think it's funny!
Coupling - Series 1 - Episode 'Sex, Death & Nudity'

It just builds higher and less stable.

It only got worse, the images in my head began spiraling out of control. Soon Mike Brown and Pat Brown were there talking about bad-ass this sea gull fight was and Mike bet twenty bucks on the one to the left. Pretty soon more people and inanimate objects were there and they were all concerned one thing, kicking each others asses. This beach became a powerthirst commercial in five seconds flat and I wanted to laugh. The longer I sat there I just wanted to laugh more and more and more. It got unbearable.

I went through a ten minute giggle loop, everything she said to relax us only piled more fuel on the fire. Everything on this beach was cursing and kicking-ass. I finally figured it out and opened my eyes, which allowed me to remember how boring this room actually was and saved me.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I hate psychology.

Funnier if it wasn't true. Maine 2010

So 2009 has come and passed and now marriage is officially restricted to a man a woman and a bong. And although the results on number one were not what I wanted, in fact they down right infuriated me, I will move forward, hope for the future and be proud that we got as far as we did. The battle is lost yet the war rages on. Speaking of the war, next years ballot is truly hilarious. These aren't guaranteed to be on the ballot, but they are approved for circulation. If half of these make it we have one juicy election coming up.

An Act to Remove Protections Based on Sexual Orientation from the Maine Human Rights Act, Eliminate Funding of Civil Rights Teams in Public Schools, Prohibit Adoptions by Unmarried Couples, Add a Definition of Marriage, and Declare Civil Unions Unlawful

Michael S.Heath

70 Sewall Street

Augusta, ME 04330

(H) (207) 445-4929 (W) 622-7634

Did Hitler write this? Okay, so I am almost certain to write this type of legislation you would have to have killed either a kitten or a puppy or a baby at some point in your life. If this happens to pass next year I will shit a brick, literally. I'll eat one and push my body to the limit to excrete it.

That being said, I think we have a candidate for a flaming bag of poo on the door step, I have never met a more willing candidate.

Resolve Calling Upon the Congress and the President of the United States to Enact the United States National Health Insurance Act, H.R. 676

Jerry Call

137 Waterman Beach Road

South Thomaston, ME 04858

(H) (207) 596-7784

We could pass this every election and Washington wouldn't listen.

An Act to Regarding Possession and Cultivation of Marijuana For Medical Purposes

An Act to Repeal the Prohibition on Cannabis, Hemp and Marijuana

Donald Christen

65 Shusta Road

Madison, ME 04950

(H) (207) 696-8167 (W) (207) 696-4444

They are written by the same guy so I'll just do these in one go eh? I do on political grounds believe that the government has no right to tell me what goes into my body, kind of my own damned decision. That being said, not sure if I want Maine to stop being Lobster capital of the world and start being the Amsterdam of North America.

An Act to Prohibit Fluoride in Public Water Supplies

Jacqueline Sorenson

81 Falmouth Street

Westbrook, ME 04092

(H) (207) 854-2453

RIPPER

(through his cigar)

Mandrake.

MANDRAKE

Yes, Jack?

RIPPER

Have you ever seen a commie drink a glass of water?

MANDRAKE

Well, no I... I can't say I have, Jack.

RIPPER

Vodka. That's what they drink, isn't it? Never water?

MANDRAKE

Well I... I believe that's what they drink, Jack. Yes.

RIPPER

On no account will a commie ever drink water, and not without good reason.

MANDRAKE

Oh, ah, yes. I don't quite.. see what you're getting at, Jack.

RIPPER

Water. That's what I'm getting at. Water. Mandrake, water is the source of

all life. Seven tenths of this earth's surface is water. Why, you realize

that.. seventy percent of you is water.

MANDRAKE

Uhhh God...

RIPPER

And as human beings, you and I need fresh, pure water to replenish our

precious bodily fluids.

MANDRAKE

Yes. chuckles nervously

RIPPER

You beginning to understand?

MANDRAKE

Yes.

(chuckles - begins laughing/crying quietly)

RIPPER

Mandrake. Mandrake, have you never wondered why I drink only distilled

water, or rain water, and only pure grain alcohol?

MANDRAKE

Well it did occur to me, Jack, yes.

RIPPER

Have you ever heard of a thing called fluoridation? Fluoridation of water?

MANDRAKE

Ah, yes, I have heard of that, Jack. Yes.

RIPPER

Well do you now what it is?

MANDRAKE

No. No, I don't know what it is. No.

RIPPER

Do you realize that fluoridation is the most monstrously conceived and

dangerous communist plot we have ever had to face?

MANDRAKE

(laughs)

Jack, don't you think we'd be better off in some other part of the room,

away from all this flying glass?

RIPPER

Ah, naah. We're ok here. Mandrake, do you realize that in addition to

fluoridated water, why, there are studies underway to fluoridate salt,

flour, fruit juices, soup, sugar, milk, ice cream? Ice cream, Mandrake.

Children's ice cream?

MANDRAKE

Good Lord.

RIPPER

You know when fluoridation first began?

MANDRAKE

No. No, I don't, Jack. No.

RIPPER

Nineteen hundred and forty six. Nineteen fortysix, Mandrake. How does that

coincide with your postwar commie conspiracy, huh? It's incredibly obvious,

isn't it? A foreign substance is introduced into our precious bodily

fluids without the knowledge of the individual, and certainly without any

choice. That's the way your hard core commie works.

MANDRAKE

Jack... Jack, listen, tell me, ah... when did you first become, well, develop

this theory.

RIPPER

Well, I ah, I I first became aware of it, Mandrake, during the physical act

of love.

RIPPER

Yes a profound sense of fatigue, a feeling of emptiness followed. Luckily I

was able to interpret these feelings correctly: loss of essence.

MANDRAKE

Yes...

RIPPER

I can assure you it has not recurred, Mandrake. Women... women sense my

power, and they seek the life essence. I do not avoid women, Mandrake, but

I do deny them my essence.

MANDRAKE

Heh heh... yes.

Another Fine Tale of Sir Lancelot du Lac

A Tale of Lancelot du Lac
By Tyler Beaulieu
Edited by Cheney Larock

And thus did Lancelot twice lay the fair queen, and she said that it 'twas good. Once again did
Lancelot hastily flee Camelot so that he may further quest the Isles of Briton. He went forth into the forests of Northumbria, where I am sure many dragons were slain and many damsels were rescued and many prisons were escaped. He did successfully quest throughout this wilderness for many a fortnight.

Then did Lancelot come upon the Dolorous Castle. Both Lancelot and the Dolorous Guard took a moment to exclaim “Oh, not again!”, before the fierce battle did ensue. And it was then that Lancelot did slay twenty-four knights. His shoulder was wounded, but he continued to wage war on these foes for reasons neither Lancelot nor the Dolorous Knights could truly understand. He headed towards the gate and commanded it be opened. He then realized that the porter had come out to try and stop the fierce battle and had been slain by the White Knight. Thus did Lancelot forever lock Dolorous Castle to outsiders. Lancelot was disappointed, and rode away grumbling about the terrible loot system on that map.

As he rode away, Lancelot did hear the sound of trees snapping in the distance. He looked into the cloudless sky, and there did he see naught but the legendary Dolorous Fucking Gundam. Lancelot then entered clan chat and tried to request help for fighting the fell beast. Unfortunately Sir Gawain was AFK, good King Arthur was busy questing in Scotland and Bedivere was tanking for Sir Percival. Lancelot came to the grave realization that he would be fighting this fucking gundam on his own.

Thus did Lancelot engage in combat with the Dolorous Fucking Gundam. Though he sustained a wound to his shoulder, he did not back down from this most awesome engagement. After many hours of battle, Lancelot did climb into a tree and bravely hid from the fucking gundam. He stayed there for a fortnight, but being a fucking gundam, and not knowing fear or impatience, it continued its search for our hero.

Then, on the fourteenth night of this most unlikely engagement, Sir Lancelot did see an opportunity and jumped from his tree and onto the shoulder of the Dolorous Fucking Gundam and immediately wounded it. He then ran down the arm of the fell beast, and although sustaining a shoulder wound again, continued to storm down the arm of this fucking gundam until he reached its wrist and slit it, causing the fucking energy sword to be dropped. The mighty knight then ran back up the arm and stabbed the fell beast in its weakest spot, its other shoulder.

And thus did Lancelot defeat the Dolorous Fucking Gundam, and there was much rejoicing. He then journeyed back to Camelot in spite of his wounded shoulder. Shortly after arriving, the Queen expressed extreme approval of his defeat of the Dolorous Fucking Gundam and thrice laid him that night. Lancelot wounded his shoulder in the process but proceeded to thoroughly bed the wife of his good friend.

THE END