“Mr. President, the Prime Minister of Canada is here to see you.”
President Barack Obama looked up from his newspaper. “Hm? Give me two more minutes, I’ve almost got this.” The President hated leaving an unfinished sudoku.
A little over two minutes later, Prime Minister Justin Bieber walked into the Oval Office wearing running shoes. Prime Minister Bieber had over ten billion hits on Youtube, the love of such a loving and loyal fanbase, they had gotten him elected Prime Minister, and still, even Justin Bieber got more than a bit intimidated setting his running shoes on the Presidential Seal carpet.
“Prime Minister, good to see you again, please, have a seat,” President Obama offered his guest the couch.
“No, I’ll stand, thanks. I’m feeling a bit antsy.”
“You’re excited. I don’t blame you. I’m excited too. This is big. What we’re about to do will protect both our nations for generations.”
“I feel like I’m selling out my country.”
“You’re saving it. You told me last time that Canada doesn’t have enough of a military to protect itself. Now you will.” The President offered the Prime Minister the contract and a pen used to sign the Declaration of Independence. The Prime Minister didn’t reach for them.
“Yeah, but, The States will have military bases all over Canada, and will control all our resources.”
“Really, think of it as taking control of your resources. We’ll be putting bases up in places of the country that not even Canadians have discovered. You won’t even know we’re there, til you need us. Let me help you help me help you.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“It means sign and relax, you’re doing the right thing.”
What the President meant was that the Prime Minister was doing the right thing for The United States of America, and within one week of setting up green zones in every province and territory, the Americans had taken over all Canadian natural resources, starting with the oil sands in Alberta.
One morning the nation of Canada awoke to find American soldiers on the streets of all its cities from Victoria all the way to St. John’s.
In Toronto, Angelo got out of bed, pulled back the curtains to see his street overrun with American tanks and jeeps all flying American flags. Angelo shook his head. “I knew it!” He opened the window to shout at the American soldiers: “Do we still get hockey?”
His words did not penetrate the metal of the tank passing by. He was answered by the grinding gears of the tank driving over his flowerbed.