Friday, February 26, 2010

We Should Feed Canada Some Mrs. Grass Soup, But Only Until They Feel Better About SUCKING SO HARD AT HOCKEY

Scene: Seven friends are seated at the bar at Neighbors (you wish you were there) watching the US/Canada Olympic hockey game. Two are Canadian, the other five are USAmerican, and all of them are awesome. Except for the Canadians (BITCH WHAT I SAID IT, EH?)

(Sidenote: if you are not one of the seven people that was there, you will probably find this post tedious. Deal with it. Have some soup.)


"Whatever, look at those helmets! Who fucking designed those, Ed Hardy?" Smith Sister Sav giggles and sips her bloody mary.

"Seriously?" I snap and point at the TV above the bar. "Those masks are awesome. Look at it - that's Uncle Sam beating your Canadian ass with a hockey stick that's on fire. And on the other side? That's an eagle with like, fucking adamantium claws or talons or whatever."

"Do the chickens have large talons?" Schmee mumbles.

"HA! Do the chickens have large talons?"

Smith Sister WJ is whiny. "But our helmets are all classy, with our maple leaves, and they're all shiny and pretty."

"They would be better if they were blue."

"Red, white and blue."

"Or just blue like Sav's lame-ass blue Canadia tattoo." Slinger laughs at himself and drinks his Budweiser like a fucking champ. Like an American champ.

"You know what?" Smith Sister Sav declares, snapping with more hostility than she originally intended. "Why don't you show them your fucking blue sun tattoo?"

Slinger ignores her.

"I fucking hate that thing," Schmee shakes her head, eyes glued on the TV.

I raise my eyebrows at Slinger. "You got a tattoo of a blue sun? I don't wanna sit next to you no more."

"Sometimes people have oddly blue tattoos. What?"

"And sometimes TEAM USA SCHOOLS YOUR ASS AT HOCKEY." High-five.

"What was the rationale behind your blue tattoos, anyway?" I ask.

Smith Sister Sav goes back to her bloody mary, avoiding my eyes. "I don't wanna talk about it. Can we please talk about something else?"

"Sure, let's talk about your back-ass boondock country."

"Which is fake," Schmee chimes.

"Totally fake."

"You know what? Okay, fine, let's hear this. How are we from a fake country?"

"Seriously, I fucking love those helmets!"

Slinger laughs. "Do you guys even have a navy?"

"Of course they do, they're called mounties." Everyone looks at me. "Horses can swim."

"Haven't you seen Wild Hearts Can't Broken?"

"Was that in Canada?" Anway asks.

"No, swimming horses."

"I never liked that movie."

"You're lame."

"You're Canadian."

"Bitch, you know you're jealous."

"I wish I had a queen to cry to."

"Hey," Slinger stretches back, "if we give you Wisconsin, can we have your curling team?"

"They have cheese there, eh?"

The bartender comes over to drop of Smith Sister Sav's burger and fat plate of potato skins for Scott, her armcandy, who never speaks or drinks but he digs into his food with zeal. I look at the pile of dirty napkins and onion ring baskets and empty bottles in front of me and try to drag the bartender's attention with my eyes but it totally doesn't work.

"Please take these empties," I mutter, to no one in general, and slide my bottle onto the rail behind the bar. The bartender ignores me.

"She's never gonna clean it up," Slinger says quietly, annoyed. "It's been sitting there forever."

"I know, I don't want to look at it," I agree. I scowl at an empty bowl of chili.

"She's probably from Canada."

"Most definitely." Even onion rings get rejected. It looks sticky. I should order a water, it's really snowing outside. Bitch. Oh! Patty melts are seven bucks.

I snatch a fry from Smith Sister Sav and smile brilliantly. "See this?" I shove it into my mouth. "Round here in the U.S. of A. we call that manifest destiny."

Sav squints and snarls, "You know who invented those fries, right?"


After a few moments of intense silence, where I'm sure everyone was just trying to sit there and think of proper banter, Anway speaks up. "You know, every Olympics I always want your people to wear Canadian tuxedos, and it never fucking happens," he muses.

"Agreed, that's horseshit."

"Oh, but it could happen, now they have those pajamas that look like jeans."

"Like the snowboarding team."

"Like the snowboarding team." Echoes all around. "Exactly."

"You guys are a bunch of fucking Denim Dans," I yell, and slump back into my beer. Chair. Beer.

The bartender comes over and clears all the nastiness away and I ask for a water.

"Nothing is more bad ass than that helmet, I swear to fucking god."

"What's the Canadian tuxedo?" both Smith Sisters ask, glancing down at their own red-and-white-maple-leafed-Canadiawear which isn't nearly as cool as our Americanwear.

"Are you fucking serious? You don't know your own home jersey?"

"All demin, head-to-toe," me and Anway explain. Perfect unison.

I swivel toward him. "Fucking jinx, bitch."

"The Canadian Tuxedo."

"How is that the Canadian Tuxedo?"

"I don't know. Because all Canadians live in Trailer Parks and weave their own Levi's."

"Have they discovered fire in Canada?"

Schmee's on it like Team USA on ice. "No, we brought it to them with the Olympic torch."

"Speaking of which," Smith Sister WJ adds, "I think Uncle Sam is holding the torch on the goalie mask."

"I like a flaming hockey stick better," I snap, "Because the Canadians are all 'fire bad!' and they totally run away."

"Okay, Ross, that was a bad one."

"Sor." I feel shamed. "Whatever, that doesn't change the fact that you're gonna get housed."

"You know what? I don't have to listen to this," Smith Sister Sav says. "This game doesn't even count anyway." She pops her maple-leaf jacket collar in frustration and furiously hides behind a copy of Chicken Soup for the Canadian Soul.

Seriously. That happened. She pulled it out of her purse.

And then we all laughed like we were in a movie or something.



Anonymous said...

that may be the best round of "olympic smack talk" ever documented... no mention whatsoever of the actual sport, just nationalistic trash talk.

Kono said...

between my two young sons screaming for no reason that shit made me laugh. though i can't believe no one sang Blame Canada.

Ellie said...

Makes me want to put on a Team USA shirt and go find some Canadians to annoy.

Schmee said...

Kono: I definitely sang blame Canada about 10 times that day...think everyone was just ignoring me.

Ross-2 things: how did I miss the horse swimming "wild hearts can't be broken" convo?? damn I loved that movie when I was younger. and also you forgot the part about when that canada commercial came on that said super-natural british columbia and i was all "super-natural...more like fake" hdfjkal;sdf oh and when you were like..."I'm pretty sure I'm gonna write a blog about this"

M. said...

actually, fries come from Belgium.


A Free Man said...

You know that Canada won, eh?

Rassles said...

Oh believe me, I know they won. The Smith Sisters would not let us forget it.

Also, for the record: Some of my favorite things are from Canada. Trailer Park Boys. Ginny. Unibroue beers.

I am not anti-Canada. I am pro-Shit-Talking.

renalfailure said...

What? No one said "aboot?"

Gotta love Canada. They gave us William Shatner.

Le Meems said...

girl, your connexshonall slurricanes always amaze me that
a) they didn't spew from my own friends' mouths
b) we are the same people but in different places

and furthermoresky, i want a motha effin bloody mary now.

Thanatos said...

I won't last a 30s conversation with you, I don't know shit about pop culture. Or Canada.

Red said...

They also gave us my first celebrity crush, Michael J. Fox. AND Ryan Reynolds.

renalfailure said...

Also, I love Mrs. Grass soup. It works miracles.

Ginny said...

1. I came here to quietly gloat. Then I saw my name. I respectfully withdraw.

2. Renal Failure, we did not give anyone William Shatner. He is on loan.

3. I have 10 left out of a case of Unibroue in my pantry. No one here will drink it. (Well, my brother-in-law would, but he's a cheap prick, so my policy is to never give him anything). Just get here, already, and drink my pretentious beer, won't you?

4. That was some fine shit-talking.

5. My verification word is pholer. I'm reading it as pee holer, and laughing myself stupid.

The Ambiguous Blob said...

Does Canadialand have a queen? Also, I have no idea what this word means "adamantium", but I assume it's some form of cleaning solution. Like 409.

Rassles said...

Daisy: Hate is fun, I don't care what anyone says.

Kono: We couldn't really remember all of the words.

Ellie: Patriotism is one of the greatest feelings in the world, but only if you're a fucking American.

Schmee: How do you not remember that? It was just a little aside conversation, but still. And I was getting so pissed writing this because I couldn't remember how one part of the conversation led into the next, so I just kind of listed all of the lines I remember and juggled.

Mae: You win.

Freeman: Shut up.

RF: We said lots of stupid shit. I mean, we argued for the entire game. There was also a lot of, "WHAT! FUCKIN' BITCH WHAT? TAKE THAT, HONKEY-ASS HOSER. WHAT!" Because when I get riled up, I spice everything with "what."

Meems: Me too. The BM.

Thanny: You really don't need to know anything about anything, you just need to pick a word from a sentence and take a logical leap.

Red: Nathan Fillion. When shit talking Canada, you don't like to bring up entertainment. Unless it's music. Nickelback? Seriously? Fuck you, Cananda.

RF: Mrs. Grass could cure cancer.

Ginny: My personal fave is Trois Pistoles. Just as an aside, I do accept packages in the mail. I also accept hot delivery men. So here you have the means to set me up in a primo porn situation, and you won't take it.

Tab: Canada is a constitutional monarchy. And Wolverine's claws are made of adamantium. X-men stuff.