The song "Blame Canada" from the South Park movie was nominated for an Oscar. And even though the Best Picture nod for Crash and many, many other slights makes us doubt the power of the Academy, it is still an impressive feat for an animated film that doesn't have talking fish in it. Then Canadian Prime Minister Kim Campbell, who we once shared an elevator with, enjoyed the song and even Anne Murray, who is called a "bitch" in the song, would have sung it for the Oscar telecast if she didn't have a prior arrangement. The whole purpose of the song is to point out how Canada is ruining young minds. In the drunk masturbating driver post today mechimike shared another story of northern wrongdoing.
About the worst thing I've ever done, that was even REMOTELY close: About a year ago, a buddy of mine had a birthday. I'm not sure what birthday it was, doesn't really matter, wasn't relevant. At any rate, what was relevant was, said friend wanted to get a prostitute. Now, granted, said friend was divorced, had two young girls, and a steady-ish girlfriend. But, he had been divorced for over a year, the girls were at his parents' house (laughably, he somehow got sole custody of them, as his ex-wife was even more demonically insane than he) and his girlfriend was 8 hours away in NYC and he wasn't going to see here for a whole 2 more days. It was around Christmas, and my girlfriend was with me. She said, laughing, "Oh yeah, let's go pick *insert frined's name here* and go to Canada and get some hookers." My younger brother, who is neither wise to the ways of the world, nor wise in any other particular way, had nothing to do, so we invited him, too. My girlfrined, my brother, and I all piled into my grey primer 1982 Mercedes 240D and chugged off to pick up my friend. We then proceeded to mosey down the NYS Thruway, the miserly 68 horsepower oil-swilling 4 banger whining away against 4th gear at 78 miles per hour, laden down with a hooker-crazed maniac, a naive young man, a curious girlfriend, and myself. When we got to BUffalo, we stopped to try to coerce another friend of ours and his wife to join us, but, alas, they were otherwise engaged and bid us to spend the night at their house, rather than proceeding onward to the land of hookers and honey slightly to the north. My horny friend, however, persisted, and thus the original foursome were bade farewell and godspeed by the other friend and his wife, and we proceeded to the border. "Purpose of visit, eh" asked the border agent. "Pleasure" my friend breathed, simultaneously managing to sound both crazy and filthy. We rolled on down to the strip. Niagara Falls, Canada. The "Sundowners" club bade us welcome, with its Atlantic-Cty- style of glitz and chintz. We ordered up a round of drinks, then my friend said "wait here, I'll be back in a few", wandered of to talk to some random, tartly-dressed young lass, and leaving us to stare at each other in disbelief. When he reappeared at the table some 20 minutes later, my girlfriend queried him about the whole experience, and obtained quite the story. My brother, inexpressive as usual, stayed silent, and I felt a little sick. After afew more rounds, we decided to head home. We amde it over the border without drama, but once back on the Thruway the diesel began to sputter. At this point, it was 3AM, Sunday, and despite the (apparently over-optimistic) fuel gauge, our tank was as dry as...well, I'm not going to finish that analogy. an hour later, Triple-A showed up with a 5 gallon jig of diesel, no questions asked, and we managed to coax the fuel-starved car to life and get home. My parents tried to awaken us for Mass that morning. Somehow, I wasn't quite up to facing my maker that day...
Blame Canada indeed.