Canada's Goose Is Cooked

O.K., we do know one guy you might know—Wayne Gretzky. Owns a piece of the Phoenix club. You thought he'd come back after he'd seen Hollywood, the beach and Janet Jones naked? Yeah, right. He figured out early on that he was stayin', especially after his Canadian buddies came to his house in L.A., saw the long, steep driveway and moaned, "Wayner, you'll never get up this in the winter."

I notice Larry Walker hasn't moved back, either. Or Michael J. Fox. Or Jim Carrey. Gee, can't imagine why. Other than fat taxes, tiny temperatures and the fact that a big Saturday night is sittin' next to a hole in the ice waitin' for a lunk to come along while keepin' your bait warm in your mouth.

You know what a Canadian guy asks before he agrees to a blind date? "Does she have her own jumper cables?" You know how to spell Canada? C, eh? N, eh"? D, eh?

So that's it. Burn the Peace Bridge. This is war. Your only job was to stay quiet up there, send us the occasional smoked salmon and protect us from invasion by Greenland. But you went and ruined it. You think we can't take all them sissy Mounties? We can whip them with Rulon Gardner alone.

Tell you what. We either get an apology by the morning, or you hosers can forget about becoming our 51st state.