It’s a Bombing Raid, and I Feel Fine

They said it was because of what we did as a people. They say we insulted their honour as if they actually had some honour to be insulted. They told us we needed to be shown that we couldn’t just run around telling them what we thought about them. An entire nation of people, feeding us a bull-shit philosophy we learned in grade school. “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all.” A great lesson for toddlers to learn, but useless to an adult. What good is a Charter of Rights and Freedoms, if we get threats of war for saying we don’t like our neighbours? They always try to hide, cowering behind their amendment rights, spewing racism and bigotry whenever they feel it’s a good idea. Then, the Canadians start to tell them we don’t like what there doing, and they take that as an excuse to start a war.

We say it’s because of excessive nationalism. We tell them to calm down, and we apologize. We turn from a peace-keeper, to a sniveling child, cowering beneath the bully to the south. As a citizen of Canada, I’ve made comments about Americans plenty of times. Their government is run poorly. They’re all incredibly rude, and rather unclean. They can hardly speak English, so they call it American and butcher the language beyond belief. All of these things, opinions held by several Canadians, and passionately by myself, but somehow, we’ve taken it too far.

The United States of America had pulled all kinds of crap in the past while. Pretty well rigging the election for Georgey Boy, starting a pointless war in Iraq, and all kinds of other atrocities. Canadian citizens and politicians have begun openly voicing opinions about the American government lately, officially pulling out of the war, and outright calling America a bigot, a bully and a downright jackass. Whether we meant this about the government, or the people themselves, they took it all wrong. They’re attacking us. They’re actually doing it, and it baffles us.

The United States of America is attacking Canada, and we’re doing nothing. What can we do? Our military is nothing compared to theirs. What will we do, offer the troops coffee and donuts that are secretly filled with Cyanide? Challenge them to a beer drinking contest, and when they’re totally wasted, we get a bunch of drunk farmers to start a fight with pitchforks and shotguns? I mean, we do have an army and all, but we don’t stand a chance against theirs. So instead, we’re sitting off to the side, letting them take our nation over, and turn it into a totalitarian state, and all we do, is sit here, and complain.

So here’s the gist of what’s happened so far. The liberal party called Bush a, quote, “Jackass, with the IQ of a rotting tomato plant. No, wait, a rotting plant would have bacteria growing on it, and I’m pretty sure an amoeba knows more about running a nation than the Bush administration.” This ticked of the Republicans beyond belief, so they decided to retaliate. They said, quote, "Liberals are pussies." This ticked off the conservatives, mostly because they were jealous of not being able to say it first. Then the liberals retaliated, by saying,"Republi-" well, you know what? How about I just write out the general conversations for you below.

Liberals: George W Bush is a jackass, with the IQ of a rotting tomato plant. No, wait, a rotting plant would have bacteria growing on it, and I’m pretty sure an amoeba knows more about running a nation than the Bush administration.

Republicans: Liberals are pussies.

Conservatives: Damn it republicans, I wanted to say that!

Republicans: Well, screw you conservatives!

NDP: Hey now, lets be civil!

Democrats: I agree with the NDP here.

Republicans/Conservatives/ Liberals: Fuck off!

Western Provinces: Hey, could I say something here?

Conservatives/Liberals: NO!

Western Provinces: Sorry.

Liberals: I think you Republicans should just screw off, and let us be.

Republicans: Have you ever heard of an American government letting another country run their own affairs?

Democrats: I've got to agree on that one.

Liberals: Good Point, so does that mean...

Republicans: Yep, we're taking over.

Liberals: Damn it!

Republicans, Conservatives and Liberals leave in a huff.

Democrats: You guys wanna grab a beer before the war?

NDP/Western Provinces: Sure, why not.

Green Party: Mind if I drag along?

NDP, sighing: Fine.

It's a bid crude, but that's pretty well how it went. And now, the American troops occupy almost everywhere. Even Saskatchewan. How desperate does someone have to be to try and invade Saskatchewan? I mean really? They occupy my school, making sure there isn't any anti-American bias in the lessons. The history departments are secretly pissed about this, but if they voice their opinions, they get pistol whipped, so they keep their mouths shut. They bug our houses with microphones, so we don't discuss the overlords at home. The only safe place to talk is in the car, or while communicating with pen and paper. The soldiers are everywhere, fighting that good fight, oppressing an innocent nation like they should be, and always have been! Good for them! That is the state our nation is in right now, and that is where the story starts. Canada has been occupied by American troops for five months now, we're at risk of dying if we express an opinion. But seriously, I'm a teenager. I have more important things to worry about.

"So," I said to Seamus, as we walked down the road to school" did you hear their outlawing Canadian bands totally?"

Seamus was clad in his black bandana with a skull on top, brown leather jacket, plain black t-shirt and blue jeans. He had a definite opinion about the whole invasion mess, as did all of us, but we had had enough of talking about that for a while.

"Oh, whoop-de fucking do, Gerry," Seamus replied," what are we losing? Avril Lavigne, and Nickleback. I'll take that as a fucking favour."

"What about Rush," I asked him," And BTO. And The Guess Who. And Gordon Lightfoot. Bedouin Sound Clash, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Sarah McLachlan."

"Alright, fuck off," he told me, bluntly," but Sarah McLachlan and suck me. I hate her."

"Fair enough," I said," I'll admit, Ms. McLachlan is a terrible artist, but still, how can we live on without those sweet sweet riffs courtesy of Randy Bachman?"

"That'll take some getting used to," Seamus said, with a sudden sorrowful look of grief overtook his face, his voice suddenly sounding distant," I just hope they get it over with sometime soon. Fucking carpet bomb this place."

"I dunno," I told him, as we turned the corner onto the school parking lot," I guess it could be worse."

"Fuck you and your pitiful attempt at optimism, jerk-wad," he said to me, with obvious fury growing in his voice.

"Well, it's not a bad idea to look at the brighter side of things," I said, that same feeling of grief sweeping over me.

"Screw that, dude," Seamus said, sounding desperate, as though he were almost begging for something," First they take our country. Then they take our schools. Then they take our privacy, and now they control our music! Fuck, they might as well take our fucking identity!"

"They already took that, man," I said as we entered the school finally," a while ago."

"No shit, eh?" Seamus said.

I merely let out a hollow laugh. By this point, there was nothing else to say. I've tried it all. Denial, optimism, the next step was rebellion. People have been planning that for a while, and the Americans knew it. Apparently , we Canadians were pretty good at hiding things from everyone else, when it came in handy. We're a pretty wily bunch. There was a small group of rebels here in the Battlefords and area. We had Hatherleigh, and Denholm on our side. As strange as it seems, a couple villages full of crazy farmers comes in handy. This crazy old guy from the Hatherleigh bunch took out five cops, and three soldiers before they tossed him in prison for the week. As fun as a rebellion sounded, we weren't quite ready. We need a lot more people, and a lot more planning, so I didn't really worry about that. At this moment in time, I needed to get to class.

Period one was pretty cool, because it was History with this young, new teacher. He was one of the American imports, but he was about as pissed off about the occupation as any of the Canadians were. He was one of the Americans with an opinion, and the guard in the class was way past idiotic. Mr. McDowell was able to slip a lot of anti-American comments and innuendo and word it in a way the guard could never dream of understanding. His class was amazing, but wasted on many of the students. Although they changed the curriculum to make it as pro American as they could, he managed to have these little ticks that tipped us off as to what was true, and what was altered. I'm pretty sure he didn't even know he had these ticks, but they were there.

On top of all this, Mr. McDowell shared an amazing taste in music with Seamus and I. A love for the greats of rock like REM, The Who, Nine Inch Nails, Metallica, and all the others. We took long walks with McDowell and talked about these bands on a daily basis. He was one of the few left who appreciated music for what it was, even in this hell hole.

Mr. McDowell's intelligence, and educational prowess was wasted on so many of the students it almost made me cry. They were your average students, who either absorbed whatever they heard; intelligent but gullible, or the ones who didn't care about their education and absorbed nothing. The latter of these two groups were the ones I envied, although they got nothing out of the lessons, their minds were not poisoned by the American bias. As much as these people angered me, they are standard fare in any high school, so I get over their existence after a while. I like to try my best to, as my dad says," Keep on keepin' on."

Todays lesson was obviously the least favourite of Mr.McDowell, and we students who cared about what we were learning. Today's lesson was about that little bit of history where John Wayne shows up, shoots all the Nazis, beats Hitler himself in a fistfight, and wins the war. The demeanor he taught this lesson with wasn't as witty as it usually was. Mr. McDowell was sweating bullets, and talking with a quaking, nervous voice. Something was wrong, and he knew what it was. Seeing as this class guard was a total idiot, he never reported McDowell's teaching even when he was blatant about his anti-americanism. Because of this, Mr.Mcdowell was one of the few imported teachers that was able to be trusted. The imports always got information about political moves that may detriment them in any way. Most of the teachers were fine with the news, and moved on with their lives. McDowell was obviously not. He cared about the students, and now something was wrong.

He went on, angrily and nervously teaching his lesson about the John Wayne style victory, for a good fifty minutes. He assigned the homework, and motioned for me to come to the front of the room. Mr.McDowell and I had a rather close relationship, to the point where I would almost consider him a friend. This was the first time he had called me to talk to him during class. I was scared. I rose from my seat, and walked over to his desk. He leaned in, to whisper to me.

"I need to talk to you," he said," at lunch hour."

"Why?" I asked, nervous.

"I can't say here," He said, his voice shaking," I'm telling the principals I need to take you for student-teacher conferencing, to discuss your slipping grades."

"I don't have slipping grades,"I said.

"You do know," he said," at least, it looks like you do now. I needed to make a reason. Listen, I respect you Gerry. Of all the people in this country, you're probably the one I would elect to lead the rebellion when you got older. There is something I need to tell you, and an offer I need to make to you. Meet me outside, at the north doors at lunch. I can't say anymore, or the administration might get suspicious."

"Okay," I told him, that same quake taking over my voice.

The next two periods were absolute hell. Nothing scared McDowell this much, and all kinds of thoughts started running through my mind. A bombing raid? An attempted holocaust? No, they wouldn't pull that, how would they justify that withe the UN? Fuck the UN, they weren't doing anything with this, why would they care if they ethnically cleansed Canada? I never thought I'd hear that phrase cross my mind. All I could do, for my entire math class, was think about what me might want to tell me. And that offer he wanted to make. What could that be?

Math class ended, after the longest hour of my life, and my spare was here. I met up with Seamus, eager to tell him about what McDowell had told me. He was eager to listen.

"Did he mention what the offer might be?" Seamus asked, intrigued.

"No," I told him," He just said he needed to talk to me, and he had an offer to make."

"Well, shit" Seamus said, growing in anger," That could be anything!"

"Yeah," I said," But you know McDowell, he never gets this nervous. It's all jokes, and politics with him. He never gets this scared. Hell, he never really gets scared in the first place."

"Well," Seamus said," do you mind if I come with you? I'm pretty fucking intrigued by all this."

"I guess so," I replied," I think he realizes you and I are pretty well a package deal."

The rest of the spare passed in nervous silence, and finally the lunch bell rang. Pardon the cliche, but it was the moment of truth.

"So," Mr. McDowell said," how was math class?"

"Fuck the small talk, McDowell," Seamus said.

"Agreed," I replied," Can you cut to the chase? I'm pissing myself in anticipation. Like, seriously dude."

"How would you," Mr.McDowell said,"the both of you, I guess. I figured you'd come together. How would the both of you, like to leave the country?"

Seamus and I looked at each other, and stared at Mr.McDowell in awe.

"To where?" I asked," Are we being accepted as English immigrants?"

"No," McDowell said," you'd be going to the states. I kno-"

"Fuck that!" Seamus and I declared in unison.

"You know me, McDowell,"I said," Shit, the both of us hate that place. Do you think we'd really leave home to go to that hell hole?"

"Could it be any less of a hell hole than here?" McDowell asked.

"I'm sure it could," Seamus said, " I mean, at least here we have some national identity. There's meaning to being a Canadian now. What the fuck is there in being American?"

"Survival," McDowell said, voice quaking again.

The three of us stopped walking, stood in a circle, and didn't know what to say. What did he mean? Survival?

"What do you mean," I asked," Survival?"

Mr.McDowell stood in silence for a few moments, and began to cry. As the a few small tears ran down his cheeks, he managed to speak.

"The UN," he said," Is intervening."

"That's good," Seamus said, looking confused at me, as though I had an answer for his questions.

"They're intervening," he said," and the US decided to take that as a message to get the fuck out."

Seamus and I had nothing to say. He removed his headband, nervously, anticipating the next words from our beloved teachers mouth.

" Because they have no choice but to give up," McDowell said," They've gotten desperate. They're carpet bombing as much of the country as possible, in a desperate attempt to-"

"To what?" I asked.

"To prove a point, I guess," McDowell said.

"What the fuck point would that be?" Seamus asked.

"The same point they always try to make," McDowell said, more tears running down his face," that they're bigger than everyone else. They have the fire power. They have bombs, and if they don't get their way, they drop them."

"So," I said," what are the chances of them dropping the bombs on central Saskatchewan?"

"Guaranteed," McDowell told me," There going for central everywhere. It's rather impromptu, the news reached them today, and they're doing the bombing today. Bombs are gonna be dropped right in the center of town, around two PM today, and I want you to to leave with me."

Yet another silence as we stood in thought. We had a good two hours to live, unless we ditched to enemy territory. That was the least thing we wanted to do .What honour was there in running behind enemy lines to survive? We'd essentially be surrendering to the Americans, and I really don't see that as an option.

"No," I told him.

"I agree with Gerry here," Seamus said," I'd rather sink with the ship, than run like a coward."

Mr. McDowell walked with the two of us for a few minutes, and we talked. He told us he was proud that we had the gall and the honour to stay and die for our country. We thanked him for that, and made banter for about an hour. Suddenly an American military truck drove up, and a soldier got out of the drivers seat.

"McDowell!" Screamed the soldier," Are you coming or not?"

"I guess," I said," This is where we say farewell."

"No," McDowell said, turning toward the soldier, " No, I think I'm gonna take a page out of the book of Gerry and Seamus here. I'm gonna stay."

"You always were an odd one," the soldier said," Have fun in Heaven, or wherever your headed."

Mr. McDowell, Seamus and I walked for a good two hours. We were all scared; none of us wanted to die. But as we talked, we brought up several points that sort of eased us into it. We realized that we weren't the first ones to die in a war, it's happened before. On top of that, we were definitely not the first ones, and were obviously not going to be the last, to die at the hands of the American tyrants. The planes began to fly overhead, and we saw tiny black dots begin to fall from the planes.

"How much time do we have?" I asked.

"Maybe about five minutes," McDowell said.

"I'm kinda pissed," Seamus said," That I didn't get to say goodbye to my family.

"Well," McDowell replied," How do you spend the last two hours of your life? We might as well walk around and talk, as opposed to saying our goodbyes."

"Agreed," I said.

One last time, we stood in silence and stared at the bombs falling towards us, as the planes flew off. Off in the distance, we could hear explosions. The smoke rose in the distance, as debris began to fly, and ashes flew through the air. The bombs drew closer. Closer. Closer. Our last words.

"I don't really know what to say," McDowell said," It's a strange situation."

"But," Seamus said," I still feel really calm. Like I was ready for this. But, I guess we've had time to prepare. A good five months."

"No kidding," McDowell said.

"That's great, it starts with an earthquake," I laughed," birds, snakes and aeroplanes. Lenny Bruce is not afraid."

"Hah!" McDowell yelled,"Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn - world serves its own needs, don't misserve your own needs."

Seamus smiled, and joined in,"Feed it up a knock, speed, grunt no, strength no. Ladder structure clatter with fear of height, down height. "

In unison, we managed to sing. It was more like butchering a great musical piece, but we're allowed to flatter ourselves.

"Wire in a fire, represent the seven games in a government for hire and a combat site," We bellowed out, dancing around, "Left her, wasn't coming in a hurry with the furies breathing down your neck. Team by team reporters baffled, trump, tethered crop. Look at that low plane! Fine then. Uh oh, overflow, population, common group, but it'll do. Save yourself, serve yourself. World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed. Tell me with the rapture and the reverent in the right - right. You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched."

Then, it was time for the chorus. And now, we realized, those sweet sweet voices from REM, and all those other poets of rock, knew what the hell they were talking about.

"It's the end of the world as we know it," we sang out," it's the end of the world as we know it! It's the end of the world as we know it! And I feel fine!"

And that was that. Somehow, in two hours, we managed to come to means with it all. It was the end of the world as we knew it, and we felt fine. It was a bombing raid, over central Saskatchewan, and in the last moments of our lives, we felt fine. We felt fine.

The

End