#2 – It’s Better Than Iraq!

If you’re a clever soul in Canada, you’ve heard this or some variation thereof:

You: “Man, [insert problem here] is really getting me down. It’s a bummer that we’re so far behind the rest of the developed world on this matter”

Caker: “What, are you complaining about [insert complaint here]? You should be grateful you don’t live in [insert poor place here]!”

You: “Why can’t we implement a system like this one, which has demonstrably worked in other places?”

Caker: “Yeah, well they probably have AIDS or something. Quit whining – this is as good as it gets, baby!”

These two are the first lines of defense that a caker will give you when you present them with something that sucks in Canada. It doesn’t matter what it is – always the same concept, and always either a comparison against a basketcase of a country or a ridiculous false equivalence against a developed one. Any problem in any country, regardless of whether work is being done to fix the problem is cause to declare that place shit. Canada can’t get train service in its densest area? Well, Spain had a terrorist attack on its high-speed lines once so Canada is more betterer you guys.

These two defenses have always confused me. The logic of jumping a low bar is lost on me – congrats for being better than a country partially occupied by a savage gang of Islamic murderers, I guess? And what of the parts of Canada that are truly hellscapes – the Chemical Valleys, desolate reserves, and decaying one-resource towns that regularly lack services and poison their people? Isn’t it a little awkward to make the claim that you’re better than a shithole only to not be wholly better than the shithole? Does that not bring shame? Of course not – cakers have no shame.

The notion of improvement in Canada is stifled using the second method. It is patently reasonable to expect some sort of accounting for the fact that Canadian food prices are rising in a global context of falling food prices. Why do the French get amazing produce and cheese at reasonable prices? Who cares – the French pay more for soda so ha-ha absurd false equivalence! It doesn’t matter that vege is a bit more fucking important to the human diet than carbonated corn syrup-mix. Clearly Canadians paying a fortune for basic foodstuffs is the same as the French not having access to discount fructose-water.

These two attitudes speak to a reflexive defensiveness in Canada. I can only assume that this is because cakers need to maintain their make-believe for their own sake. To admit that Canada is falling apart is to admit that we need to do things and to make basic changes to the way Canada works. And fuck that noise – that takes work and, even worse, honesty. So Canada keeps paying more and more for shittier and shittier product and it loves doing so. Laziness, whether it be practical or intellectual, is truly a Canadian value. It’s just a pity that said laziness leads predisposes this heap to being such a podunk, second-world hovel of a place.

#1 – Canadians

Canada is a place that most of the world doesn’t think about very much. This fact is probably the most terrifying reality that English Canada can imagine, so Anglo-Canadians try to overdo it with the yokel-but-not-really stereotypes so that they can pretend that the rest of the world cares about them. As can be expected in such a mediocre place, Canadians put on a performance about on par with an 8th-grade recorder concert at one of Canada’s many shitty public schools.

Speaking of schooling, here’s a part of Canadian history that few people remember. In the early days after World War Two, Canada was even more restrictive than it is now. Being white, rich, and a dude wasn’t sufficient to be considered a “respectable human” – you also couldn’t come from icky loser countries like Germany or Italy. The Italians, being a fiery sort who love food immediately took issue with the English-Canadian diet and indeed the Canadian way of life, which they saw as bland, unpalatable, and restrictive. They invented our Vorpal Word with which to cut down the Canadian Jabberwocky, and that word is mangiacake – “cake-eaters”, or cakers. And so the English Canadian was titled “caker”, to distinguish them from Indigenous or Francophone communities.

Cakers love deluding themselves into thinking that working a dull job and living in formless, debt-inducing tract housing tacked to formless, unwalkable cities constitutes “the good life”. In fact, as we’ll see, Canadians and their cities are lifeless and devoid of substance. Canada’s economic realities are oligarchic, her literacy skills frightfully low, and her grievous crimes against humanity unremembered. Canadians have no history and no interest in history – the whole country is a palimpsest, capable of being scratched and rewritten to suit any commercial or civic narrative. Noting real problems results in having concerns ignored, minimized, or reacted to with a profound venom from a people who claim to be decent, intelligent, and humane.

And that, my newfound friends, is reason number one for leaving Canada. There is a soft-repression here caused by the immense defensiveness of a country that considers being chill a national trait, and I won’t have it. In my travels through this collective of suburbs I’ve encoutered others who also hate it here. It’s a wonderful feeling to find a like mind, to let loose without fear of losing friends or opportunities, and I’d like to share that feeling with other Canadians who don’t toe the national line.

I’d also like to provide a counterpoint to the millions of dollars of Canadian propaganda distributed internationally. If even one person from abroad reads these screeds and decides to skip Cakertown the whole project will have been worth it many times over. In the year that this blog has been running I’ve had thousands of views from around the world and it is my fondest hope that people who are questioning this place find footing to base their thoughts on here.

The rules are simple – if it’s shit and it’s in Canada, it’ll end up here. There are no punches pulled, no holds barred, and no excuses accepted. It’s time to stomp some cakers!

Allons-y!