Take Off Eh We Exit Canadian

In a frozen-over Tim Hortons parking lot somewhere between the Rockies and the Atlantic, the usual cast of Canadian characters had gathered for what was supposed to be a quiet Canada Day barbecue.

There was the miner still dusted in ore, the rancher whose boots had seen more cattle drives than Ottawa had seen balanced budgets, the Indigenous elder whose stories stretched longer than the Trans-Canada Highway, and the Mountie whose hat could double as a satellite dish. They stood in a loose circle, maple leaves swirling around them like confetti that had lost its way.

Suddenly the sky split. Flames roared upward in pure hockey-announcer energy as the words “TAKE OFF EH!” exploded across the clouds. The Mountie nearly dropped his coffee. The miner grinned. The rancher tipped his hat. The elder just nodded like he’d seen this movie before.

Then the temperature plummeted. From the frozen ground rose the icy blue counter-punch: “WE EXIT.” The letters crackled with frost, and for one glorious second the whole crew stood there—half on fire, half flash-frozen—looking like the most Canadian argument that ever decided to become a T-shirt.