Post by Deleted on Apr 24, 2016 10:08:28 GMT -5
April 12, 2016
11:47
Dag Riddik's Estate
Roanoke, VA
It's only two minutes since Dagvald finished recording one of his most potent promos since he'd joined the company, and things are taking a drastically different turn. Robyn Brimmandesjal, a.k.a. Robyn Svenska, barges into his estate with hardly a look in his direction, but does manage to mouth a sort of explanation to him.
"We've been given an assignment in Canada. It's to establish our presence in L'Ans Aux Meadows and set up our own research team to analyze the Viking artifacts in the area. You're coming with me to talk to the agents we're going to base there. We start Tuesday."
The air lights up with excitement as Dag's face brightens, his confident mood compounded by the news. "Really? That's actually very convenient, considering I'm going to Canada this Sunday for WCF, then next Sunday to kick a native Canadian's ass."
"All that does is save you plane tickets," Robyn insists. "I hope you understand that you'd be going to Canada if you were in Nigeria the day before. Anyway, this won't be hard, especially for you. Help me buy what we need for the outpost, then deliver a ravishing speech to the garrison. Simple."
"Simple indeed. You know, I've always wanted a chance to test my ability to command a room full of people. I have a feeling I'm ridiculously talented at the art, something not many people are."
"We'll see. Here's a list of bullet points you need to include." Robyn takes a page out of her binder and hands it to Dag. "Write everything on here into a speech you make yourself."
Dag raises an eyebrow at the thought of having a high level of control over the address. His mind starts to flicker as he looks over the important things he must aim to accomplish with this propaganda speech. Belittle Canada, motivate the men, and convince them what we're doing is right, he summarizes. Well that won't be difficult, he thinks to himself. I'll just take everything Cormack has said about Canada and twist it to sound bad. Robyn catches his thinking face and remarks, "It won't be a problem for you to come up with something like this, will it?"
Dag shakes off the curious look. "Of course not! I'm excited, actually. Any speech that comes from the heart of the speaker is far better than one which is prewritten by a committee and handed to their mouthpiece. My enthusiasm for this cause cannot be overstated, I assure you. When I have the podium, my words will flow with the smoothness and strength of the Baltic Sea, I assure you."
Robyn casually acknowledges his words and gives her subtle "We'll see" once again. Dag steps in front of her as she starts to walk to the other end of the table. A hint of frustration is building within him. They lock eyes and he says, "Do you have reason to doubt me, Robyn? After all, it was you to personally sought me out for recruitment, no?"
The paradigm of Swedish women, with her blonde locks, large bosom, fit body and blue eyes, stares back unintimidated into the soulless gaze of the man who would undeniably give the orders for hundreds of men to die for their mutual cause. He would certainly create a masterpiece to deliver to the men at Vinland, and he'd gladly murder anyone who would oppose their grandiose plans. But would he risk his own life for this scheme? Does he buy the concept of giving everything for an end result he would not be able to see? That is what Robyn questions.
His devotion is unquestionable, but his need for validation is what drives him to act. His big mouth, always flapping, constantly spews offensive language and unapologetic bigotry in the name of nationalism and moralism. But is it just for the attention it is guaranteed to attract in this "politically correct" era? She knows he cannot stand the weak minded idiots who are supposedly so mortally wounded by mere words.
He hates those childish liberals, no doubt, and he stands for opposing the slip into PC culture and the oppression of freedom it represent- but are his solutions fed by his true support, or does he simply take the opposing view for the sake of opposition? These questions leave Robyn unable to fully trust the conviction of the gray bearded man before her. His ability to level opponents is undeniable, and his love of violence is certain, although she has yet to see how he would handle a situation he is afraid he cannot win.
In truth, he has faced a few scenarios he ought to have been worried about such, but it is his ability to simply ignore reality and manifest his own romanticized mirror which turns the situation into something he can handle. Not long ago, he faced Wade Moor the week after he lost the title, there was little reason for him to truly believe he could defeat such an upper echelon, motivated performer. Yet, it took little more than some internet trolling to convince himself of how stupid Wade is and how easy the victory would be against a pot smoking occultist.
Of course, when one looks through shaded glasses, they only alter the wearer's vision, not the actual color's of the world around them. Dag's reality is incompatible with the true reality and that will not change simply through the thoughts which exist only in his own mind.
When the real world conflicts with Dag's version of it, it's often the fault of those he uses as scapegoats, such as the liberals or minorities. What isn't there fault, after all? The warped and evil mind fit inside the thick skull constantly makes excuses for anytime something goes wrong, for nothing could be his fault. To fix the deviations from his own world view that reality suffers from is to recreate it almost from the ground up, by planting the seeds of a perfect society run by the superior race. But until the opportunity arises, just how determined he is to achieve this at his own expense will always be questioned.
To see the end result is to claim victory over those who've insisted he has the "wrong opinion" for so long. He may not know it, but deep down, he wants not to eradicate the entire population of "inferiors," for he'd much rather force them to live in his ultimate society which encompasses everything they hate and fear. How he longs to force the homosexuals to be transported from town to town in stock cars, traveling with the circus as attractions to be ridiculed and stoned by the general population. Oh, how satisfying to force those who identify as neither male or female to write, thousands upon thousands of times, that they are the gender they were born with. What a bold experiment in human psyche, he thinks to himself.
Sometimes he does sit at home, thinking of how simple, common, undeniable, scientific fact could be used as a torture device. It is this though process which is enough to convince Dag beyond a shadow of a doubt that the reality he imagines is the one which exists. How can facts be ignored? Personal, made up ideas cannot possibly trump cold hard truth! What world would he be living in if such nonsense was allowed to run wild and unopposed? It would be the dark ages again, he is sure, or perhaps even worse.
How ironic, he sees it as, that so many hundred years after religion was the iron fist worn by the kings of the world, their laws mandated by the word of their God without any evidence whatsoever outside of threats in a single book for anyone who wouldn't do as it bid, that things have come full circle. The iron ball and chain of religion, or more specifically to the Western world, Christianity and its branches, has been cast off, but now, a new world is taking shape, dominated by even more insane and ludicrous ideas than the last. He refuses to allow this to happen.
"I simply prefer not to have faith in anything. To put my unfaltering trust in you before I see what you can do would be placing faith. There will be no room for faith come the Great Revolution, my friend." Robyn replies.
Dag understands well enough. "I suppose that's fair enough.
Faith. What a heinous concept. Responsible for the dark ages so long ago, but now falling out of favor for more sinister variations. People no longer place their faith in the unconfirmable preachings a of a single divine entity. Now, anyone with the desire to be different can spew out nonsense about being Apollogendered or the like, and everyone around them must accept their word as if it were the gospel of old or face persecution just like the old times.
To be a part of this organization bent on changing the civilized world means a lot more to Dag than he's willing to admit. He may disapprove of the means through which he was recruited, but now that he really understands the ultimate goals of the group, he knows he has no choice but to be a part of the revolution of prove himself to be all talk and no action.
Maps, propaganda posters, registries, notes, and many other types of documents are now covering the coffee table entirely. Time to get to work.
April 19, 2016
8:57 PM
Kalmar United Front Vinland Safehouse
L'Anse Aux Meadows, Newfoundland, Canada
Three minutes to showtime. The two dozen Swedes, Norwegians, Danes and Finns amassed in the modestly sized meeting room are awaiting the speech's initial words. The speaker has given a lot of thought on how to start it off, studying the mannerisms of some of the most important figures in history. Once again, that man he doesn't agree with on most things but respects for others, Adolf Hitler, came into his mind. He could make them wait until they are dying for him to give them what they want, but that probably doesn't work until one has acquired a certain reputation for amazing speeches.
No, tonight he will be straightforward and strong in his opener. There's no reason to over complicate things when it's not necessary to do so. The more streamlined this speech is, the more efficiently he will be able to get his point across. He doesn't know for sure how intelligent his audience is, so he took pains not to write something verbose or ripe with uncommonly large words.
He scans the men assembled before him as the seconds count down. Strong, all of them, many with Nordic tattoos and long hair. They could easily be mistaken for a dangerous biker gang. As far as Dag knows, they may as well be. He hasn't been told their explicit purpose here, and as far as he can tell they are sleeper cells of sorts. They will train with the equipment in this inconspicuous building, live in nearby apartments and the like, collect information on the island and the Labrador triangle, then presumably assist some sort of invasion force to secure Vinland to its rightful owners when the time comes. Most of that is speculation on Dag's part, but it makes logical sense to him, and therefore needs little reassurance.
The last men find their chairs. The clock on the wall ticks to nine at night. Time to get to work. His gaze focuses on a center point between the tables and against the wall. He silently checks his throat for obstruction. He draws a long breath and begins to speak in a bellowing, low, commanding voice.
"The era of revolutionary change is upon us, my Nordic brothers! It is long overdue that we take action into our own hands and throw off the yoke of the puppet governments imposed upon us by the capitalist, imperialist west and be the designers of our own destiny!"
Already, his fist raps against the wooden stand. His words are punctuated by extravagant hand gestures that seem to truly add to the importance of what he is saying.
"We have been oppressed by the foreign liberal regimes for too long. When our fathers and our fathers' father fell to the fascists in the second world war, it was without any assistance from the capitalists who had promised us protection. Not only did they lie to us then, but they also lied to us when they promised liberation. Not a single allied boot set foot on occupied Scandinavian soil in the name of liberation until after the fascists had been smashed into submission.
"Had they reluctance to shed their blood so we may live in freedom? Did they look down upon us then as they do now? For it should come as no surprise, even in the country upon whose soil you sit now, we, the Nordics, are viewed as inferior, when by far it is most certainly, especially, the Canadians who do not even deserve the identity of a calling themselves an independent nation!
"Canada cares not for its past, or the fact that we are the ones who discovered it long before any Portuguese or Briton. We staked our claim to Vinland over one thousand years ago, and the world forgot our glorious expeditions because they looked at us as inferiors who could never have embarked upon such glorious exploration. Have they forgotten who our forebears are?
"Everyone of you in this room has the blood of Viking warriors coursing through your veins! Vikings controlled the seas, the rivers, and the trade in the known world for centuries upon centuries, unchallenged, from the Baltic Sea to the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. No one dared to stand before our mighty sword as we conquered at will and plundered whatever we saw fit. And what have we to show for it?
"We've become jokes in the eyes of the international community. Citizens of the very countries who imposed their socialist puppet governments upon us after 'liberating' us are the ones who use us as examples to prove socialism doesn't work! How much longer shall we allow ourselves to be subjected to this ridicule when we have the rightful ability to subjugate them to the will of our unified might?"
The men in the room utter their agreement as the words tug at their nationalist fervor.
"I see it as our personal duty to remove this land which our forebears worked so hard to find and claim from the frigid waters and murderous winds which ripped and tore a the sails of their long ships and the very flesh on their faces. Canada has no right to poison this land with its idiotically over complicated system of government, crack cocaine snorting mayors, over burdening taxes, and incapable healthcare system.
"The New World is new once again, my brothers! Look at how weak these former colonies have become. They are ripe for picking anew as their economies collapse, their citizens are subjugated by drugs and alcohol, and liberal values take away the rights of the majority for the demands of the minority! They are reverting to a bizarre derivative of primitive tribalism, and the Kalmar Union shall not allow its opportunity to recolonize her former land slip away from beneath her fingers.
"Here in this liberal federal constitutional monarchy of Canada, the old coexists with the new in a delightfully pitiful display of ignorance and hypocrisy. Canadians simply cannot be trusted to run their own government or have control over the former colonies that your forebears owned, right here in Newfoundland and Labrador. They act like the good North American democracy, the one where people are truly free, when in reality they are rampant in socialism and overseen by a monarchy!
"This trifecta of conflicting systems of government is matched only by the conflicting personalities of those who run it. You wouldn't think a ninety year old woman would be able to cooperate with a forty something year old man on anything of import, and that would be because she can't. The fossil who runs this puppet state grows nearer to death every day, while living in another country entirely. It should come as no surprise that the inmates are running the asylum when you take into account the fact that the queen is almost entirely disconnected with the affairs of running the commonwealth nation.
"The reason I tell you this is, it will one day be your responsibility to assist your mother countries, by then united into one single glorious entity, in reclaiming her rightful land that was conquered before Christopher Columbus's great grandparents were even born. It will be the political tension, the nationalist dissent running rampant in every province from Quebec to British Columbia, and the inconsequential national military which will allow us to carve off the Scandinavian claims to this massive but underpopulated nation. As Nordics, it is your birthright to see the liberation of this territory to our motherland!
"Although our ancestors cast off the land which was at the time difficult to reach with their primitive vessels, today we have the means to firmly establish control over what was once ours. I call upon you to explore the modern faculties which populate this island and see for yourselves the favor we will be doing by taking it back. The people here are miserable, though they would never admit it.
"They are forever attached to a sub par healthcare that the government forces on them to save their own money and subjugate private initiative which would easily make more money than the government itself. Many are brainwashed into loving this broken system, and even those who despise its ineffectiveness and inefficiency are more than willing to tout it as the only thing Canada supposedly has which makes it superior to its southern neighbor.
"Canadians are so determined to prove themselves to be the true humanitarian state that they will pass laws simply because America will not, and such is the case with the legalization of marijuana. Not only does this make it seem more hospitable to rebel liberals in the south, it allows the complacent and lazy government to further subjugate its people into a state of laziness and inability to think of any of the important issues plaguing Canada. This is not unlike the Soma of that prophetic Brave New World, my friends. The citizens of this country are becoming mindless sheep who will buy into anything their government demands of them, but when the time comes, they will be unable to fight back against our mighty forces!
"The future will hold great things for us, great things which have been recalled from our grand past and redesigned for our path of destiny. Our destiny is one of greatness, valor, pride, honor, conquest, and nationalism, while Canada's is one of complete social, economic, national collapse. We shall watch in silent awe as entire nations destroy themselves from the inside, and Canada shall be one of the first! So stand with me, brothers, and prepare yourselves for the day when we set the world on fire!"
A thunderous applause erupts from the crowd as Dag stands proudly above them. A standing ovation follows, and Robyn takes her place beside the speaker to clap for his powerful words and show support for the new recruit to help the old guard trust him. Once everyone's settled down and Dag's shook everyone's hands, Robyn guides him over to her office and motions him in before closing the door behind him.
She takes her seat behind an oakwood desk and motions for him to follow suit in front of her. She hands him a glass of water and a three hundred dollar check in a single inconspicuous motion. The descendant of vikings almost draws a sip of water over his parched and strained throat, but he realizes the check on the table and switches attention to it.
"What is this for? My speech?" He ask quizzically.
"Of course, what else?"
"No, thank you, but no, I don't need any more money, especially from this group. I should be donating my own money, not taking handouts."
Robyn looks him in the eye and smiles as she takes the check back into her drawer.
"You believe in what you preach. I like someone with conviction. Not everyone here has turned down the check. Some I can't blame, for they have no other employment, and the cost of living here is ridiculously high. But others should see the hypocrisy. I believe it will simply take time to shock people out of the brainwashed capitalist state of mind many do not realize they have been conditioned into.
"Anyway, drink up, rest. And sleep in tomorrow, my friend. We haven't much to do. But Thursday will be busy. This entire island must be surveyed for defensible locations, and we're starting then."
"A day off? I think I'll take the opportunity to further my own agenda then. I can't stand not having anything to do, and anyway I have plenty to prepare for Sunday."
"Didn't you say you have to face a Canadian native Sunday in that wrestling show?"
"Yes, yes, his name is Cormack MacNeill. Big, obese fuck. You'd hardly know he's even Canadian. I'm going to enjoy humiliating him in front of his home crowd more than any other accomplishment in my career so far. He's talked a big game, as have all my opponents. They insist on underestimating me, and it hasn't worked once."
"I think I made a very good choice to recruit you. You haven't let us down so far- beat the piss out of that fat Canuck for us, won't you?"
"It'll be my pleasure."
April 20, 2016
1:19 PM
Quebec City, Quebec, Canada
It's that atmosphere of a big city that one can feel when surrounded by skyscrapers, above ground subway stations, and highway flyovers that takes hold of the viewer watching the feed through this camera once again- or is it? Where are the skyscrapers, the flyovers, or subways? Dag turns and faces the camera, and his confusion is quite clear.
"Hello, and good afternoon, Cormack, my unworthy opponent! Perhaps this background setting the scene for today may look familiar to you, no? In the likely scenario that it doesn't because you've never actually been to any part of Canada outside of your own hobbit shack's back yard, I'll tell you where I am today."
He turns the camera to face out and turns himself around in a full circle. Modest houses line the streets of what is clearly a city, but not a very large one by North American standards.
"This is Quebec City, Quebec, home to the many who wish to separate entirely from Canada proper. I woke up early this morning, very early, to catch a ferry here from my resting place to do a little investigative reporting. I'm in a bit of a foul mood after the ferry went about as slow as the average Canuck's mental processing speed, but I'm sure that will blow over in time. After all, I'm in Canada, and Canadians aren't supposed to ever be upset or angry, no?
"Anyway, I've been thinking about your claim of being a Canadian national hero. If that's true, what better man to unite the rebel Frenchies with the Anglo Canadians than someone they can all look up to, someone who fights for all of Canada? That's why I've written up a short list of questions I'm going to poll these local citizens on to prove, or more likely disprove, your claims. Walk with me. No, no, calm down, I don't mean literally. I know that would be asking a hell from someone with a frame like yours, but luckily for you I'll be the one walking while you watch this on your PC and devour three bags of... well. this is where I'd usually say the name of some disgusting food from my opponent's home country, but since you're Canadian and have no culture of your own, you have no ethnic food either, so, I'll just say Doritos."
Dag walks down the sidewalk and comes to an intersection where a man who looks about forty or so is waiting for the crosswalk light to signal him onward.
"Excuse me, sir, do you have a minute? I would like to ask you a few questions about Canadian celebrities."
The man turns and gives a seriously threatening glare to his interviewer. "Do I look like I give a fook about celebrities? Why don't you go ask some thirteen year old cunt, eh?"
The light turns to clear, and the man hurriedly marches off. Dag turns the camera back toward himself and mumbles, "So much for Canadian hospitality- eh? Oh well, surely we'll have more luck with... that chick, over there?"
The camera finds a young, twentyish looking lady in chic fashion gear approaching from the perpendicular street to the man who's walking away. Dag takes a nonthreatening stance next to the pole and waits for her to cross the street.
"Excuse me, ma'am, would you mind if I asked you a couple questions about Canadian celebrities?"
The young woman's face brightens and her eyes open wide as she rattles off a series of responses. "Ask me anything! I know all about celebrities! I watch all the TV shows! Is it a quiz? Oh! Do I win something, pleasepleaseplease?"
"Well, I'm afraid not, but it is important nonetheless. It is for a bit of a research project I'm working on. So, first question, who would you say is Canada's national hero?"
"That's easy, it's Celine- wait, um, no, it's gotta be Justin Bieber, right? They're both great, but he's done way more with his career and gotten like, way more famous."
Cringes internally.
"Okay, um, who's your favorite male Canadian celebrity?"
"OH EM GEE, definitely Michael Cera! I mean, have you seen the guy? He's an absolute dream!"
Cringing intensifies.
"Yes, I believe I know him, the young actor from that superhero comedy. Alright, so, this question is a bit more specific, but do you who Cormack MacNeill is?"
Her eyebrows raise as her head tilts like a curious puppy. "Who?"
"Surely, you've heard of him. He calls himself a Canadian hero, and he's been around for a long time. He's a wrestler for WCF-"
The lady's head comes upright and her face contorts in amusement and disdain. "Ha! Like anyone cares about that fake stuff, eh! Is he like, a bad guy? Because I can tell you now, I've never heard of him, but if he's calling himself a Canadian hero, we'd boo him, because he's nowhere near as famous or important as Bieber, Dion, Jim Carry, or even Nickelback. What a joke! Next question?"
"Well uh, I'm afraid that's all I've got if you don't know who Cormack is, but I sincerely appreciate your cooperation. Hey, you see that gentleman across the street?"
Dag points over to where the man he interviewed earlier is about to walk into a convenience store. The impressionable woman follows his finger and confirms she can see him. Dag reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small bottle of pepper spray. When the woman turns around, he lets it fly into her eyes as she recoils in pain and crumples to the sidewalk.
Dag looks down and laughs. "Yeah, good luck getting that looked at in the local free clinic before your eyes melt out of your skull, you stupid socialist cunt."
The camera comes back to the street view and Dag says, "Well it looks like a change of location is in order. You can thank me later for cleaning up the streets of Canada, by the way, MacNeill."
He turns right, then right again at the and of the block. After a few more evasive maneuvers, he settles on a trio of hipster looking adolescents in their early twenties, complete with beanies, skateboards being held, and headphones not being listened to.
"Ah, here we are. Surely these people represent Canada at its finest! Let's see what they think of you, Cormack." He steps down the street and begins the conversation.
"Would you gentlemen mind if I asked you a question about a famous Canadian celebrity?"
The three horribly dressed young men turn to Dag and agree as one. "We don't have anywhere to be," one adds.
The other nudges him in the shoulder and adds, "Yeah we do, eh! We're waiting to be seen by the clinic, for your arm falling asleep earlier, remember?"
First the manchild looks lost, but his face is brightened in humor as he remembers the fifty minute wait for his ailment. "Ah yeah! Well, keep it under thirty minutes then, eh?"
"OF course," Dag replies. "These are simple questions. First, do any of you boys know Cormack MacNeill?"
The trio confers to one another in confusion. Eventually, one raises his head proudly before turning back towards Dagvald and proclaiming confidently, "He's a wrestler!"
The other two boys laugh, and one says, "Ha, one of those gay wrestlers!" The irony is apparently lost on his salmon colored jean jacket, slicked back blonde highlights and cut off shorts.
"Oh, yeah, that fake wrestling is so gay. I remember Cormack now, he looks like a fookin' bear, ell em ay oh! Oh, and he's Scottish Canadian, too! It's like he makes fun of himself for us!"
These twats are going to steal all my good material, Dag mutters to himself. "So, you don't think very highly of Cormack?"
"Hell naw, man! That guy's an idiot," replies one of the two who didn't know Cormack existed before their friend told them about him.
"What if I told you Cormack claims to be a Canadian hero?"
All three break out in hyena-like, ear splitting high pitched laughter. "More like Canadian zero!" The wrestling fan in denial throws up his thumb and finger in the shape of an "L" in a nod to the worst period of human history, the '80s. Dag may agree with what they're saying, but these are some of the most intolerable people he's ever met.
Continues one of the young men, "If Cormack showed his gay fake wrestling face around here, I bet we could kick his ass!"
It's when one of the boys imitates that 'ra-ta-ta!' fag to punctuate their point that Dag gives up on tolerating them just for the sake of his promo. "Alright, I have everything I need here, thank you very much for your time everyone. I won't be taking anymore of your time."
The three hipsters give their "goodbye, eh!" and turn back to the ever so fascinating light pole a few blocks from the clinic they're waiting on. They're standing so close, so awkwardly, pointlessly close to one another, and then there's the pole...
With a flash of maroon and gold, Dag lunges forcefully, rolls up his jacket sleeve in midair, and delivers a concussing lariat across two of the boys' heads which sends them crashing into the third, and finally into the light pole with a loud thud. Dag's arm also collides with the pole and he uses it to swing himself around before falling to the ground with the undesirables. He turns the camera back on himself and says, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to blur my face and voice by the time this is over. I'm also starting to think that Canada is full of some terrible, stupid, ignorant people, Cormack. I mean, I could have thought that already, but I'm not one to stereotype an entire group of people off of just one person such as you. Let's see if we can get the thoughts of just one more guy before the Mounties show up and carry me away on a donkey, shall we?"
He continues down the street and makes some more haphazard turns before coming to the storefront of a convenience store with a French language sign. "Just the demographic I've been looking to reach," he sighs, and waits a few minutes for his next interviewee.
A tall, bulky man with a very stereotypical French appearance innocently strolls out of the shop with a box of cigarettes and a bag of assorted little crap.
Dag approaches and asks, "Excuse me sir! May I have just a moment of your time for a couple quick questions? Oh, it's not religious, just a social poll!"
The man turns toward him and reveals a face dull with indifference. Being addressed in English would normally annoy him, but the accent in this man's voice clearly means he is not an Anglo Canadian. "What is it?"
"Oh, thank you sir, just a couple questions, I promise. It's for a media survey type thing. So first question: Have you ever watched Wrestling Championship Federation?"
"I actually have caught it a few times at the bar. I think those were pay per views, but I never got caught up in it. I haven't been to that bar in a while though. Too many fawkin' Anglos lately."
"Ah, interesting. So, do you know Cormack MacNeill, or did you ever see him on TV?"
The man's face turns sour with disgust, contorting until he works up a wad of spit and shoots it on the ground. "Bah! That lousy, no good, generic bastard! I always hated him! I hated being at the Quebecer bar, speaking French to my fellow Quebecers, and seeing a fat fucking Anglo idiot make a fool of himself on TV at the amusement of Americans, than claim to represent all of Canada! I can tell you, he doesn't even represent his city block! When's the last time you saw a gigantic mother fucker like him in Canada, eh? Who else has a bloody Scottish accent up here either, for fawk's sake!
"He's an embarrassment to this country, and if he ever grew a pair of balls big enough to lie on his fat rolls and float onto the mainland from Nova Scotia, I'd find the bastard and beat that stupid smile off his face, then strangle him with that fake ass moose scarf of his! He's not stupid, hiding out on that island! For all I care, he can stay there til he turns the whole damn thing against him and he has nowhere to run. He perpetuates this stereotype of Canadians and acts like it's a good thing!"
He wipes his forehead despite the frigid air and looks into Dag's eyes. "What the bloody hell did you bring him up for? You've gone and got me all pissed off. Excuse me while I light a smoke, eh?"
"Oh, no problem sir, and I didn't mean to get you so angry." Like fuck I didn't, Dag thinks to himself while suppressing a satisfied giggle. "If I could just ask one more question, that would be enough for me to finish your input on the survey, if you don't mind?"
The goatee bearing Quebecer waves his hand and nods in dismissive agreement.
"Great, thank you. If Cormack MacNeill were to win a championship belt specifically for competitors not from the United States, would he have the right to represent Canada on an international platform?"
The comically stereotypical French Canadian throws his arms up in annoyance and barks back, "Didn't I just answer that fawkin' question? Cormack doesn't deserve any title at all with boring ass offense, and that's coming from someone who doesn't give a shit about wrestling, eh! Whether I cared or not, wrestling was usually entertaining when drunk, but when that fat sloth man came on, I could drink the place dry and not have a single thing to get excited over! Anyway, he wouldn't be qualified to hold the intercontinental belt-"
"International," Dag butts in.
"Thanks mate, International championship, where he could act like he gives a damn what country he's from when he can't even make up his damn mind if he's from Canada or Scotland for Christ's sake! I'm about sick of talkin' aboot that abomination of a Canadian, are we done here?"
"Oh, yes, if that's all you're comfortable discussing then that's all I'm here to hear, sir. Thank you very much for your time, this will be put to good use, I assure you." Dag allows the man to walk away slowly and unsuspectingly, because this man does not deserve punishment for his actions. The recording device comes back to show Dag's face. "Now there's the first sane person I've met in Canada- and he wants his province to secede. How's that one hit home, MacNeill?
"So today we learned, people either haven't heard of you, are secretly gay for you, or hate you with a burning passion. Although, not a single one thinks you are a national hero. I also learned that most of the stereotypes of Canada itself are very true. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a ferry to catch before the clip clop of police hooves figure out who's gone out and cleaned the streets vigilante style."
The camera shuts off.
To be continued...
11:47
Dag Riddik's Estate
Roanoke, VA
It's only two minutes since Dagvald finished recording one of his most potent promos since he'd joined the company, and things are taking a drastically different turn. Robyn Brimmandesjal, a.k.a. Robyn Svenska, barges into his estate with hardly a look in his direction, but does manage to mouth a sort of explanation to him.
"We've been given an assignment in Canada. It's to establish our presence in L'Ans Aux Meadows and set up our own research team to analyze the Viking artifacts in the area. You're coming with me to talk to the agents we're going to base there. We start Tuesday."
The air lights up with excitement as Dag's face brightens, his confident mood compounded by the news. "Really? That's actually very convenient, considering I'm going to Canada this Sunday for WCF, then next Sunday to kick a native Canadian's ass."
"All that does is save you plane tickets," Robyn insists. "I hope you understand that you'd be going to Canada if you were in Nigeria the day before. Anyway, this won't be hard, especially for you. Help me buy what we need for the outpost, then deliver a ravishing speech to the garrison. Simple."
"Simple indeed. You know, I've always wanted a chance to test my ability to command a room full of people. I have a feeling I'm ridiculously talented at the art, something not many people are."
"We'll see. Here's a list of bullet points you need to include." Robyn takes a page out of her binder and hands it to Dag. "Write everything on here into a speech you make yourself."
Dag raises an eyebrow at the thought of having a high level of control over the address. His mind starts to flicker as he looks over the important things he must aim to accomplish with this propaganda speech. Belittle Canada, motivate the men, and convince them what we're doing is right, he summarizes. Well that won't be difficult, he thinks to himself. I'll just take everything Cormack has said about Canada and twist it to sound bad. Robyn catches his thinking face and remarks, "It won't be a problem for you to come up with something like this, will it?"
Dag shakes off the curious look. "Of course not! I'm excited, actually. Any speech that comes from the heart of the speaker is far better than one which is prewritten by a committee and handed to their mouthpiece. My enthusiasm for this cause cannot be overstated, I assure you. When I have the podium, my words will flow with the smoothness and strength of the Baltic Sea, I assure you."
Robyn casually acknowledges his words and gives her subtle "We'll see" once again. Dag steps in front of her as she starts to walk to the other end of the table. A hint of frustration is building within him. They lock eyes and he says, "Do you have reason to doubt me, Robyn? After all, it was you to personally sought me out for recruitment, no?"
The paradigm of Swedish women, with her blonde locks, large bosom, fit body and blue eyes, stares back unintimidated into the soulless gaze of the man who would undeniably give the orders for hundreds of men to die for their mutual cause. He would certainly create a masterpiece to deliver to the men at Vinland, and he'd gladly murder anyone who would oppose their grandiose plans. But would he risk his own life for this scheme? Does he buy the concept of giving everything for an end result he would not be able to see? That is what Robyn questions.
His devotion is unquestionable, but his need for validation is what drives him to act. His big mouth, always flapping, constantly spews offensive language and unapologetic bigotry in the name of nationalism and moralism. But is it just for the attention it is guaranteed to attract in this "politically correct" era? She knows he cannot stand the weak minded idiots who are supposedly so mortally wounded by mere words.
He hates those childish liberals, no doubt, and he stands for opposing the slip into PC culture and the oppression of freedom it represent- but are his solutions fed by his true support, or does he simply take the opposing view for the sake of opposition? These questions leave Robyn unable to fully trust the conviction of the gray bearded man before her. His ability to level opponents is undeniable, and his love of violence is certain, although she has yet to see how he would handle a situation he is afraid he cannot win.
In truth, he has faced a few scenarios he ought to have been worried about such, but it is his ability to simply ignore reality and manifest his own romanticized mirror which turns the situation into something he can handle. Not long ago, he faced Wade Moor the week after he lost the title, there was little reason for him to truly believe he could defeat such an upper echelon, motivated performer. Yet, it took little more than some internet trolling to convince himself of how stupid Wade is and how easy the victory would be against a pot smoking occultist.
Of course, when one looks through shaded glasses, they only alter the wearer's vision, not the actual color's of the world around them. Dag's reality is incompatible with the true reality and that will not change simply through the thoughts which exist only in his own mind.
When the real world conflicts with Dag's version of it, it's often the fault of those he uses as scapegoats, such as the liberals or minorities. What isn't there fault, after all? The warped and evil mind fit inside the thick skull constantly makes excuses for anytime something goes wrong, for nothing could be his fault. To fix the deviations from his own world view that reality suffers from is to recreate it almost from the ground up, by planting the seeds of a perfect society run by the superior race. But until the opportunity arises, just how determined he is to achieve this at his own expense will always be questioned.
To see the end result is to claim victory over those who've insisted he has the "wrong opinion" for so long. He may not know it, but deep down, he wants not to eradicate the entire population of "inferiors," for he'd much rather force them to live in his ultimate society which encompasses everything they hate and fear. How he longs to force the homosexuals to be transported from town to town in stock cars, traveling with the circus as attractions to be ridiculed and stoned by the general population. Oh, how satisfying to force those who identify as neither male or female to write, thousands upon thousands of times, that they are the gender they were born with. What a bold experiment in human psyche, he thinks to himself.
Sometimes he does sit at home, thinking of how simple, common, undeniable, scientific fact could be used as a torture device. It is this though process which is enough to convince Dag beyond a shadow of a doubt that the reality he imagines is the one which exists. How can facts be ignored? Personal, made up ideas cannot possibly trump cold hard truth! What world would he be living in if such nonsense was allowed to run wild and unopposed? It would be the dark ages again, he is sure, or perhaps even worse.
How ironic, he sees it as, that so many hundred years after religion was the iron fist worn by the kings of the world, their laws mandated by the word of their God without any evidence whatsoever outside of threats in a single book for anyone who wouldn't do as it bid, that things have come full circle. The iron ball and chain of religion, or more specifically to the Western world, Christianity and its branches, has been cast off, but now, a new world is taking shape, dominated by even more insane and ludicrous ideas than the last. He refuses to allow this to happen.
"I simply prefer not to have faith in anything. To put my unfaltering trust in you before I see what you can do would be placing faith. There will be no room for faith come the Great Revolution, my friend." Robyn replies.
Dag understands well enough. "I suppose that's fair enough.
Faith. What a heinous concept. Responsible for the dark ages so long ago, but now falling out of favor for more sinister variations. People no longer place their faith in the unconfirmable preachings a of a single divine entity. Now, anyone with the desire to be different can spew out nonsense about being Apollogendered or the like, and everyone around them must accept their word as if it were the gospel of old or face persecution just like the old times.
To be a part of this organization bent on changing the civilized world means a lot more to Dag than he's willing to admit. He may disapprove of the means through which he was recruited, but now that he really understands the ultimate goals of the group, he knows he has no choice but to be a part of the revolution of prove himself to be all talk and no action.
Maps, propaganda posters, registries, notes, and many other types of documents are now covering the coffee table entirely. Time to get to work.
April 19, 2016
8:57 PM
Kalmar United Front Vinland Safehouse
L'Anse Aux Meadows, Newfoundland, Canada
Three minutes to showtime. The two dozen Swedes, Norwegians, Danes and Finns amassed in the modestly sized meeting room are awaiting the speech's initial words. The speaker has given a lot of thought on how to start it off, studying the mannerisms of some of the most important figures in history. Once again, that man he doesn't agree with on most things but respects for others, Adolf Hitler, came into his mind. He could make them wait until they are dying for him to give them what they want, but that probably doesn't work until one has acquired a certain reputation for amazing speeches.
No, tonight he will be straightforward and strong in his opener. There's no reason to over complicate things when it's not necessary to do so. The more streamlined this speech is, the more efficiently he will be able to get his point across. He doesn't know for sure how intelligent his audience is, so he took pains not to write something verbose or ripe with uncommonly large words.
He scans the men assembled before him as the seconds count down. Strong, all of them, many with Nordic tattoos and long hair. They could easily be mistaken for a dangerous biker gang. As far as Dag knows, they may as well be. He hasn't been told their explicit purpose here, and as far as he can tell they are sleeper cells of sorts. They will train with the equipment in this inconspicuous building, live in nearby apartments and the like, collect information on the island and the Labrador triangle, then presumably assist some sort of invasion force to secure Vinland to its rightful owners when the time comes. Most of that is speculation on Dag's part, but it makes logical sense to him, and therefore needs little reassurance.
The last men find their chairs. The clock on the wall ticks to nine at night. Time to get to work. His gaze focuses on a center point between the tables and against the wall. He silently checks his throat for obstruction. He draws a long breath and begins to speak in a bellowing, low, commanding voice.
"The era of revolutionary change is upon us, my Nordic brothers! It is long overdue that we take action into our own hands and throw off the yoke of the puppet governments imposed upon us by the capitalist, imperialist west and be the designers of our own destiny!"
Already, his fist raps against the wooden stand. His words are punctuated by extravagant hand gestures that seem to truly add to the importance of what he is saying.
"We have been oppressed by the foreign liberal regimes for too long. When our fathers and our fathers' father fell to the fascists in the second world war, it was without any assistance from the capitalists who had promised us protection. Not only did they lie to us then, but they also lied to us when they promised liberation. Not a single allied boot set foot on occupied Scandinavian soil in the name of liberation until after the fascists had been smashed into submission.
"Had they reluctance to shed their blood so we may live in freedom? Did they look down upon us then as they do now? For it should come as no surprise, even in the country upon whose soil you sit now, we, the Nordics, are viewed as inferior, when by far it is most certainly, especially, the Canadians who do not even deserve the identity of a calling themselves an independent nation!
"Canada cares not for its past, or the fact that we are the ones who discovered it long before any Portuguese or Briton. We staked our claim to Vinland over one thousand years ago, and the world forgot our glorious expeditions because they looked at us as inferiors who could never have embarked upon such glorious exploration. Have they forgotten who our forebears are?
"Everyone of you in this room has the blood of Viking warriors coursing through your veins! Vikings controlled the seas, the rivers, and the trade in the known world for centuries upon centuries, unchallenged, from the Baltic Sea to the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. No one dared to stand before our mighty sword as we conquered at will and plundered whatever we saw fit. And what have we to show for it?
"We've become jokes in the eyes of the international community. Citizens of the very countries who imposed their socialist puppet governments upon us after 'liberating' us are the ones who use us as examples to prove socialism doesn't work! How much longer shall we allow ourselves to be subjected to this ridicule when we have the rightful ability to subjugate them to the will of our unified might?"
The men in the room utter their agreement as the words tug at their nationalist fervor.
"I see it as our personal duty to remove this land which our forebears worked so hard to find and claim from the frigid waters and murderous winds which ripped and tore a the sails of their long ships and the very flesh on their faces. Canada has no right to poison this land with its idiotically over complicated system of government, crack cocaine snorting mayors, over burdening taxes, and incapable healthcare system.
"The New World is new once again, my brothers! Look at how weak these former colonies have become. They are ripe for picking anew as their economies collapse, their citizens are subjugated by drugs and alcohol, and liberal values take away the rights of the majority for the demands of the minority! They are reverting to a bizarre derivative of primitive tribalism, and the Kalmar Union shall not allow its opportunity to recolonize her former land slip away from beneath her fingers.
"Here in this liberal federal constitutional monarchy of Canada, the old coexists with the new in a delightfully pitiful display of ignorance and hypocrisy. Canadians simply cannot be trusted to run their own government or have control over the former colonies that your forebears owned, right here in Newfoundland and Labrador. They act like the good North American democracy, the one where people are truly free, when in reality they are rampant in socialism and overseen by a monarchy!
"This trifecta of conflicting systems of government is matched only by the conflicting personalities of those who run it. You wouldn't think a ninety year old woman would be able to cooperate with a forty something year old man on anything of import, and that would be because she can't. The fossil who runs this puppet state grows nearer to death every day, while living in another country entirely. It should come as no surprise that the inmates are running the asylum when you take into account the fact that the queen is almost entirely disconnected with the affairs of running the commonwealth nation.
"The reason I tell you this is, it will one day be your responsibility to assist your mother countries, by then united into one single glorious entity, in reclaiming her rightful land that was conquered before Christopher Columbus's great grandparents were even born. It will be the political tension, the nationalist dissent running rampant in every province from Quebec to British Columbia, and the inconsequential national military which will allow us to carve off the Scandinavian claims to this massive but underpopulated nation. As Nordics, it is your birthright to see the liberation of this territory to our motherland!
"Although our ancestors cast off the land which was at the time difficult to reach with their primitive vessels, today we have the means to firmly establish control over what was once ours. I call upon you to explore the modern faculties which populate this island and see for yourselves the favor we will be doing by taking it back. The people here are miserable, though they would never admit it.
"They are forever attached to a sub par healthcare that the government forces on them to save their own money and subjugate private initiative which would easily make more money than the government itself. Many are brainwashed into loving this broken system, and even those who despise its ineffectiveness and inefficiency are more than willing to tout it as the only thing Canada supposedly has which makes it superior to its southern neighbor.
"Canadians are so determined to prove themselves to be the true humanitarian state that they will pass laws simply because America will not, and such is the case with the legalization of marijuana. Not only does this make it seem more hospitable to rebel liberals in the south, it allows the complacent and lazy government to further subjugate its people into a state of laziness and inability to think of any of the important issues plaguing Canada. This is not unlike the Soma of that prophetic Brave New World, my friends. The citizens of this country are becoming mindless sheep who will buy into anything their government demands of them, but when the time comes, they will be unable to fight back against our mighty forces!
"The future will hold great things for us, great things which have been recalled from our grand past and redesigned for our path of destiny. Our destiny is one of greatness, valor, pride, honor, conquest, and nationalism, while Canada's is one of complete social, economic, national collapse. We shall watch in silent awe as entire nations destroy themselves from the inside, and Canada shall be one of the first! So stand with me, brothers, and prepare yourselves for the day when we set the world on fire!"
A thunderous applause erupts from the crowd as Dag stands proudly above them. A standing ovation follows, and Robyn takes her place beside the speaker to clap for his powerful words and show support for the new recruit to help the old guard trust him. Once everyone's settled down and Dag's shook everyone's hands, Robyn guides him over to her office and motions him in before closing the door behind him.
She takes her seat behind an oakwood desk and motions for him to follow suit in front of her. She hands him a glass of water and a three hundred dollar check in a single inconspicuous motion. The descendant of vikings almost draws a sip of water over his parched and strained throat, but he realizes the check on the table and switches attention to it.
"What is this for? My speech?" He ask quizzically.
"Of course, what else?"
"No, thank you, but no, I don't need any more money, especially from this group. I should be donating my own money, not taking handouts."
Robyn looks him in the eye and smiles as she takes the check back into her drawer.
"You believe in what you preach. I like someone with conviction. Not everyone here has turned down the check. Some I can't blame, for they have no other employment, and the cost of living here is ridiculously high. But others should see the hypocrisy. I believe it will simply take time to shock people out of the brainwashed capitalist state of mind many do not realize they have been conditioned into.
"Anyway, drink up, rest. And sleep in tomorrow, my friend. We haven't much to do. But Thursday will be busy. This entire island must be surveyed for defensible locations, and we're starting then."
"A day off? I think I'll take the opportunity to further my own agenda then. I can't stand not having anything to do, and anyway I have plenty to prepare for Sunday."
"Didn't you say you have to face a Canadian native Sunday in that wrestling show?"
"Yes, yes, his name is Cormack MacNeill. Big, obese fuck. You'd hardly know he's even Canadian. I'm going to enjoy humiliating him in front of his home crowd more than any other accomplishment in my career so far. He's talked a big game, as have all my opponents. They insist on underestimating me, and it hasn't worked once."
"I think I made a very good choice to recruit you. You haven't let us down so far- beat the piss out of that fat Canuck for us, won't you?"
"It'll be my pleasure."
April 20, 2016
1:19 PM
Quebec City, Quebec, Canada
It's that atmosphere of a big city that one can feel when surrounded by skyscrapers, above ground subway stations, and highway flyovers that takes hold of the viewer watching the feed through this camera once again- or is it? Where are the skyscrapers, the flyovers, or subways? Dag turns and faces the camera, and his confusion is quite clear.
"Hello, and good afternoon, Cormack, my unworthy opponent! Perhaps this background setting the scene for today may look familiar to you, no? In the likely scenario that it doesn't because you've never actually been to any part of Canada outside of your own hobbit shack's back yard, I'll tell you where I am today."
He turns the camera to face out and turns himself around in a full circle. Modest houses line the streets of what is clearly a city, but not a very large one by North American standards.
"This is Quebec City, Quebec, home to the many who wish to separate entirely from Canada proper. I woke up early this morning, very early, to catch a ferry here from my resting place to do a little investigative reporting. I'm in a bit of a foul mood after the ferry went about as slow as the average Canuck's mental processing speed, but I'm sure that will blow over in time. After all, I'm in Canada, and Canadians aren't supposed to ever be upset or angry, no?
"Anyway, I've been thinking about your claim of being a Canadian national hero. If that's true, what better man to unite the rebel Frenchies with the Anglo Canadians than someone they can all look up to, someone who fights for all of Canada? That's why I've written up a short list of questions I'm going to poll these local citizens on to prove, or more likely disprove, your claims. Walk with me. No, no, calm down, I don't mean literally. I know that would be asking a hell from someone with a frame like yours, but luckily for you I'll be the one walking while you watch this on your PC and devour three bags of... well. this is where I'd usually say the name of some disgusting food from my opponent's home country, but since you're Canadian and have no culture of your own, you have no ethnic food either, so, I'll just say Doritos."
Dag walks down the sidewalk and comes to an intersection where a man who looks about forty or so is waiting for the crosswalk light to signal him onward.
"Excuse me, sir, do you have a minute? I would like to ask you a few questions about Canadian celebrities."
The man turns and gives a seriously threatening glare to his interviewer. "Do I look like I give a fook about celebrities? Why don't you go ask some thirteen year old cunt, eh?"
The light turns to clear, and the man hurriedly marches off. Dag turns the camera back toward himself and mumbles, "So much for Canadian hospitality- eh? Oh well, surely we'll have more luck with... that chick, over there?"
The camera finds a young, twentyish looking lady in chic fashion gear approaching from the perpendicular street to the man who's walking away. Dag takes a nonthreatening stance next to the pole and waits for her to cross the street.
"Excuse me, ma'am, would you mind if I asked you a couple questions about Canadian celebrities?"
The young woman's face brightens and her eyes open wide as she rattles off a series of responses. "Ask me anything! I know all about celebrities! I watch all the TV shows! Is it a quiz? Oh! Do I win something, pleasepleaseplease?"
"Well, I'm afraid not, but it is important nonetheless. It is for a bit of a research project I'm working on. So, first question, who would you say is Canada's national hero?"
"That's easy, it's Celine- wait, um, no, it's gotta be Justin Bieber, right? They're both great, but he's done way more with his career and gotten like, way more famous."
Cringes internally.
"Okay, um, who's your favorite male Canadian celebrity?"
"OH EM GEE, definitely Michael Cera! I mean, have you seen the guy? He's an absolute dream!"
Cringing intensifies.
"Yes, I believe I know him, the young actor from that superhero comedy. Alright, so, this question is a bit more specific, but do you who Cormack MacNeill is?"
Her eyebrows raise as her head tilts like a curious puppy. "Who?"
"Surely, you've heard of him. He calls himself a Canadian hero, and he's been around for a long time. He's a wrestler for WCF-"
The lady's head comes upright and her face contorts in amusement and disdain. "Ha! Like anyone cares about that fake stuff, eh! Is he like, a bad guy? Because I can tell you now, I've never heard of him, but if he's calling himself a Canadian hero, we'd boo him, because he's nowhere near as famous or important as Bieber, Dion, Jim Carry, or even Nickelback. What a joke! Next question?"
"Well uh, I'm afraid that's all I've got if you don't know who Cormack is, but I sincerely appreciate your cooperation. Hey, you see that gentleman across the street?"
Dag points over to where the man he interviewed earlier is about to walk into a convenience store. The impressionable woman follows his finger and confirms she can see him. Dag reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small bottle of pepper spray. When the woman turns around, he lets it fly into her eyes as she recoils in pain and crumples to the sidewalk.
Dag looks down and laughs. "Yeah, good luck getting that looked at in the local free clinic before your eyes melt out of your skull, you stupid socialist cunt."
The camera comes back to the street view and Dag says, "Well it looks like a change of location is in order. You can thank me later for cleaning up the streets of Canada, by the way, MacNeill."
He turns right, then right again at the and of the block. After a few more evasive maneuvers, he settles on a trio of hipster looking adolescents in their early twenties, complete with beanies, skateboards being held, and headphones not being listened to.
"Ah, here we are. Surely these people represent Canada at its finest! Let's see what they think of you, Cormack." He steps down the street and begins the conversation.
"Would you gentlemen mind if I asked you a question about a famous Canadian celebrity?"
The three horribly dressed young men turn to Dag and agree as one. "We don't have anywhere to be," one adds.
The other nudges him in the shoulder and adds, "Yeah we do, eh! We're waiting to be seen by the clinic, for your arm falling asleep earlier, remember?"
First the manchild looks lost, but his face is brightened in humor as he remembers the fifty minute wait for his ailment. "Ah yeah! Well, keep it under thirty minutes then, eh?"
"OF course," Dag replies. "These are simple questions. First, do any of you boys know Cormack MacNeill?"
The trio confers to one another in confusion. Eventually, one raises his head proudly before turning back towards Dagvald and proclaiming confidently, "He's a wrestler!"
The other two boys laugh, and one says, "Ha, one of those gay wrestlers!" The irony is apparently lost on his salmon colored jean jacket, slicked back blonde highlights and cut off shorts.
"Oh, yeah, that fake wrestling is so gay. I remember Cormack now, he looks like a fookin' bear, ell em ay oh! Oh, and he's Scottish Canadian, too! It's like he makes fun of himself for us!"
These twats are going to steal all my good material, Dag mutters to himself. "So, you don't think very highly of Cormack?"
"Hell naw, man! That guy's an idiot," replies one of the two who didn't know Cormack existed before their friend told them about him.
"What if I told you Cormack claims to be a Canadian hero?"
All three break out in hyena-like, ear splitting high pitched laughter. "More like Canadian zero!" The wrestling fan in denial throws up his thumb and finger in the shape of an "L" in a nod to the worst period of human history, the '80s. Dag may agree with what they're saying, but these are some of the most intolerable people he's ever met.
Continues one of the young men, "If Cormack showed his gay fake wrestling face around here, I bet we could kick his ass!"
It's when one of the boys imitates that 'ra-ta-ta!' fag to punctuate their point that Dag gives up on tolerating them just for the sake of his promo. "Alright, I have everything I need here, thank you very much for your time everyone. I won't be taking anymore of your time."
The three hipsters give their "goodbye, eh!" and turn back to the ever so fascinating light pole a few blocks from the clinic they're waiting on. They're standing so close, so awkwardly, pointlessly close to one another, and then there's the pole...
With a flash of maroon and gold, Dag lunges forcefully, rolls up his jacket sleeve in midair, and delivers a concussing lariat across two of the boys' heads which sends them crashing into the third, and finally into the light pole with a loud thud. Dag's arm also collides with the pole and he uses it to swing himself around before falling to the ground with the undesirables. He turns the camera back on himself and says, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to blur my face and voice by the time this is over. I'm also starting to think that Canada is full of some terrible, stupid, ignorant people, Cormack. I mean, I could have thought that already, but I'm not one to stereotype an entire group of people off of just one person such as you. Let's see if we can get the thoughts of just one more guy before the Mounties show up and carry me away on a donkey, shall we?"
He continues down the street and makes some more haphazard turns before coming to the storefront of a convenience store with a French language sign. "Just the demographic I've been looking to reach," he sighs, and waits a few minutes for his next interviewee.
A tall, bulky man with a very stereotypical French appearance innocently strolls out of the shop with a box of cigarettes and a bag of assorted little crap.
Dag approaches and asks, "Excuse me sir! May I have just a moment of your time for a couple quick questions? Oh, it's not religious, just a social poll!"
The man turns toward him and reveals a face dull with indifference. Being addressed in English would normally annoy him, but the accent in this man's voice clearly means he is not an Anglo Canadian. "What is it?"
"Oh, thank you sir, just a couple questions, I promise. It's for a media survey type thing. So first question: Have you ever watched Wrestling Championship Federation?"
"I actually have caught it a few times at the bar. I think those were pay per views, but I never got caught up in it. I haven't been to that bar in a while though. Too many fawkin' Anglos lately."
"Ah, interesting. So, do you know Cormack MacNeill, or did you ever see him on TV?"
The man's face turns sour with disgust, contorting until he works up a wad of spit and shoots it on the ground. "Bah! That lousy, no good, generic bastard! I always hated him! I hated being at the Quebecer bar, speaking French to my fellow Quebecers, and seeing a fat fucking Anglo idiot make a fool of himself on TV at the amusement of Americans, than claim to represent all of Canada! I can tell you, he doesn't even represent his city block! When's the last time you saw a gigantic mother fucker like him in Canada, eh? Who else has a bloody Scottish accent up here either, for fawk's sake!
"He's an embarrassment to this country, and if he ever grew a pair of balls big enough to lie on his fat rolls and float onto the mainland from Nova Scotia, I'd find the bastard and beat that stupid smile off his face, then strangle him with that fake ass moose scarf of his! He's not stupid, hiding out on that island! For all I care, he can stay there til he turns the whole damn thing against him and he has nowhere to run. He perpetuates this stereotype of Canadians and acts like it's a good thing!"
He wipes his forehead despite the frigid air and looks into Dag's eyes. "What the bloody hell did you bring him up for? You've gone and got me all pissed off. Excuse me while I light a smoke, eh?"
"Oh, no problem sir, and I didn't mean to get you so angry." Like fuck I didn't, Dag thinks to himself while suppressing a satisfied giggle. "If I could just ask one more question, that would be enough for me to finish your input on the survey, if you don't mind?"
The goatee bearing Quebecer waves his hand and nods in dismissive agreement.
"Great, thank you. If Cormack MacNeill were to win a championship belt specifically for competitors not from the United States, would he have the right to represent Canada on an international platform?"
The comically stereotypical French Canadian throws his arms up in annoyance and barks back, "Didn't I just answer that fawkin' question? Cormack doesn't deserve any title at all with boring ass offense, and that's coming from someone who doesn't give a shit about wrestling, eh! Whether I cared or not, wrestling was usually entertaining when drunk, but when that fat sloth man came on, I could drink the place dry and not have a single thing to get excited over! Anyway, he wouldn't be qualified to hold the intercontinental belt-"
"International," Dag butts in.
"Thanks mate, International championship, where he could act like he gives a damn what country he's from when he can't even make up his damn mind if he's from Canada or Scotland for Christ's sake! I'm about sick of talkin' aboot that abomination of a Canadian, are we done here?"
"Oh, yes, if that's all you're comfortable discussing then that's all I'm here to hear, sir. Thank you very much for your time, this will be put to good use, I assure you." Dag allows the man to walk away slowly and unsuspectingly, because this man does not deserve punishment for his actions. The recording device comes back to show Dag's face. "Now there's the first sane person I've met in Canada- and he wants his province to secede. How's that one hit home, MacNeill?
"So today we learned, people either haven't heard of you, are secretly gay for you, or hate you with a burning passion. Although, not a single one thinks you are a national hero. I also learned that most of the stereotypes of Canada itself are very true. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a ferry to catch before the clip clop of police hooves figure out who's gone out and cleaned the streets vigilante style."
The camera shuts off.
To be continued...
