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In 1998, American rapper Big L released a track called Ebonics. In three verses, he told us how to talk in his hood. His hood happened to be Harlem, but if you want to represent Canada, you’ve got to learn a few slang terms of your own. Below is the first verse from Big L’s Ebonics and my personal Canadian remake (until further notice, I will keep my day job).

Big L – Ebonics (first verse):

Check it, my weed smoke is my lye
A ki of coke is a pie
When I’m lifted, I’m high
With new clothes on, I’m fly
Cars is whips and sneakers is kicks
Money is chips, movies is flicks
Also, cribs is homes, jacks is pay phones
Cocaine is nose candy, cigarettes is bones
A radio is a box, a razor blade is a ox
Fat diamonds is rocks and jakes is cop
And if you got rubbed, you got stuck
You got shot, you got bucked
And if you got double-crossed, you got fucked
Your bankroll is your poke, a choke hold is a yoke
A kite is a note, a con is a okey doke
And if you got punched that mean you got snuffed
To clean is to buff, a bull scare is a strong bluff
I know you like the way I’m freakin’ it
I talk with slang and I’ma never stop speakin’ it

Canadian Remix:

Check it, a beaver is a pussy

A loonie is a dollar

a toonie is two

Puck bunny is a groupie

We say washroom, not loo

Deadmonton is Edmonton, that’s where you get chills

A car is wheels

A sofa is a chesterfield

We don’t eat burgers, we eat poutine

And we use runners, not sneakers to keep us lean

Get the coffee at Timmies

Double-double means two creams and two sugars

Old women with young boys are cougars,

Hongcouver is Vancouver

And if you eat a lot, you’re a hoover

Hydro is the power

Not what you use to take a shower

And we don’t drink soda, we drink pop

Call Toronto for T-Dot

And sweatshirts for bunnyhugs

You wanna change your grocer, if he calls you a hoser

Francos are peppers, and Anglos are square heads

And you can get your fittys at the deps

Homo milk means homogenized

A Bluenoser is from Nova Scotia, like the bank that monetized

I know you like the way I’m freakin’ it
I talk with slang and I’ma never stop speakin’ it

Hans Island is made up of two square kilometers of rock situated at 80° 49′ N and 66° 26′ W, smack-dab in the middle of Kennedy Channel, mid-way between Ellesmere Island and Greenland. It has a population of zero; not counting the occasional seagull that stops by.

Both Canada and Denmark have claimed the insignificant island, which has led to a decade long farce, involving both countries making symbolic gestures in the name of ownership.

In 1984, Kenn Harper, a noted Arctic historian, wrote an article about Canadian-based Dome Petroleum’s occupation of Hans Island for a local newspaper in Greenland. A Danish publication instantly picked up the story and soon after, Denmark’s Minister for Greenland flew to Hans Island where he raised a Danish flag and left a bottle of Denmark’s finest schnapps. Since then, both countries have taken turn in more or less idiotic chest thumping activities. As it should have, it has inspired a steady flow of satire, including a website that, amongst other things, points out the similarity between Nazi Germany invading Denmark during WWII and Canada’s current occupation of the island. On the site, it reads:

The Canadian government has not denied the allegations that they plan to use Hans Island as a storage site for nuclear waste.

While this is actually true, Hans Island Liberation Front, another website, has to lie to get their point across, claiming that two inhabitants (both named Hans), live on the island and fight passionately for its independence.

All jokes aside, the Hans Island controversy is a joke.

My fascination with Peter North started the day I figured out how to bypass the family filter. I was twelve years old and had just learned to ejaculate. As a child, I had no father, but when I saw my first Peter North cum shot, I knew I had found a replacement. He was everything I wanted to be. His cock was ten times bigger than mine. His load easily twenty times bigger.

As he jerked off, I cheered him on. “Go, go, go,” I would yell in excitement. I knew from experience how hard it could be to orgasm. I rooted for him like I imagined he would have rooted for me had he been around to see me play soccer. Peter North was everything a father should be. He was a role model. “Who’s your daddy?” he asked in one of his films. It felt like he spoke to me.

Perhaps it was the constant cum on screen, which reminded me that, had the (porn) stars aligned themselves differently, I could have been one of the sperm cells squirting out of his nine inch baby maker. I imagined myself flying out of the urinary tract, and landing in the throat of a cum hungry slave, i.e. what would become my mother (at the time, I thought you could get pregnant through the mouth). Reality was altogether different. Mom was shy, taught autistic children, and was allergic to milk. And once, just as I was about to show the world what Peter North had taught me, she entered my room with tea and biscuits.

Peter North has directed more than 70 movies and acted in more than 1500, most notably the brilliantly titled North Pole and Anal Addicts. Known for his strict semen-producing diet, he has been called The Milk Man, The One-Man Bukkake Machine, Sir Cumalot, and Old Faithful, which is really no wonder if you’ve seen one of his money shots in slow motion. They can really reach epic proportions and remind me a lot of the video artist Bill Viola’s slow motion works inspired by Renaissance paintings. Only better. The creativity in these sequences is amazing. In one film, Mr. North shoots into a chick’s nostril and the sperm comes dripping out the other. In another he cums on a windshield, and the girl in the driver seat turns on the wipers, smearing the jizz all over the glass. In my personal favorite, he blows his load into a desk fan which sprays it all over the girls in the room.

Born Alden Brown, Mr. North was discovered while modeling athletic wear in Los Angeles. I’m guessing his porn name is a reference to his upbringing in Halifax, the first clue that Peter North is full of love for his native country. The second clue is that he has his own professional hockey team, the Peter North Stars. While porn might not be the most Canadian of things, hockey is.

At first, the leap from porn to hockey might seem odd, but give it a little time to simmer, and you’ll discover it makes a lot of sense. Other celebrities branch out into food and fashion, but I’m not sure I’d eat at a Peter North restaurant (I’d always wonder where the dressing came from) or wear Peter North clothes (I’d be too aware of the irony). Hockey on the other hand is the perfect crossover solution. Just imagine the next series of videos he could produce: My Puck Bunny is a Fuck Bunny, Peter North’s Icing, or Back-end Cum Shot.

If you are interested in Peter North’s hockey team, you can follow them on Twitter (http://twitter.com/PeterNorthStars) or visit their website (http://www.peternorthstars.3rdprecinctfellowship.com/index.htm). Please notice their jerseys, a stroke of pure genius.