O, Quebec - You Throbbing Ingrown Toenail

On CBC.com today: "Quebec poet and singer-songwriter Raymond Lévesque, who was set to receive one of the country's highest artistic honours next week, announced Tuesday that he will not accept the accolade because of his separatist beliefs."

I will say it, here and now: Fuck Quebec Separatism.

Nothing illustrated the incorrigible, unapproachable, unfathomable nature of the Quebec mindset, for me, than hearing about the FLQ members -- famous for blowing up a mailbox and killing a diplomat in 1970 -- who managed to escape to Cuba after their brief terrorist campaign. It seemed they had escaped Canadian justice (such as it is). What they could not outrun, however, was their own Quebec-ness -- they soon found themselves unable to live among the Cubans. They then jetted off for France, the supposed Mother Country. And what happened? These Quebecois could not live among the French. So, they returned to Canada, endured their feather-duster-spankings administered by Canadian Judas-Prudence, and now reside among their own.

Ten years ago, when talk of "Quebec Separation" had reached yet another spike of intensity, I read an article in the Globe & Mail explaining that Quebec did not seek actual separation, it sought/seeks "Quebec Separation" -- meaning, it would require all sorts of Canadian aid, help, chairty, benefits, subsidy and other handouts in order to exist and survive: like an adult asking his parents to pay his rent, for his groceries, cable bill, entertainment expenses, car, cigarettes, pornography, high-speed Internet, video rentals, clothing, shoes, haircuts, shoelaces, all the while paying this brain-damaged adult-child a weekly stipend -- and then declaring himself independent. This is what "Quebec Separation" entails.

That Globe & Mail article cited examples from around the world in which small sections of various countries had separated only to languish like a lizards on stones because the trading partners of the countries they had abandoned did not want to cause offense by trading with these rogue pieces of geography.

It's time to talk real, workable, permanent solutions to the "Quebec Problem." Every household surrounding the Quebec border should be issued a Government of Canada chainsaw and physically cut Quebec loose. Let Quebec attempt trade with America. We'll see how fast American business adopts French as its official language. Before night falls on the day Canada cuts Quebec loose in this manner, Quebec would be invaded and conquered by either the Azores, Lichtenstein, Estonia, Fiji, or Newfoundland.

My surname is "St. Amand" -- Ottawa French, not Quebec, as my francophone grandmother always pointed out. Yes, there's a difference. I do not speak French, though I wish I did so that I could read Voltaire and Camus in their native language. I'm not anti-Quebec per se, I am merely against stupidity, against bitchy incorrigible complaining, against sneering petulant disloyalty.

Quebec is the college roommate who eats all of your food, never flushes after using the toilet, blows snot on the kitchen floor, cuts its toenails over your pillow, takes your CDs without asking and scratches them beyond use, borrows your car and leaves it with no gas, a dented fender, cigarette burns in the seats, and the keys locked inside.

I have visited Quebec twice in my lifetime and enjoyed myself immensely. It's a crime that that beautiful province is in the hands of Quebeckers. I am not against Quebec, I am against the Quebec mentality, very similar to the autoworker mentality that is all too prevalent in Windsor, Ontario -- the incessant gnashing of teeth, palms extended for handouts, the perpetual whining insistence that one is entitled to ever more, more, more, while forever feeling ripped off and pleading one's pitiful case to whoever will listen, or is simply within earshot. This mentality, this mode of existence is abhorrent to me.

So, "Quebec poet and singer-songwriter Raymond Lévesque" don't receive your Governor General's Award. I don't care.

French is the fastest dying language on earth. It won't be a great day when French finally meets its demise, though it will be glorious hearing the cavernous mute silence emanating from Quebec. Something to look forward to.