Winston Churchill, the last truly great Anglo-Saxon warrior, is purported to have said: Acquiescence before a more formidable power is not acquiescence; it is acceptance of the inevitable.
Wise words best heeded by cocky upstart remnants of those born in the shade cast by the setting sun of a noble Empire, including a new ‘Prime’ Minister, last seen sullying the distinguished name and reputation of the glorious Bank of England by his heedless anti-Brexit posturing, and soon chased, I have it on good authority by many an esteemed colleague working the broadsheets, from the shores of That Green and Splendid Land.
Know your place, parvenus, in other words.
America, successor Empire of the Truly Enlightened, is undertaking a project of genuine renewal, Making Everything Great Again, and those standing opposed will not be able to hold back these ferocious historical currents, the brackish, churning waters of ablution. It is folly even to try. Especially, weak-willed and lily-livered northerly neighbours whose sovereignty always and forever depended upon the indulgence and distraction of its continent-sharing benefactor, one eye always on the bigger fish to fry. Savage Indianry. Ungrateful amanuenses. Swarthy interlopers from the south. Anarchists. Atheists. Socialists. Communists. Trade Unionists. Women, Oh! Those A-curséd Eves, refusing to accept the biological fact their place was in the home, and the home only.
And, of course, the Homosexuals and their Agenda of Wokeism.
But no longer.
O! Canada!
A nation turns its fiery eyes to you, to quote the hippie duo, Simone and Garfinkel.
You will be indulged no longer by the destiny manifesting itself below your border, the longest, undefended border in the world! you proclaim aloud as if that is something to be touted.
Fools!
Bloody, mindless fools that you are!
A colossus, as history has shown time and time again, will not, cannot be denied.
The time has come. Your time has come. Your goose is cooked as Dickens might say, should’ve said if he didn’t. Your Christmas goose, Timmy. Cooked. Feasted upon. Its bones boiled down for broth.
And Christmas time now over. Payment’s due.
But Be Not Afraid, former fellow citizens. Do not cavil with fate, Fate with a capital F.
While hundreds of millions, if not billions, of people yearn to be free, cross oceans, deserts, and mountain ranges to make it so, illegally swarming into America the Beautiful in order that they and their children can grasp hold of Lady Liberty’s Dream of cutting our lawns, delivering our food and caring for our elderly and indigent, you dare quiver in feeble anger at the thought of mere annexation? 
A friendly annexation, at that. A simple redrawing of borders. A straightforward redistribution of critical minerals and resources. Nothing more than a gentlemen’s agreement, a handshake at the club. Why, you’d even be relieved of the pressure and duty of having to pick and choose your own leaders, a task, quite frankly, you have not proven yourself up to in recent years.
You’d have it made in the shade, as the youngsters say, according to m’lady of the manor, a few years my junior, I must confess, and up on the hottest of trends and fads. Just yesterday, in fact, she was singing the praises of illegal arrests and deportations in the words of the best of rap (whatever that is) singers, GOAT, she said to me with that mischievous smile of hers, capitalizing the entire word, ALLCAPS, she informed me, which I usually find completely unacceptable in all its modernity. Greatest Of All Time, m’lady clarified.
“Nice Ice, baby, baby,” she chanted at me, and made what I understand to be some funky moves.
See all the fun you too could be having if you just set aside your petulant and outmoded sense of national pride, Canada? Resistance is futile, as Churchill bade his people as the storm clouds gathered. Or, maybe that’s what he said to the Boers. Funny how they’re making something of comeback these days. But that’s for another column.
“La résistance est futile.” de Gaulle
“Resistentia est frustra.” Thomas Aquinas.
“Η αντίσταση είναι μάταιη.” Pericles.
Enough with the fun and games, children. Play time’s over. As most patriotic Americans have already acknowledged and proudly exclaim to the heavens above: Daddy’s home!
Fetch his slippers and the newspaper.
The hour of the adults is imminent.
