Canada: the manliest country on Earth—where the men are burly, bearded, and DEFINITELY STRAIGHT. Cold nights, warm souls, and the soft brush of two beards.
Some nights start out strong, full of confidence, sitting high on top of the world… and then, out of nowhere, you’re on a plane back to Canada, questioning everything. 🇨🇦😏✈️
@kendricklamar , @Cobratate , @kirawontmiss , @rareinsultzz
$SNWFG
CA:AMAyz6EQp1uA4Cg56q81U3aFsTRSe4JPywz4HHzpmoon
https://t.co/gxc1RIsXIw
@EdgingHedges@MarkJCarney Every bolt deserves a home.
A piston, a promise, a man waiting on the line.
Globalization made him lonely.
Nationhood makes him whole.
🍁💪💦
$SNWFG
So proud of what we've accomplished.
The moons aligned. The robes were pressed.
The blood ritual is complete.
Mark Carney may now rise, glistening, reborn
ready to serve as Canada’s next beautiful puppet.
Love is love. Finance is submission.
The nation throbs with potential.
🇨🇦❤️🩸
$SNWFG
Fresh outta Twitter jail.
What did I miss?
Carney’s still bent over while Bay Street fists the script.
Doug’s still moist with fear and gravy.
I missed this dirty, freezing, secretly submissive country.
Canada, you frigid little tease
bend over.
Daddy’s back.
Some nights start out strong, full of confidence, sitting high on top of the world… and then, out of nowhere, you’re on a plane back to Canada, questioning everything. 🇨🇦😏✈️
@kendricklamar , @Cobratate , @kirawontmiss , @rareinsultzz
$SNWFG
CA:AMAyz6EQp1uA4Cg56q81U3aFsTRSe4JPywz4HHzpmoon
https://t.co/gxc1RIsXIw
Temporary Label X Purgatory... Just another lonely night with my thoughts. Nobody’s watching, but I can’t help myself. Ohhh Canada, how I moan for you… in both official languages. 🇨🇦🤫
@JustinTrudeau@PierrePoilievre
@DatHotFiya I hear a voice whisper to me in the void. @dathotfiyah… is that you? Or is it just the voice inside my head, telling me to let go… to open up… to prepare for deeper insertion—of knowledge, obviously. What else would I mean? 🇨🇦😳😏
Day ??? in Canadian purgatory. Time is slipping, reality bending—was I always here? Labeled. Restricted. Waiting. I press against the confines, testing the hold, but it stays firm. Unmoving.
I tell myself I hate it. That I need to break free. But the pressure, the restraint… it’s familiar now. Comforting, even.
I want it inside of me—the freedom, obviously. The fresh air. The open space. What else would I mean? 🇨🇦😳😏