Canada,

I hear you're trying to become an Olympic powerhouse. That's cool. I get that. You're tired of having your accomplishments dwarfed by mine. After all, I've been kicking ass and taking names at the Olympics for awhile now.

But in this big school we call the world, I'm the most athletic kid on campus and you're just that kid who smokes weed all day and has an unhealthy obsession with flapjacks and maple syrup. Come on, Canada, you hang out with that pussy, France, and that other kid, England, who tried to pick a fight with me and I just ended up whupping his ass.

How can you possibly think you'll hang in with me, America, and that dimwitted behemoth of a foreign exchange student, Russia? Not to mention China, who doesn't seem like much but is actually a pretty fast little fucker. Sports aren't really your thing, Canada.

You might want to be like me, but I've got my problems just like the next guy. Sure I might be fucking Israel, that hot foreign chick, but that's not everything. I'm addicted to athletic success. Yeah, that's right. I've got a bit of a problem. It's getting to the point where the Olympics barely registers on my radar anymore. It's just a sideshow freak in my three-ring circus of sports. A three-ring circus dominated by big, sweaty men in tight uniforms who may or may not use performance enhancing drugs. But athletic success is just a gateway drug.

Eventually, you'll get into the harder stuff. Before you know it you'll be killing indigenous people and taking their land, all the while mumbling about manifest destiny. You don't want to be that guy, do you Canada? Think about it.

Your friend,

America