When I arose this morning I was eager to perform my regular morning ritual of going to the front lawn to face the east and there bow in obeisance to my government that is in Ottawa. (Every patriotic Canadian, if they can still walk, should do the same.) The air outside was frigid and there was snow on the lawn. To my shame, I stayed indoors, as I have done every morning of this endless winter. I find bowing to the east when my nether regions are in close proximity to a hot air register, while not a display of hardy Canadian-ness, encourages me to cogitate for the benefit of my country. This morning I cogitated about the True North that is faraway north of me.
Almost immediately, my irreverent imagination conjured up the transnational corporation of Zeebub and Henna and its principals, B.L. ZeeBubb and G.E. Henna. They have a managing director, Lou Siffer, who is telling them how much buried wealth can be found when the Frozen North unfreezes. He also tells them six of the exploration company’s prospectors have drowned in the Arctic Ocean and three have been consumed by hungry polar bears. Zeebub says this loss is acceptable because prospectors and engineers can be replaced by ones from other countries, preferably one where wage scales are much lower.
Henna warns that the company must wear a Canadian face. He thinks they should have a million Canadian flags made in Bangladesh and should plant them all over the Frozen North (which is unfreezing). Zeebub concurs and then expresses concern about the all-weather port the government that is in Ottawa has promised to build. He thinks it will be too late, because he wants his gold, diamonds and other precious stuff by the middle of next year.
Siffer suggests the corporation buy some used submarines and turn them into cargo carriers. They could take the treasures out that way and also bring in food for the non-union Inuit people expected to become miners.
Henna doesn’t like the idea of bringing in food for the miners because it would add to overhead, but he accepts the idea. He would prefer, however, the miners subsist on blubber and caribou meat.
Zeebub tells him he should be thankful the miners can live in tents and igloos and it will be necessary to build only a few houses for management people from the South.
Siffer begins to gloat about the anticipated values of the treasures they expect to ship out on their submarines. He asks if the corporation has a treasure house bigger than Scrooge McDuck’s . They tell him it is much bigger, but won’t tell him where it is, except to say that it isn’t in Canada.
My imagination has laid a curse upon me, but it troubles me for only a little time. I have an assurance that my government that is in Ottawa will never permit such devious devils to proceed with such dastardly intentions, of course.
