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Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Victoria.
Victoria who?
Victoria’s secret is…
Canada was never sovereign.
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Hey Rebel,
They gave you a day off to celebrate a dead monarch — while you try to outsmart grocery prices.
Royal rituals on a sinking ship:
*** Pretend the Queen mattered.
*** Pretend we’re a country.
*** Pretend this isn’t just a corporate franchise with flags.
The reality?
You’re standing in the middle of a national fairy tale — and something in you just stopped clapping (I hope).
There was no Confederation.
No sovereignty.
Just the British North America Act of 1867 — written in London, signed by no Canadians, sold as nationhood.
Canada wasn’t born.
It was filed.
If that glitches your brain, good.
You’re not broken — just overdue for the real origin story here: TheMythIsCanada.com (Side effects may include confusion — and resentment toward your grade 10 history teacher.)
But hey, don’t worry — we get fireworks.
And a GUBERMINT-approved park ceremony, complete with a crowd cheering for a country that never legally existed.
Not sure where I’m going with this tinfoil-wrapped transmission…
Might just be another one of my historically inconvenient rants.
Whatever the case...
Still wrapping my head around the patchwork of paperwork — still trying to understand how Queen Victoria became Canada’s fairy godmother — and why the public school indoctrination camps left that part out.
Maybe it’s the fire talking.
Hard not to get a little lit when the Charter burns better than the woodpile.
But if this sparks anything in you...
A doubt. A grin.
A glitch.
Fan it.
Unlearn the origin myth.
Then start exiting the Crown Corporation (we’ll get to the how — once you’re sure you want out).
Because the real fireworks?
They start when you stop playing along.
Happy National Myth Maintenance Day, Rebel.
Now let’s keep moving — the fire’s lit, and the lies burn easy.
Paul (Private) 🕇
Acting Minister of Disloyal Celebrations
TheExitLetter.com
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P.S.
Victoria’s real secret isn’t lace — it’s that your friend still thinks Canada was “born” in 1867. Forward this to them like a smuggled lingerie catalogue of inconvenient truths.
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Share this — wobble the algorithm, confuse a historian.
