Technically, I started a war over lumber tariffs and Doritos.
Even more technically—I won.
Which was a problem, because now I was in charge of Canada.
---
It escalated fast. One day I'm firing off a sarcastic email to the Canadian ambassador with the subject line "WAR????" and the next, NORAD's calling me "Sir" while showing me satellite images of tanks near the Vermont border.
"Mr. President, their armored division is mobilizing," the general said.
"For what? Hockey?"
Janet stormed into the Oval Office like a tornado in heels. "You poked the moose, Blake."
"I thought they'd laugh!"
"They didn't."
Then Josh burst in, grinning like a lunatic and waving his tablet. "Uh… our troops just secured Toronto."
I blinked. "What?"
"They, uh… won. Big time."
"How?!"
"Turns out they were all hopped up on those military-grade energy gels you approved last week."
Janet turned slowly. "You greenlit a shipment of caffeine concentrate originally banned by NASA."
"I thought it was toothpaste!"
---
Within 72 hours, it was over.
No nukes. Minimal casualties. A brief and deeply weird exchange of Molson and Bud Light.
The Canadian government surrendered after someone livestreamed me playing Call of Duty while signing the ceasefire agreement.
"Irony is dead," Janet whispered during the press conference.
Josh wore a Mountie hat the entire time.
---
The headlines were absurd:
"President Blake Brings Canada to Its Knees—Politely."
"Toronto Taken with Tactical Tim Hortons Maneuver."
"U.S. Snack Czar Expands Northward."
Somehow, I'd become the de facto ruler of two countries.
Which would've been fine, if not for what we found buried in Canada's federal archives.
---
Janet called me into the Situation Room at 2 a.m.
"I found something," she said grimly, pointing to a decrypted folder labeled WINTERGLASS CONTINGENCY.
I squinted. "Sounds like a Netflix thriller."
"It's worse. It's a real protocol. If Canadian sovereignty was ever compromised, certain commanders were authorized to execute scorched-earth failsafes—rigging infrastructure, power grids, and comms lines for mass detonation."
I stared. "You mean they were gonna blow everything up?"
"Not just that. They were planning to take us with them."
Josh muttered, "So… Canada almost nuked the U.S. over Doritos."
A beat of silence.
"They stood down," Janet added. "They aborted the sequence after your ceasefire went viral."
I sat back, stunned.
I had accidentally won a war I never meant to start, and almost triggered a Cold War doomsday clause I didn't know existed.
The worst part?
Everyone still thought I was a genius.
---
The next day, I found myself staring at a new draft bill laid across the Resolute Desk:
> "An Act to Formally Unite the United States and Canada Under a Shared Federal System."
Josh leaned over my shoulder. "You're actually thinking about it?"
"No. Yes. Maybe."
He grinned. "You know they're calling you the 'Maple Messiah' now, right?"
"Please stop."
Janet entered with a clipboard, reading off calls from NATO, the UN, and the President of France. "Also, Quebec wants to secede again."
"Of course they do."
---
Two weeks later, I stood on Parliament Hill, announcing the "Treaty of Maple Unity" while a marching band played the Star-Spangled Banner on bagpipes.
The treaty—drafted over a feverish weekend fueled by legal advisors, cold pizza, and Josh Googling "how to merge countries"—proposed dual citizenship, joint economic policy, universal healthcare expansion, and a shared Netflix account.
Janet nearly exploded. "You can't just merge two sovereign nations like they're flavors of Pop-Tarts!"
"Why not?" I shrugged. "Pop-Tarts work."
---
International response was… mixed.
The UK sent a polite email. Russia blinked. China froze trade negotiations. Finland mailed us a congratulatory moose.
Meanwhile, Canadian provinces were split.
British Columbia was excited about medical coverage expansion. Ontario was "cautiously optimistic." Quebec responded by printing their own currency with just the word "Nope" on it.
The U.S. was thrilled. A flash poll showed 68% support, especially among young voters, meme lords, and people who thought Drake might now be eligible to run for President.
The bill passed the Senate by one vote—thanks to my promise to rename national Taco Tuesday to "Timbit Thursday" every third month.
---
That night, I stood on the White House roof with a can of maple cola in hand.
Janet joined me.
"You redrew the map, Blake."
I sighed. "I was just trying to get fired."
She smirked. "Congratulations, Mr. President. You've become the most accidentally effective leader in modern history."
Josh popped up from behind a chimney. "Also, you get free hockey tickets for life!"
"Go away, Josh."
---
Tomorrow, I'd have to speak at a global summit. I'd meet world leaders who didn't know whether to salute or slap me. I'd try to explain the inexplicable.
But tonight?
Tonight I raised my drink to the stars, shook my head, and muttered:
"This was so not the plan."