What a shame, what an awful shame. That such a man as Little Hawk would so disgrace the great country of Canada that he snuggles up with a Budweiser, a Milky Way bar, a McDonald's hamburger; wears LL Bean boots instead of Sorels; hunts with a Ruger instead of a Ross rifle; and doesn't know the difference between Tim Horton's and an oosik bone. Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Next he will be spelling words like "favour" without the "u"! William Shatner, Anne Murray, and McKenzie King will turn on him (the last will haunt him); Sam Steele will shame him; and when he next tries to sing "O Canada" he will choke on his own tears, repentant for now being neither Canadian nor American, neither fish nor fowl. And then, knowing that only one thing can clear his good name, he will move and live amidst the slag heaps of Sudbury, breath the asbestos from the open-pit mines at Thetford and in a final burst of repentance he will eat an entire Canadian yellowcake (with chocolate frosting) because firearms regulations prevent the "empty revolver and one bullet" method. Or he will live out the rest of his life of shame in Schenectday, surrounded by German weiner dogs.