A Texas roughneck was passing through Banff (in Banff Nat'l Park, Alberta), and he ended up in the bar of the King Edward Hotel trading stories with some hitchhikers from Trois Riviers. Naturally, our Texan hero began regaling them with tales of the wide open spaces, down-home cooking, oil wealth, and general superiority of Texas and all people in it.
The hitchhikers weren't so dumb, though. They'd been all over Canada, and they knew that Texas amounted to little more than a bunch of yahoos in a dust bowl even if you only compared it with Quebec, so they started telling this guy stories about really enormous open spaces full of nothing but caribou, down-home Quebecois french cooking, the Alberta trust fund vault where they stack up oil royalties in 100 million dollar bags, and some outright lies as well.
Pretty soon our Texan is dying to know how he can become a bona-fide Canadian, so the hitchhikers explain the initiation rites to him.
"Well, first you hafta drink two cases of Molson's Canadian in an hour."
"No problem!", he says (since he was raised on Miller and doesn't realize that Canadian beer has alcohol in it). "What next?"
"Then you hafta track and kill a cougar with your bare hands."
"That's easy! What next?"
"Finally, you have to deflower a Canadian virgin. We just happen to know of one who, uh, works in the hotel."
One hour and 24 Canadian's later, our Texan can barely pronounce his name, but he goes roaring out of the bar and off into the forest. Two hours later he still hasn't returned, and the hitchhikers are getting worried, but suddenly the saloon doors fly open and the very torn and bloody Texan stumbles in and roars:
"Now where's that virgin I gotta kill?"
Author unknown.
