Well, someone's coming to Ottawa today, and if you're a Canadian cattle farmer, you might even say Santa Claus, though old Saint Nick never swaggered like George Bush, and George never shot down a chimney in his life. That sort of thing he leaves to tacticians and smart bombs. But for two days the President the world still can't quite believe is back at the helm is in Canada to roll up his sleeves, get down to business, and give Canada an offer it can't refuse.

It'll be diplomacy, Texas style, with just enough sugar to keep Prime Minister Paul Martin from choking in public.

What may surprise some, and give FOX's Bill O'Reilly something extra to chew on and spit out like the frenetic cobra we all know and love (assuming he ever actually tunes into world news, mind you), is the sight of the various demonstrations planned for today on Parliament Hill, including a reenactment of the toppling of Saddam Hussein's statue in Baghdad, except with an effigy of a certain distained American President in its place. This follows Saturday's ever so clever spelling of "No BMD" (for "Ballistic Missile Defense," or perhaps "Big Monetary Disaster," no one's quite sure) on the Hill's front lawn by a cadre of earnest protesters dressed in white overalls, looking for all the world like a well-organized army of sperm as they laid down in formation and told the world what many Canadians think; all of which I suspect will move George and his administration about as much as a month-long opium binge will move the bowels.

A political dose of fibre, it's not.

Now, I've tried this protest thing once myself, walking the streets with fifty thousand or so of my fellow townsfolk, chanting, singing, shouting, and generally making polite asses of ourselves in the only way available to your average law-abiding citizen of the world to try to convince America not to invade Iraq. I got very cold, drank a lot of coffee, and spent half my time sourcing restrooms; though we might have actually contributed to making Jean Chrétien tell George where to put his rocket launcher.

And we all know how successful that was. Just ask Tommy Franks.

If this latest round of protesting does anything at all, it will most likely be to reinforce in the minds of the many Americans (assuming they ever actually tune into world news, mind you) who view Canada as an ungrateful, military-freeloading nuisance that leans too far left, smokes too much dope, and has too much sex of the biblically forbidden variety, that we're just one more group of fools to be ignored, and possibly annexed if we become annoying enough. Which would be too bad, because while we are a military-freeloading nuisance that leans too far left, smokes too much dope, and has too much sex of the biblically forbidden variety, we are far from ungrateful or uncaring about America, its people, or its plight.

Would we be going to this much trouble if we were?

Oh sure, we can be a little pointed at times, perhaps downright rude on occasion, and Bush-bashing has almost become a national pastime, particularly with the lack of hockey right now and nothing better to do but shovel the driveway and play pinochle. But who opened their homes by the thousands to stranded travelers during 9/11? And who were among the first to help out in Afghanistan, ramp up border security and commit 9 billion dollars to the war on terror (which is a lot more than pocket change in the land of igloos and moose calls)?

Those left-leaning, pot-smoking, homo-loving freeloaders, that's who.

So when you tune into the evening news and see some protests that strike you as downright silly (did you know they're surfing for peace in Halifax, complete with wetsuits and bagpipers?) and possibly violent (though with all that dope it'll probably look more like a three-toed sloth fight than anything else), try to think of it as a last ditch effort to tell a neighbour who really doesn't want to listen that his house is on fire.

We're acting a little crazy because we care, America. We're worried, we're concerned, and when push comes to shove, protesting is about the only avenue left, short of naked polar bear wrestling, to get your attention.

And it beats the hell out of pinochle.