Let’s talk about Team Canada and their pathetic little slogan, “Elbows Up.” Sounds like something a toddler would yell after spilling his juice box, doesn’t it? But no, this is the rallying cry of a squad propped up by a legion of woke Canadians—government-dependent drones who wouldn’t know real work if it punched them square in their hemp-scented faces.
These are the types who think nation-building is about hashtags, diversity quotas, and begging Ottawa for another check. Hard pass.
The “Elbows Up” mantra reeks of the kind of simplistic, idiotic drivel that only a brainwashed mob could love. It’s the sort of thing you’d expect from people who’ve never swung a hammer, hauled a load, or broken a sweat outside a taxpayer-funded yoga class. These are the folks who clutch their pearls at the thought of “real work”—you know, the kind that built the railroads, the mines, the forests into something resembling a country. Nah, they’re too busy sipping oat milk lattes and nodding along to whatever half-baked idea some government shill or X influencer spits out. Independent thought? Rationality? Their brains haven’t evolved past the “like and subscribe” phase.
Picture this: a gaggle of soft-handed bureaucrats and welfare queens, chanting “Elbows Up” like it’s some profound call to arms. What are they even fighting for? More DEI workshops? Another round of CERB payments? These clowns wouldn’t last five minutes in a lumber camp or a factory floor, yet they’ve got the gall to act like they’re the backbone of Canada. Newsflash: the backbone’s been snapped by decades of coddling and groupthink. They’re not builders—they’re leeches, suckling at the teat of a bloated system while parroting slogans that mean absolutely nothing.
And who’s feeding them this garbage? The same elitist talking heads who think “nation-building” is a TED Talk, not a grind. Team Canada’s “Elbows Up” crew is just the latest symptom of a disease—woke ideology that’s rotted out any semblance of grit or reason. They’re like cultists, blindly following the loudest idiot in the room, incapable of questioning the script. “Elbows Up!” they shriek, as if flailing their arms will magically fix the housing crisis or bring back manufacturing. Spoiler: it won’t. But don’t tell them that—their fragile little minds might short-circuit from the shock of reality.
This isn’t a team. It’s a parody. A bunch of overpaid athletes propped up by a fanbase of over-subsidized drones, all pretending they’re part of something noble. Meanwhile, the real Canada—the one forged by calloused hands and stubborn will—gets buried under their sanctimonious noise. “Elbows Up”? How about “Brains On” for once? Oh, right—that’d require evolution, and this crowd’s still stuck in the primordial ooze of handouts and hashtags. Pathetic.
