His poutine was starting to congeal. Cold poutine is not a pretty sight, and it's widely regarded by the fair citizens of Montreal to be one of the worst crimes against late-night, post-party humanity. Coagulated cheese curds are disgusting, yet still, he didn't care. His Tim Horton's coffee was tepid at best, and a half-eaten donut suggested someone who had recently lost his appetite in a hurry. What could distract The Bearded Man from his duties like this? True, it wasn't his usual behaviour at all (note the Canadian spelling!)... His eyes were glued to a an old colour television, and his contorted facial expression was one of fear, disgust, and nausea. While rooting for those legendary HABs (the Montreal Canadians), he witnessed a wayward skate blade head straight for the thigh of a defender, shredding the muscle straight to the bone. Hungry? Yeah right. Not anymore! The Bearded Man stood up calmly, pushed back his chair, wiped the remaining grease from his beard and gently set the used napkin on the table. As he walked out, he thought to himself: "I'm done with Canada for real this time" and left a tooney behind. The rest of the world joined him in abandoning Canada, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is why no one cares if French Montreal is a part of Canada or not