Donald Trump had been assured the trip to “Lake America” would be magnificent.
“The biggest lake,” he announced, lowering himself into a bright red inflatable ring. “Possibly the greatest lake in history. People are saying Canada should have given it to us years ago.”
A Canadian Mountie stood on the shore, hands politely folded.
Trump began paddling with his feet.
“Beautiful country you’ve got here,” he shouted. “Once we rename it.”
The Mountie nodded.
“Very kind of you, sir.”
Trump drifted further downstream.
“I’m thinking Canada becomes North America Two. Or maybe Trumpada. We’ll work something out.”
“Excellent, sir.”
The water started moving faster.
Trump frowned.
“Strong current.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Is Lake America much farther?”
The Mountie glanced downstream at several billion litres of water disappearing over Niagara Falls.
“No, sir. Straight ahead.”
Trump smiled.
“Knew it.”
The roar grew louder.
Trump began spinning slowly in the inflatable ring.
“You know, Canada really should improve these roads.”
“That’s a river, sir.”
“Fake news.”
The Mountie nodded.
“Of course.”
Trump was now about fifty metres from the edge.
He pointed triumphantly downstream.
“I can see it! Lake America!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there parking?”
“Plenty at the bottom.”
Trump gave him a thumbs-up.
“Fantastic. Tell Carney I’ll negotiate when I get back.”
The Mountie removed his hat.
“I’ll certainly pass that along, sir.”
Ten seconds later:
“WAIT, WHY IS THE LAKE GOING DOWN?”
The Mountie smiled.
“Gravity, sir.”
“CAN WE PUT A TARIFF ON GRAVITY?”
And somewhere downstream, Canada quietly enjoyed the most productive trade negotiation in its history.
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