My name is Canada, I go to school. I'm not really cool.

Well guys, I wanna start a blog. But then Author dearest says: "What the hell, Canada? People don't know who you are." So I say: "Word you."

Ow. My bear bit off my hand yesterday. I asked him what he wanted for breakfast and he asked: "Who are you?" And I said: "Word you. You can make your own wording breakfast." And then he bit off my hand. It hurt.

Maybe I'm part lizard, and if I ask England nicely, and tell him his cooking doesn't taste like words, then maybe he'll let me grow my hand back.

I hope America doesn't see you in the house with me Author. He might throw you out and then no one could type my blog for me. If my girlfriend saw you, she'd think I was cheating on her. If France saw you, she'd think I was cheating on her.

Wow, it's so nice of you to write all this stuff about me author. I just hope it's all nice stuff. Not meany-weeny stuff. 'cause that'd just word for me. But you know what really words? The fact that my bear ate my hand for breakfast. I was going to offer to make him waffles or something, but no! He wanted Canada meat. He said it tasted like ham. Canada baked ham. I said word you, he almost ate my other hand off, but Author came in with the local bear catcher and took him away. I miss my bear, even though I am missing a hand because of him.

Ah, I just sneezed and all this snot came out of my nose, and it got all over my bathrobe. It's weird and disgusting. But seriously, I did sneeze. I'm not just saying so you can write it, I actually sneezed. Oh, so now you're making fun of me? I don't sneeze like a polar bear! Fine…

Can you read what you've already written now, Author?

Who are you again?

Word you.

Hey, author, you only said that monsters can see me. Is that why you can see me?

Oh word, I forgot what I was going to say. Never mind.

I remembered: See I have this girlfriend. She sold the promise ring I gave her on eBay, because she didn't know who I was. I mean, she kinda knows, but one time I brought her roses, and she was like: "OH MY GOD! IT'S FLOATING ROSES!" and I was like, "Darling, it's me." And Cuba was like: "Oh hi, Canada." Wait… "You can see me?" and then she looked horrified, "Who are you?"

Oh word, my parents are upstairs. Shhhh…now I have to talk in a whisper.

Author said we were having technical difficulties when I started talking in a whisper.

I haven't eaten breakfast yet. I was going to try to drink some fruit punch…you know what that would be like though? Drinking my own blood. My hand was gushing out blood when my bear bit it off. I hate my bear. I'm tempted to see what it's hand would taste like. But it's all hairy, and I couldn't eat my bear's paw. That'd just be sick. Anyway, so my hand was gushing out all this blood everywhere, and I think my hand is part skink tail, because it was still moving after it was in my bear's mouth.

Huh, maybe I should stop talking about my hand. Author seems to be turning a little green.

Hey, if you're gonna puke, go do it in America's hoddie. He'd like that.

Seriously Author? You're actually getting up. Oh no, please don't! England would never let me grow my hand back.

I'm gonna go get some food, with my good hand. I'll get some grapes. At least they aren't red. I wonder when they'll release my bear from solitude? You know, grapes are so good, because they make me high. When I still lived with France, that's all we had all day. Grapes. Or wine. But I guess it was mostly wine. Wine for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Word, those were the good days. I didn't care that no one besides France knew about me. I just lived happily in my little world of grapes. Then, my brother, came in with the grapes of wrath and took away my happiness. England told me I needed to move, or else I'd be pregnant soon. Word, it's not possible for me to be pregnant, is it? Anyway, I'm getting grapes. Thanks for writing all this author. It means a lot to me. Hopefully, I can get a prosthetic hand soon, and type myself! Wouldn't that just be wonderful?

Canada: Hold on, can I check my email really quick?

Author: NO.

Canada: Yes, I think I can.

Author: Fine, then I won't upload you blog.

Canada: I think you would. It's your wording work too.

Author: I hate you.

Canada: Now we feel the same way about each other.

Author: YOU HATE ME?

Canada: …

So here ends entry one of the Canadian and my randomness.

Don't ask where I got the idea, because I honestly can't tell you. And if anyone decides to be mean and say: "THERE ARE LIKE A TON OF THESE ALREADY!" you can just word off.

Which brings me to my explanation of the word, word.

See, I have this friend who always says: "OH MY WORD!" and so me and my other friends were being naughty children and giggling about it. My best friend chuckled and said, "What does she say…? Word you?" and then the birth of "word" was born. So now, whenever me or my BFF are using "naughty-child" language, we say word instead of…well, you get it. And when I was writing the "blog" I said in my Canada voice (yes, I read everything I write in here out loud in my best 'Canada' voice.) "WORD YOU!" to my sister, and hence the birth of Canada and the whole word thing. I know that was just completely random, and you could have lived so long without knowing that but I don't care. You are the one reading the author note…eh? Thanks, by the way, for reading the story and the Author note.

BTW: Canada and I take reviews :3 but since it is sort of a "blog" of randomness, if you would like to (in or out of character) comment, please do so, and we'll answer you J right Canada?

Darn him, he's sleeping. I guess the whole "my bear bit off my hand" thing stressed him out. No joke though, his beloved bear bit his hand off. Canada telleth no lies. I'll try to upload the next "post" soon…please review and "comment" J Canada would love you for doing so.

(and for future notice: I have this on going thing about anything I say, as the author, is in bold. It's easier to tell the difference without saying: AUTHOR: the whole wording time. :D)