The video is a short comedic skit in which Speaker A prompts a political response to Donald Trump spoken in a thick Newfoundland dialect. Speaker B launches a rapid, profanity‑laden tirade that mocks Trump’s personality, his alleged desire to annex Canada, and his policies, using vivid regional slang, nautical metaphors, and cultural references such as cod, trawl lines, and pickled squid. The rant repeatedly dismisses Trump as an incompetent, over‑confident outsider, asserting Newfoundland’s distinct identity and refusing any annexation. The tone is satirical, defiant, and heavily laced with local color, aiming to entertain while delivering a pointed political critique.
Now a political response to Donald Trump as if spoken by a Newfoundlander.
Lard-tender Jesus, by ye stunt crooked-mouthed townie gobshite. Annex Canada, ye soft in the head or just dropped too many times on the dick of a crabber? Ye swaggin' round like ye owns the place, talkin' trade wars like yer settin' up a fish plant. Ye wouldn't know the arse end of a cod if it slapped ye in the face. Ye ever seen a snowstorm ye didn't cry about, ye shagged-out mainland tick? Ye try annexing Newfoundland, we'll haul ye out on the wharf, tie ye to a trawl line, let the ocean decide if ye're fit to stay. Spoiler alert, Donny boy, you're not. Ye're a somestunned, ye wobbly-kneed turnip. Ye're not a hard man, ye're Stormship with a comb-over. You're the kind of eejit who'd drown in a puddle and blame the tide. You talk more shite than a seagull at the dump. Ah, you're a filthy bugger too, ain't ya? Kiss the cod so hard it filed a restraining order. Try taking the rock, we'll shove a pickled squid up your hoop and call it foreign policy, ya muppet face walrus. Take a listen, Captain Limp Dick. Stuff your annexation talk up your payment hole. Take your fake old toilets with you. Keep your greasy mitts off our provinces. We don't want your guns, your trucks, your lukewarm burgers. We got our own problems, bye. We don't need an overcooked Yankee toupee on top of it. And if you do show up down here flapping your gums, don't worry, we'll make sure you get screeched in, alright? One shot of what real alcohol tastes like, you'll be back on the next ferry. Crying for your mommy now? Bugger off, you half-sauce bag of boiled shite.
The 51st state. Oh, mind out you don't swell up and bust.
