The Overlord of Alberta
(a Mark Twain–meets–Monty Python chronicle of accidental conquest, diplomatic confusion, and maple-based governance)
Written by
jaron summers (c) 2024
Prologue: How It Happened
History will tell you Alberta joined the United States through a complex series of trade agreements, mutual defense pacts, and a spectacularly misread fax machine in Washington, D.C.I will tell you it happened on a Tuesday — a dangerous day for political decisions, as Tuesday is when bureaucrats are most likely to have finished Monday’s coffee but not yet faced Wednesday’s reality.
Chapter 1: The Letter arrived in an envelope that had clearly been ironed. Inside was a single sheet of paper:
“By authority of the United States Department of Transitional Annexations, you are hereby appointed Overlord of Alberta Sector 14-B.
Duties include:
• Maintaining civic order
• Collecting tribute
• Feeding the ceremonial moose.”
Naturally, I assumed it was a prank from my old writing partner. Kate suggested we frame it for the den. We were still arguing over whether the frame should be walnut or mahogany when the doorbell rang.
There stood Sgt. Chuck Waffles — uniform crisp, salute shaky, and holding a brass moose statue like it was a live grenade. “Sir,” he said gravely, “your reign begins immediately.”
Chapter 2: Establishing the Realm
Kate, ever the practical one, declared that taxes would be paid in maple syrup, hockey tickets, or baked goods of superior quality. Sgt. Waffles insisted on something more official, so we compromised: all tribute was to be logged in the Ledger of Loyalty — a large notebook formerly used to track my golf scores.
Every Thursday became “Moose Appreciation Day.” Citizens were to compliment the moose statue at least once before sundown. Those who failed would be fined a slice of pie, payable to the Overlord (me) for “ceremonial consumption.”
Mrs. Bergen from next door quickly appointed herself Chief of Staff. She wore an apron with the words Minister of Pies and began drafting bylaws that favored anyone who brought her banana bread.
Chapter 3: The HOA Resistance
Three houses down, trouble brewed. A shadowy group calling themselves The HOA Resistance started producing counterfeit “Moose Appreciation Certificates.” Their leader, a man known only as Gary, claimed that “moose worship” violated the Canadian Charter of Rights — which, I reminded him, no longer applied here.
“Then I appeal to the Constitution!” Gary shouted.
“Which one?” I asked.
Gary paused, then muttered, “Whichever one lets me keep my hot tub without inspection.”
Chapter 4: Foreign Affairs
A U.S. senator came to visit, expecting to see a thriving Americanized province. Instead, he found my “territorial guard” consisted of three retired teachers and a corgi named Duke.
Duke was Head of Security. His chief tactic was barking at squirrels and napping on the ceremonial moose’s pedestal.
Meanwhile, a Canadian TV crew arrived to film From Maple to Stars and Stripes: Life Under the Overlord. Their narrator, speaking in a tone usually reserved for penguin documentaries, described me as “a curious specimen of dual allegiance and poor fashion sense.”
Chapter 5: The Crisis
In a moment of administrative fatigue, I accidentally signed an order recognizing my street as an independent micro-nation: Overlordia. The Canadian government refused to acknowledge us; the U.S. claimed it was “an internal zoning matter.”
Sgt. Waffles, ever resourceful, applied for foreign aid on our behalf. Within a week, we received 400 cans of Spam, 62 inflatable pool toys, and a crate of novelty sunglasses shaped like Texas.
Chapter 6: The Golden Year
Word spread. Tourists arrived to take selfies with the brass moose, purchase jars of “Official Overlordia Syrup” (boiled in my own kitchen), and witness the Thursday moose compliments. The HOA Resistance disbanded after Gary’s hot tub developed a suspicious leak and he suspected divine retribution.
Kate’s Ministry of Common Sense thrived, fining residents in chocolate bars for excessive nonsense. I myself accumulated so many pies from Moose Appreciation fines that I had to store them in Sgt. Waffles’ garage.
Epilogue: Abdication
After one year, I abdicated. My farewell speech was brief:
“I can no longer bear the weight of the crown, nor the logistics of maple syrup storage. Let another brave soul take the moose by the antlers.”
Mrs. Bergen succeeded me, immediately replacing the brass moose with a ceramic goose. Duke resigned in protest.
Overlordia lives on, not in the pages of history, but in the hearts of its citizens — and in the tourist brochure that still reads:
“Come for the syrup, stay for the pies, leave before Moose Appreciation Day gets weird.”
