This One's For My Southern Baptist Friends, Who Make Up A Big Chunk Of The One-Third Of Americans Who Believe The Bible Is The Word Of God To Be Taken Literally

"And as for thy bondmen, and thy bondmaids, whom thou shalt have; of the nations that are round about you, of them shall ye buy bondmen and bondmaids." -Leviticus 25:44

My Canadian slave's name is Ian. I've owned him for about five years now.

I remember thinking when I was born again that Vancouver would be a good place to shop for slaves. I love Vancouver, and I bought a small wooden totem pole sculpture there once that is absolutely beautiful. But then I realized that that fair city probably has the mildest climate and most cosmopolitan atmosphere in any of the provinces, which would mean that any slaves from there would probably be soft and weak. I wanted a slave from a place where life was a little tougher. Where nature and nurture would throw some character-building adversity into its residents. I also wanted a major airport though, because I thought the quicker I could get my slave away from Canada and into God's chosen land the better. I decided on Edmonton.

I saw Ian standing next to the cash register at the Eddie Bauer store in the Kingsway Mall. There's an old joke that the quickest way to get a roomful of Canadians to shut up is to say something like "please be quiet," so I looked at Ian and said "please follow me," and like a good Canadian, he did. That must by why God wants you to get your slaves from neighboring countries, so you don't have to mess with nets and whips and slave ships like when we got our slaves from Africa. I left $50 next to the cash register, but then realized that the onerous tax rates that Canadians must bear in order to finance their public health system would probably push Ian's final price to something like $75. Fucking socialists. I still thought I got a pretty good bargain though. Ian seemed like a strapping young lad, and was very obedient from the start.

It wasn't long though until I had a few second thoughts. Ian didn't seem to work nearly as hard as the Mexican slaves most of my friends had. I remember thinking that those Catholics south of the border wouldn't understand the covenant between man and God that the Holy Bible represents, being members of the Papist cult that they are. But boy, was I wrong. Every morning my neighbor's Mexican slaves would be up at the crack of dawn, mowing the yard, cleaning  the house, cooking breakfast, when it was all I could do to get Ian to wake up at noon, which only gave him two hours to get the condo ready for me when I got up. He's totally useless during the Stanley Cup finals, and I suspect he reveres Queen Elizabeth more than the prophet of God George W. Bush himself. The only thing he really turned out to be good for was running over to the liquor store to get more scotch.

Which after many months of prayer I realized was the only thing I  needed a slave for anyway. I've scoured Leviticus and the rest of God's book and I don't see anything there about any specific work your bondman is supposed to do, so I guess as long as I acquired him from a nation that is around me that makes it right with the Lord.

I still might put in a bid for my neighbor's Pedro though.