On Christmas Eve, Parliament Hill was wrapped in lights, looking like Canada’s biggest gingerbread house. A brass band was tuning up when suddenly —
“HELLO, HELLO!!!”
The crowd spun around. Striding across the snow in a leather jacket and Santa hat was Bono, yelling like he’d just spotted the last bus to Dublin.
“DROP THE DEBT, CANADA!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the Peace Tower. “YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!”
Out of the wings stepped Future Prime Minister Nelly Furtado, wrapped in a glittering red coat. She gave him the “I told you to use your indoor voice” look, but couldn’t help laughing.
“Bono,” she said, “this is supposed to be a Christmas concert, not a snowball fight with the IMF.”
Bono grinned. “Same thing, Nelly. Same thing.”
The band struck up a funky holiday beat, and the two launched into a duet:
- Bono belting out debt-cancelling demands like they were verses of O Come, All Ye Faithful.
- Nelly weaving in smooth harmonies about global justice, maple syrup, and how Canada can lead the charge.
By the second chorus, the crowd was chanting “DROP THE DEBT!” louder than the bells on Parliament Hill. Even the Finance Minister, lurking by the hot chocolate stand, was nodding along, looking slightly worried about the budget.
When the last note rang out, Bono threw his arm around Nelly and declared, “Merry Christmas, Canada! Now let’s go bankrupt some colonial-era interest rates!”
Snow fell, the crowd roared, and somewhere in a bank boardroom, a CEO dropped his eggnog.
Bono bursts into Café Algarve, the lunchtime chatter instantly silenced by his trademark Irish roar.
“HELLO! HELLO!” he bellows, arms wide, sunglasses catching the midday light. Every fork in the place freezes mid-air.
Prime Minister Nelly Furtado looks up from her grilled sardines, eyebrow arched, while First Man Joe Jukic pauses mid-sip of his espresso.
Bono strides to their table like he owns the joint and slams his palm down.
“CANCEL THE DEBT, CANADA!” he shouts, his voice ricocheting off the tiled walls.
Joe glances at Nelly, half amused, half expecting a security detail to materialize.
Nelly sighs, sets down her fork, and says calmly,
“Alright, Bono… but only if you finish your pastel de nata first.”
The café erupts in applause.