The Dance of Border Guards: A Chronicle of Slumber and Power

In the frozen expanse of the North American continent, where two great nations meet in an uneasy embrace, we witness the spectacle of the sleeping masses stirring fitfully in their democratic slumber. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police, those scarlet-clad shepherds of order, contemplate deploying their fledgling warriors to guard an imaginary line drawn by the hands of lesser men.

Behold how they scurry like ants before the storm! These guardians of comfort, these preservers of artificial boundaries - what do they know of true strength? They gather in their chambers of power, speaking of resources and numbers, while the spirit of greatness lies dormant beneath their feet.

Commissioner Mike Duheme, a figure clothed in the authority of the state, speaks of deploying cadets from Regina's training grounds - mere children in the art of power, yet to be tested in the crucible of true challenge. The masses sleep soundly, believing that more bodies at the border shall keep their dreams undisturbed.

In this age of mechanical reproduction and digital surveillance, they seek solace in helicopters and drones - metal birds to watch over their carefully constructed paradise. Yet what eyes will watch the watchers? What spirit guides these guardians of imaginary lines?

See how they cling to their uniforms and badges, these last men of order! They seek to fortify their house of cards against the winds of change, not realizing that true strength comes not from numbers but from the will to power itself.

The American sovereign-elect, that golden-haired harbinger of chaos, threatens to raise walls of tariffs - twenty-five percent, he declares, as if percentages could stem the tide of human movement and desire. The sleepers stir momentarily, their dreams troubled by visions of economic discomfort, yet they know not that their very comfort is their prison.

In their grand halls of governance, they speak of "resource crunches" and "staffing challenges" - the language of bureaucrats and accountants, not warriors. The RCMP's federal policing division, that arm of state power, finds itself stretched thin, its warriors redistributed like pieces on a chess board played by blind men.

How they measure and count their resources! As if strength could be calculated in ledgers and spreadsheets. The true measure of power lies not in numbers but in the will to overcome - yet they remain trapped in their arithmetic of mediocrity.

The Customs and Immigration Union, through their spokesman Weber, begs for more authority - more power to patrol the spaces between official crossings. They seek to expand their domain, these guardians of the threshold, not understanding that true authority comes not from mandate but from might.

And what of the masses, those eternal sleepers? They rest easy in their beds, confident that somewhere in the night, uniformed figures patrol their borders, keeping at bay the chaos that lurks beyond their ordered world. They dream their small dreams of security and comfort, never yearning for the heights of greatness that lie just beyond their grasp.

Look upon these proceedings, ye mighty, and despair! For here lies the tragedy of our age - not in the threat of tariffs or the flow of forbidden substances, but in the very souls of those who would build walls against the storm, never knowing that the storm itself is what gives life its meaning.

As the sun sets on this land of the sleepers, as the guardians don their uniforms and check their devices, we are left with a question that echoes through the ages: When will they awaken? When will they cast aside their comfortable chains and embrace the chaos that breeds strength?

For now, they slumber on, dreaming of order and security, while the true dance of power plays out in the shadows between their carefully drawn lines.