In a groundbreaking negotiation that has taken the nation by storm, the Canadian government has officially declared a treaty with itself over one of its most contentious issues: the beloved combination of poutine and pints. Hundreds of Canadians, decked out in their finest hockey jerseys, descended upon Ottawa, armed with forks, pint glasses, and an endless supply of Quebecois sarcasm. The negotiations began after Prime Minister Maple Syrup, a self-proclaimed "poutine purist," was caught on video favoring a non-traditional poutine variant topped with avocado and a drizzle of sriracha. The backlash was immediate and fierce. "We don't put fruit on our fries!" shouted Bob the Bear, a local lumberjack and Poutine Protectionist who stormed the capital riding a moose. In response to the outrage, the Prime Minister called for an emergency summit between poutine aficionados, craft beer enthusiasts, and the mysterious figure known only as "The Cheese Curds Whisperer." Tensions ran high as representatives from Quebec faced off against their Western counterparts, who insisted on the necessity of having at least a dozen hoppy beers available for every order of fries. Negotiations took a dramatic turn when both sides reached an impasse over the inclusion of bacon bits in the traditional recipe. "Bacon belongs on everything—especially fries!" exclaimed Brenda from Alberta, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of countless breakfast plates. "It's practically a flag of our glorious nation!" The representatives from Quebec, clutching their gravy-laden banners, retorted with a passionate defense of the sanctity of the original dish. After rounds of heated debates, during which no one could agree whether ketchup qualifies as a legitimate dipping sauce for poutine, a compromise was finally reached. The proposal, dubbed "The Great Gravy Agreement," mandates that every poutine served in Canada must be accompanied by a complimentary pint of craft beer. Should either side violate this treaty, the offenders must spend one night in a room filled with nothing but soggy fries and lukewarm gravy—punishment deemed suitably Canadian. To celebrate the historic agreement, a nationwide festival was announced, with events that include the "Poutine Eating World Championship" and the "Pint-Passing Relay Race." Canadians are encouraged to don their jerseys and show off their newfound unity over the delicious combination of cheese curds, gravy, and beer. Meanwhile, Prime Minister Maple Syrup has taken to social media, posting selfies with local poutine vendors, stating, “In Canada, we might argue, but when it comes to fries and gravy, we’re greasier than a Sunday morning hangover!” The sentiment was met with thunderous applause as a few brave souls even vowed to create a national poutine day, where everyone must consume their weight in fries—or vacation in Wisconsin as penance. As the festivities approach, one thing is clear: Canadians may disagree on toppings, beer types, and even hockey teams, but when it comes to poutine and pints, they all raise their glasses in solidarity, ready to embrace the true essence of Canadian life—where gravy flows and the air smells sweetly of friendship and fried potatoes.