In the misty, goose-ruined shores of Trout Lake, East Vancouver…

The scene unfolds like a fever dream scripted by a committee of stoned Canadian wildlife biologists and one very online meme lord.

Justin Trudeau, sleeves rolled up on his crisp white shirt, stands knee-deep in the reedy shallows alongside Katy Perry. She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and a custom “Frog Queen” hoodie, because of course she is. Between them: several crates of chirping, confused little green frogs airlifted in from some ethical breeding program in Quebec.

“These noble amphibians,” Justin intones to the small crowd of confused locals and one very determined goose, “will restore balance to this devastated goose utopia. The geese had gone full Lord of the Flies. It was… not très bien.”

Katy nods solemnly, then whispers, “Babe, we’re literally about to eat their legs later. This is peak performance art.”

The frogs are released. They hop into the water with audible plops. A goose honks in outrage. Nature begins its messy, chaotic work.

Later, at a picnic table by the lake (with ethically sourced frog legs in garlic butter, because even in satire we have standards), Justin leans in conspiratorially.

“You know, my father Pierre made me read The Protocols of the Elders of Zion when I was young. He said, ‘Justin, understand the nonsense so you can fight the nonsense.’ Or maybe he just wanted me to have good conspiracy theory talking points. The man was complicated.”

Katy raises an eyebrow. “Deep.”

Justin turns to the mysterious figure known only as Agent Intrepid Part Deux — trench coat, perfectly coiffed hair, sipping a maple Old Fashioned.

“Thanks to you, Agent Intrepid, the people finally understand how the media strains relations between the people and their government. The filters, the narratives, the endless outrage cycles… Magnifique! You are truly magnifique.”

Agent Intrepid tips their sunglasses. A single goose in the background flips them off with a wing.

Fade out on Katy Perry live-tweeting the whole thing while a frog hops across the picnic blanket, miraculously spared the garlic butter fate.