BONG
From August 19th – August 23rd 2005, I explored the city of Toronto, Ontario, Canada on a trip of badass proportions. This is the story of that trip. Throughout, there will be links to voice recorder sound files and movies that I captured. Sound files are .wav format, so just click on them and they will play. The movies are hosted by YouTube and will play directly from this window.
The following equations show certain changes that take place when crossing the border from the US to Canada. Keep an eye out for them throughout:
Also watch for the following themes of my trip throughout the column:
This trip was originally planned as an all-out BS Central Excursion involving Allen and myself. Unfortunately, 3 days before we were set to leave Allen’s father passed away unexpectedly, leaving him with the daunting task of planning the funeral that weekend. This column will be dedicated to his memory.
That event left me in a precarious position. Everything was paid for so I unsuccessfully scrambled to find a replacement companion. When that didn’t happen, I said fuck it and headed out on the 700+ mile road trip myself, determined to have an awesome time for Allen’s sake. So without further ado, here we go…
Thursday August 18th5:00 PM: I left my stuffy office job in Germantown, Wisconsin with immeasurable anticipation of the trip ahead; but also a large amount of uncertainty at what lay ahead. I’d never been out of the country let alone exploring in a metropolis by myself. I didn’t have enough faith in my Secret Agent Firebird to make it there and back without exploding, so I hijacked my step-mom’s ’99 Ford Mustang. Lucky for me the shitty Support Our Troops ribbon wasn’t on it any more because it faded to solid white just like the rest of them do after it rains a few times. I wouldn’t want to look like a dumbass driving around with one of those. I was to drive the first leg of the trip to Marshall, Michigan (about half way) and crash at my Grandparents house for the night, then drive the rest Friday.
Here are some highlights of my trip to Marshall, which took me a record 5 hours:
-I finally got a picture of something I’ve wanted to capture for a long time:
BONG
- I saw a guy with a yarmulke driving a BMW on the freeway.
- I saw a semi with an Ontario license plate not long after I got into Illinois, a sure sign that something cool was going to happen.
- I had my first “OH FUCK I forgot something” moment when I got on the Illinois tollway. I forgot to grab my dad’s I-Pass, which would make my toll payments quick and painless.
- 6:45 PM: I saw the first of many interesting signs.
- 7:17 PM: I can’t seem to get away from those goddamn ribbons.
- 8:45 PM: I topped off my gas in Indiana.
Friday, August 19th 2:00 PM: After scoring some food and gas money from my
grandparents, I was ready to embark on the second leg of my trip that would take
me all the way to Toronto. Highlights of my trip to the border: - I saw a sign that said “PRISON AREA. Do not pick up
hitchhikers” in Jackson, MI. I made a mental note not to pick up hitchhikers. - I drove a Ford product on the GM Expressway in Flint.
Take THAT corporate sponsorship. - 4:45 PM: I saw the first signs that said Canada, which
made me as giddy as a schoolgirl getting eaten out for the first time:
You have no idea
how much I freaked out when I saw those
4:55 PM: Finally did I reach the Canadian border, one of the most welcoming sights I’ve ever seen:
This is where my tale really begins. I was so elated to be arriving in Canada; I whipped oot my video camera to record my border crossing, which proved to be a bad idea. I pulled up to the booth with it recording as the lady asked for my license. This is how our exchange went:
Lady: “Are you taking any pictures with that, or video?” (accusative tone)
Me: “No.” (as I hit the stop button).
Lady: “Are you sure?”
Me: “Yeah, it’s off”.
Lady: “Let me see that.” I hand her the camera and she examines it. She turns it on and starts looking through what’s on it. My Nervous Level shoots up 10 megatons. “Were you recording when you pulled up???”
Me: “Uhhh… yeah. Is that a problem?”
Lady: “Yes, I find that very offensive that you’re recording me without permission. Delete what you recorded.”
Seeing as how this lady was my access point to Canada, I complied and showed her it was gone. This incident would make me gun-shy with the video camera for the rest of the trip. I didn’t know until later I didn’t actually delete the movie, so just to spite that lady, here is the video of me pulling up:
She asked me her usual script of questions then informed me I had to go through secondary customs check, probably because I pissed her off and she wanted to make me waste more time.
So the first Canadian person I met was a total bitch, hopefully the rest of them wouldn’t be the same. I pulled into the secondary customs area as 2 people came up to search my car. They told me to "get oot of the car". They searched it and didn't find a damn thing, so I was admitted. I later found that the chick left her search flashlight in my backpack so I have a Canadian flashlight now. Thanks lady.
5: 12 PM: I headed on to the Currency Exchange to get my
Canadian fortune, and then headed on down the highway towards Toronto, ecstatic
to be oot of the U.S.
5:45 PM: I needed a break from driving and was anxious to
exercise my right to buy alcohol for the first time so I got off the freeway in
a town called Strathroy. I drove for a while in what seemed to be a dull town
until I found a grocery store called Zehr’s. Grocery stores are known to sell
alcohol in the States, so I thought I’d give it a try:
I’m not sure
where the “Plus” in “Food Market Plus” came from because the store was
an abomination. I ended up coming oot empty handed. The only thing cool
that happened at Zehr’s was seeing a retarded chick wink at me. She totally
wanted my balls. 6:15 PM: I stopped at a 7/11, which also didn’t have beer
for me. I decided to give up on Strathroy and continue my journey beerless. So
the first Canadian person I met and first Canadian town I visited were
disappointments. Hopefully that wouldn’t continue… 6:45 PM: After passing nothing but fields and black/orange
construction barrels, I came upon the city of London. No, not that London.
This one had a population of aboot 700,000. All it took for London to catch my
attention was a sign for the Labatt Brewery at the next exit. What better place
to get beer than from its source? I followed Labatt signs into
downtown. Suddenly the signs stopped appearing and I was lost. I stopped at a
Pizza Hut to ask for directions and received some from polite, helpful Canucks.
Soon I was gazing at the shrine itself:
Getting people
fucked up since 1847
The brewery was closed for tours but that was OK, there was a Labatt Beer Store attached to it, cleverly designed like a case of beer:
I hopped oot of the car and headed straight for it:
I also captured my exploration of it:
That “Big Ass Beer” impressed me enough that I made the 1.18 Litre Labatt Maximum Ice (7.1% alc.) the first beer purchase of my life. The dude didn’t even card me. Hell yeah. I took it outside and proudly mounted my trophy on the Mustang:
Seeing as it was already 7:30, I realized I needed to get my ass going because I still had 2 hours to drive. I got back on the freeway and fought the urge to chug my giant beer.
9:30 PM: I approached the sprawling city of Mississauga, home to Lester B. Pearson International Airport and the Airport Hilton that would serve as my base of operation. Had I arrived 2 weeks earlier, I would’ve had an awesome view of a French airliner skidding off the runway into a ditch and starting on fire. That would have ruled.
After some missed exits and backtracking, I finally found my hotel. Being a Hilton hotel, I had high expectations for it, even though I saved a bunch of money by booking through Expedia. However, within 5 minutes the hotel failed to cater to my expectations.
I approached the counter and told the Arab gentleman in front of me my name. After looking in the computer, he informed me they didn’t have a reservation for Charles Robinson. My heart sunk at the fact I drove 700+ miles and they didn’t have my reservation. Somebody fucked something up. My distress slowly turned to pissed-off and I resolved that I would be staying at this hotel no matter what, even if I had to sleep on a couch in the lounge (which was located conveniently next to the hotel bar).
I explained to “Neale” that I used Expedia and I only had their confirmation number, not the hotel’s. He told me to have a seat while he called Expedia to see what happened. I was aboot to blow a fuse.
10:30 PM: After 20 minutes, “Neale” informed me that someone at Expedia never forwarded my reservation to the Hilton, but it was taken care of and I had my room. What a relief. I got my parking pass (which charged me $10 every time I left and came back) and went to get my stuff. I realized he only gave me a pass for 1 day so I had to go back and get a new one. More bad service.
I parked in the back and got my stuff. I was going to find my room when I stepped into the Elevator to Nowhere:
What the fuck? I eventually found the Elevator to Somewhere and found Room 424 on the 4th floor. If only I had been 2 rooms down…
I took a filmed tour of my room and found it was not as advertised:
The fact that I didn’t have a mini bar fridge posed a problem. Not only did I not have the extra, cold alcohol; the food my grandma sent with me and any other food I got would spoil.
I headed back to the front desk to demand answers. They told me the 4th floor doesn’t have mini bars. When I asked why there was a spot for it then, they didn’t give me an explanation. I’d been at the hotel less than 2 hours and they already pissed me off 4 separate ways.
11:24 PM: I looked in the hotel directory for information aboot the mini bar. It said, “For mini bar needs, call room service,” so that’s exactly what I did. Without my fridge, it would take a while for my Giant Beer to be cold and drinkable. I saw that the hotel bar was open until 1 PM so I headed down there to tie one on.
I was hoping the bar would be a happening place full of hot chicks waiting eagerly to go up to my fridgeless room. That certainly wasn’t true. There were only 3 other people there and they were much older, but that didn’t deter me from having fun. I brought my tourist information with me to plan my weekend in Toronto. The only event I had planned for sure was the Alice Cooper concert on Monday. I didn’t come close to following the plan I came up with.
1:07 AM: With the bar closed, I went back to my room and summarized my experience. And here is the picture she took, complete with Maddox shirt:
With not much else to do, I took in some Canadian TV while starting in on my Giant Beer. Every TV channel suddenly cut off at 2 AM so I decided to explore the hotel. I stumbled around for aboot 45 minutes, finding the pool, squash court, exercise room and weight room. They didn’t have a bus schedule for me at the front desk so I went back to the room to drink more.
3:15 AM: I’m fuckin wasted.
Saturday, August 21st
Noon: Not long after waking, my frustrations with the hotel continued. The cleaning lady was pounding on my door and even tried coming in (luckily I had the chain lock on but it made a horrible clanking sound). I got up and found an envelope on the floor with my bill. It said I could pay it at the front desk when I checked oot on 8/21. That was today. Why the fuck did they only book me for 1 night???
1:45 PM: After all the annoyance, I was ready to get the hell oot of the hotel and get to the fine city of Toronto. I had made dinner reservations at Yuk Yuk’s comedy club for 6:30. I planned to dick around in the city until then.
I set oot to find the bus stop that would take me to the subway. At the bus stop I found a spider-web of bus routes across the entire city. I had to study it for aboot 20 minutes before I figured oot I had to take 2 different buses to the subway station. I got the feeling I should eat something first because it might be a while before I got where I wanted to be. I couldn’t have been more right.
Since the hotel restaurant wasn’t open, I had to go to the bar again, for food this time. There I paid $10 for a chicken club sandwich. I couldn’t finish it so I asked for a box to take it with in. The bartender looked at me funny and explained they don’t usually do that anywhere because of lawsuits from jackasses who ate spoiled leftovers, but he obliged anyway. I didn’t have a fridge to prevent it from spoiling, so I had to surround it in ice.
3:15 PM: I was finally ready to leave. Once I stepped oot, I wouldn’t return for many hours. Staring at the bus map again, it looked like the subway station was close to the hotel. I just had to take the #7 bus to some mall then the #11 bus to the station. I waited half an hour for the bus and when I got on it was like a crowded U.N. meeting. This was my first exposure to the fact Canada has a lot of different races intermingled. They aren’t sectionalized in different areas of the city; they live amongst one another without racial disparity.
I soon found that the bus stops weren’t announced. I would have to do some careful guesswork. As soon as I saw a mall I was getting off. Half an hour later I was still on the bus with no idea where I was going. I thought aboot getting off to regroup when I saw a mall. I got off at the stop only to find I was nowhere even close to where I thought I was. I analyzed the routes for aboot 15 minutes and found one that would take me to the subway station.
By 4:45 I was there. All I had to do now was figure oot the subway and I’d be in Toronto. It proved to be less infuriating than the buses and I was at Union Station in Toronto at 5:35. I would only have time to go to the comedy club for my reservations.
I was on my way to see Greg Milton and a couple other blokes and to eat a fine meal while drinking beer. But first, I took a look at the CN Tower:
I would have a similar view of it later under different circumstances (and states of mind).
5:56 PM: I encountered the first of many bums I would meet (Sound 40) (or avoid). I eventually found Yuk Yuk’s comedy club. It was a hole-in-the-wall place that sprawled into a pretty sweet comedy club. I was seated and ordered a $13 plate of chicken alfredo and a Molson Canadian.
7:00 PM: The comedians started. It was a 3-guy lineup; all of whom were from Canada. They were all funny as hell too. The highlight of the second comic was when he got oot 2 giant plastic Hulk Hogan and “Macho Man” Randy Savage figures. He made them fight while imitating their voices and eventually had “Macho Man” ramming Hulk in the ass, at which point he squirted a bottle of lotion on them and yelled “OHHHHH MACHO MAN SPLOOGE!” That guy was weird as fuck.
Greg Milton came on around 8 and owned the stage. He got
wasted in the process and he even had a 10:30 show to do. That would have been
interesting to see. I highly recommend him.
9:15 PM: With 3 beers and a good meal in me, I was determined to find some CanaBuds. I also had to plan though. The buses in Mississauga only ran until 10:30 so I had to get on the subway before then if I was getting back to the hotel.
As I stepped oot, there was a homeless guy stumbling aboot 50 metres to my left. I didn’t feel like being solicited so I went to my right. I took the next street South. I heard some guy behind me muttering to himself “I’m ripped” so naturally it caught my attention. I turned and he claimed to be quoting George Burns. I decided to ask him if he knew where to find weed. He didn’t know, but he gave me a lengthy ramble about people on acid and how they try to jump out of windows and land on cars.
Although I heard an interesting story, it didn’t net me
any bud and I was already half way to Union Station. Near the intersection I had
to go East on, I started seeing dozens of people with signs around their necks
that said “Locked Out”. I began getting curious because there were so many
of them (and because the signs said “out” instead of “oot”). I didn’t
ask and kept walking. I turned the corner to see more signs. I was near the end
of the building when impulse took over. I saw a group of 3 protesters sitting on
a ledge. One of them looked like a black Canadian Rastafarian, or “Crastafarian”.
At the last second, I went up to them with intentions of inquiring aboot the
lockout, then eventually bringing up pot.
Here is a news story relating to what happened with the lockout: (http://www.canada.com/vancouversun/news/story.html?id=164c0aeb-ea32-4788-81c2-7cc87de29274&k=6677). After a while I asked them if they smoked as I used the Universal Joint Puffing Hand Signal. Crasta Man said he had Marbs if I wanted one. I clarified that I meant weed. He denied it but the grin on his face told me otherwise. Seconds later he mentioned they were planning on smoking a spliff at some point. They deliberated over leaving their post and soon went for it, with me prancing excitedly behind. With a beautiful view of the CN Tower a block away, we ducked behind a large sculpture and fired up. They chatted with me as if I’d been in their rotation many times before. It was some fine cannabis, and as soon as it set in I knew I was having the time of my life in Toronto. I wasn’t the only one apparently:
With the spliff gone, we went back to their protest post. It was too late for me to get back to the hotel via bus but I didn’t care. I wanted to have fun and find oot what makes Canadians tick (other than hockey). I told them aboot the website and what I was doing in Toronto. When I told them I was from America I got the Universal Conversation Topic Brought Up to Americans Visiting Abroad Response of “What do you think aboot George Bush?” I dodged allegiance with Bush like train seats within 500 feet of children. I explained my reasons for discontent and found my new Canadian friends felt the same. I’d come 700 miles and found anti-bullshitters in Canada like myself. Just as I suspected…
We got into the differences between Canada and the U.S. (i.e. pot laws) and they were shocked by the restrictions in the States. I once again had to reject the practices of my government, and offer high praises for that of Canada. This should be a theme as well, it happened a lot.
After a while, I inquired aboot buying some weed from Mark. He said he didn’t like selling so he just gave me 2 bowls instead. That works.
Since I wasn’t going back to the hotel I wanted to get more inebriated. I started asking them aboot stuff to do around the city. They told me aboot a bunch of clubs and bars to hit up. They were all in a partying mood after their day of protesting so we started planning. Mark mentioned a party at his friend’s house. Apparently it was close to Menno’s house so we decided to drink a couple there, get higher, then go to the party.
11:00 PM Menno forewarned me that his house was “really bizarre” with paintings everywhere. That would prove to be a gross understatement. The 4 of us started walking to Menno’s car for a ride. This would be a new experience for all of us: Menno and Trevor knew each other and Mark through work but they never hung oot with him; and I was some crazy American they just met.
I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I was getting into, but never once did I feel threatened or insecure. That goes for the whole time I was in the country too. Canadians are very down-to-Earth, polite, friendly people. I felt more at home there than in America.
A short car ride later we were at Menno’s house. As soon as I walked in, I knew he was right aboot a bunch of paintings. Nearly every surface of his house was covered with art. I got oot my video camera and did a tour for your viewing pleasure. It is nothing short of amazing:
Little did I know that I’d walked into the personal gallery of one of Toronto’s biggest outsider artists. If he gets hundreds of dollars for some of his paintings, his house has to be worth a million. Most of his work was not for sale.
Menno doled oot some Labatt Sterling and we settled into his small, peaceful back garden for more spliffs and more conversation. We got into discussion aboot philosophical topics Allen and I have discussed many times before. I also received the best compliment I’ve ever gotten: “You seem like you’re Canadian” according to Trevor.
12:30 AM: We decided to head over to the party. I was hoping there would be some chicks I could score with. We walked to a street with some close-together houses. We found the party and were greeted on the porch by a boisterous host with a funny high voice and a hula skirt. Apparently they were having a luau for somebody who just returned home from a trip.
The luau was hopping and I noted more high funny voices amongst the guests. I also noted a lack of any chicks but that was OK, this was an all-oot party complete with a whole pig roast and a ton of alcohol:
I got acquainted with some of the people, most of whom referred to me as “American” from then on. We went to chill on the back patio for (many) more spliffs. While Mark rolled one, I asked him aboot pot prices in Canada. He said it goes for $20 (Can.) for an 1/8th. I responded with “wait… an 1/8th… ounce???” It was true. Everything in Canada was measured in metric except for weed. I wasn’t sure what was more amazing, the price or the measurement. That much in the US would go for $50+ if it were the same high quality.
More guys eventually showed up, the spliffs burned at will, the booze went down easy, and we were having ourselves a good time:
I was sitting around telling people aboot myself when someone asked me “are you straight?” I wasn’t sure how to respond. If he was asking me if I was sober, that was a resounding “FUCK NO”. But he clarified, “Do you like guys?” Me: “Uhh… no.” Him: “Well then you’re a minority here.” Another guy: “Yeah, I love the cock.”
My mind slowly began to grasp this new information. Was Menno gay? Mark? Trevor? Yep, they were all gay. EVERYONE AT THE PARTY WAS GAY EXCEPT FOR ME. As I would come to find oot, Toronto has the second largest gay community in North America behind San Francisco and ahead of the Bravo network. Listen to my drunken analysis, recorded while I was taking a piss.
Looking back, there were several clues I didn’t pick up on that would have told me it was a bunch of gays. But to that, I say “fuck it, I was stoned.” These were still some of the coolest people I’d ever met. They were hardcore party animals and they weren’t doing any gay touching or hitting on me so it was cool. Everyone at the party was blasted and having a gay old time. Huh huh.
4:00 AM: I’d been hearing references to a guy with a Glad bag full of weed for some time. I headed inside to find him for myself. And Oh Lord did I find him. This “Glad Bag” he had was a ¼ Lb of some HIGH grade Blueberry buds. He was also cool because he had a chick with him and I’d begun to forget what those looked like. He held up his stash for me to smell. I stuck my face in and immediately felt like I was in a fresh blueberry patch. I knew it was something I couldn’t pass up.
I asked if he would sell me a 10-sack (which would more than cover me for the rest of the trip). He declined, stating that he “wants people to get their money’s worth” and you didn’t with a 10-sack. Wow. Who would say that in the States? I explained I was only in the country 2 more days and Mark convinced him to sell it to me. I got hooked up really fat in both quantity and quality.
By this point I was beyond exhausted (and fucked up). Menno, Trevor and I walked back to Menno’s house. On the way we ran into some Canadian raccoons, or “Craccoons”:
When we got back we had another beer and I showed them Bullshit Central on Menno’s computer. I left a really drunk message on the message board that is still there today.
5:00 AM: Menno and Trevor went to bed. Before I did I checked my phone for messages. I had a message from Allen that said “Smoke Canadian Weed.” I replied to him “Definitely got that covered bro” then passed the fuck oot on Menno’s couch surrounded by crazy pictures. What a night.
Sunday, August 21st (or the rest of it anyway) 1:00 PM: I awoke pretty beat up from the long night of boozing. Menno gave me a scenic ride back to Union Station and I bid them farewell.
2:18 PM: My goal was to get back to the Hilton, get cleaned up, take it out on the town again and find some women. I figured I could reassure myself of my sexuality by not ending up surrounded by gay guys tonight. I took the subway to the dreaded Mississauga bus stop. I was standing outside smoking a Swisher when who the fuck do I see but Trevor. I was on the complete other side of a massive city and I saw the guy I just met last night. I yelled to him and he was just as weirded oot as I was.
4:00 PM: I was hoping the bus I got on would take me all the way back to the hotel. That wasn’t the case as they kicked me off in some remote parking lot. I’d have to catch a different bus to get back to Airport Drive and I was fucking sick of buses. I looked at its route and found if I went down the road I was on, it turned onto Airport Drive. It was a beautiful day so I decided to give public transportation the finger and walk. Remember that theme aboot locations on any map not being as close together as they appear?
I began walking through a residential area. There I found a mix of cultures living together peacefully in suburbia. Asians next to Arabs next to Blacks, and it was normal to them. I noticed all this because I walked past aboot 1,000 houses. I soon realized it wasn’t going to be a short walk but I didn’t care (yet).
4:42 PM: I was STILL WALKING. I was drained so I acquired some food. I got a combo meal at a Tim Horton’s (The McDonalds of Canada). Their combos are cool because they come with donuts. I also found a place to get clothes if I desired:
5:07 PM: THIS IS GETTING REALLY OLD.
5:17 PM: Finally back at Paris Hilton’s Hellhole.
By the time I ate, showered, rolled a spliff…
…and smoked it…
…and grabbed all the shit I needed…
…it was 7:45. I didn’t want to take the bus again so I opted to drive to the subway station. My trip got off to a bad start when I had trouble getting to the car.
At one point on the freeway, I was 2 lanes to the right of where I needed to be. I didn’t realize this until the last minute. There was a semi truck to my left so I flipped on my signal. The guy actually MOVED OVER 2 WHOLE LANES RIGHT AWAY, SMILED AT ME AND WAVED. That’s something that would NEVER happen in the States, especially not a semi. Another honour to the Canadian spirit.
When I got to the Subway station, I found the parking attendant booth empty and the gate up. I drove in to find “UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES WILL BE TOWED” signs everywhere. I didn’t see any “authorization” on the other cars so I parked and got oot. Some stupid parking lot wouldn’t keep me oot of Toronto. But man, would my step-mom be pissed if her car got impounded in a foreign country. It was worth the risk.
9:45 PM: Finally back in the city, I decided to do some
sightseeing (of a giant phallic image then some tits). My destinations were the
CN Tower and the Brass Rail Tavern Upscale Gentleman’s Club. (www.brassrailtavern.com).
I ventured toward the CN Tower (more walking), which was lit up nicely (like me). I had a few observations once I was up there.
10:33 PM: Since I couldn’t burn a spliff in the tower, I decided to do it right next to it. Directly between the SkyDome and the CN Tower I lit up my spliff. When it was almost gone, I noticed a security guard coming directly towards me on the sidewalk. I put it oot and nonchalantly walked away as if I weren’t just getting high. Even though I didn’t get to finish, that was OK because I was headed to see boobies.
I walked through a park and entered the SkyWalk where I found myself alone:
The SkyWalk dumped me oot on Front Street close to Yonge, home of the Brass Rail at 701. My walk began.
10:51 PM: I was so excited to see naked Canadian chicks, I turned into an Idiot Savant.
10:56 PM: I soon realized I was in for a lot more walking than I thought.
My lengthy walk allowed me to get a few entertaining pictures:
Some fine
glasswork
The flag that
Canada should actually fly
This puts the
Maximum Ice to shame
After my 35-minute walk, I reached the Promised Land:
It didn’t take long for me to forget the lengthy jaunt. I was in the Brass Rail and it was FREAKIN AWESOME. There was no cover charge, I could sit right up by the stage, and there were hot bitches bringing me beer. This truly was heaven.
The way the dances worked, a girl came oot to a song with a top and bottom on. During the second song she would get her boobs oot. During the third song it was all-nude and very boner-inducing. A winning format.
I was sitting in the front row drinking a Jack & Coke when I saw a very attractive brunette walking towards me wearing a short, sequined American flag dress. I quickly blurted oot “Hey, I’m from that country!” She stopped and started talking to me as I explained where I was from and what I was doing in Canada. I learned that she was a dancer and she explained to me how the club worked. Apparently there was a room for private lap dances. After a girl did her show, she walked around and gave people dances for $20. She offered me a dance and I eagerly obliged.
I grabbed my Jack & Coke and she led me to the magic room. What I saw was a room with seats in individual booths lining the walls. In these seats were Brass Rail patrons getting dances from completely naked women. HELL YEAH. I had a seat with my drink, she told me her name was Denver, and we were under way. I wasn’t allowed to touch her cooch or boobs but everything else was fair game while she was all over me.
She made some conversation during the dance. At one point she acted like she was going to kiss me then playfully pulled my ponytail. I asked her if she liked long hair and she said she did. She then told me how much of a metalhead she was and how she dances to bands like ZZ Top and Judas Priest. It’s important to note we were discussing this while she was completely naked and rubbing all over me. How cool is that?
The song was over and my dance concluded. She asked me if I wanted to continue when I had a sudden epiphany. I still had Allen’s Alice Cooper ticket that I could give to anyone I wanted. I asked her if she was into Alice and she said “Yeah, I love him. I met him once.” A loud alarm went off in my head that said OFFER HER THE TICKET SO YOU CAN HANG OOT WITH HER AND GET IT ON! I told her aboot my extra ticket and said I would give it to her free if she would go with me. She got excited and accepted my offer. She said since I was giving her a free ticket she would give me a free dance, so she proceeded with that. And trust me, this one was a LOT more personal than the first.
After it was over she had me give her my phone number. She then told me her real name was Jennifer. She put her clothes on and we left the magic room. She told me she would give me a call tomorrow and went on with her business.
12:22 AM: “Dear diary... JACKPOT”. I left the Brass Rail ecstatic. I was there slightly more than an hour and managed to have a few drinks, get freaky with a stripper, and set up a date with her using Allen’s Alice Cooper ticket. Despite being charged 80 cents a minute for cell phone calls, I couldn’t help but call Allen and fill him in on my accomplishments. Satisfied with my work downtown, I went to the subway to get back to the hotel (while hoping that the car was still there for me).
The Mustang was still in the parking lot when I got there. I proceeded to give its speakers a workout by blaring Megadeth on my way back. Back at my base of operation, I lit up another spliff, finished my giant beer, pondered how something so cool could have happened to me, and then passed oot with dreams of coming back home with a Canadian Stripper Wife. It was as if the stars were aligned for me the whole time I’d been in Canada.
Monday, August 22nd: Whatever astronomical fortunes I’d been having abandoned me on my last full day in the country.
My goal was to get a much earlier start into the city so I could see the Hockey Hall of Fame then fuck around until the Alice Cooper show. I would also be eagerly awaiting a call from my stripper. I decided on driving all the way into the city because I was more than sick of public transportation.
2:45: I got lit up and diligently gathered everything I needed. Looking back, I should have done those in reverse order.
The H.H.O.F. closed at 5 so I had to get going. I made it to the car OK this time, but driving into the city would prove to be my greatest transportation folly. The traffic increased the closer I got to Toronto. Once I was there I decided to find The Docks where the concert was taking place. That proved to be difficult, as the roads close to Lake Ontario are extremely fucked up. I didn’t end up finding The Docks until 3:25.
I headed toward the Hall and found it tough to find a place to park. I ended up at a parking garage 4 blocks away (which was more walking of course). Finally I reached my destination: I’m not a big hockey fan, but I thought I should see a centrepiece of Canadian life.
My tour began with some freaky goalie masks:
I later came upon the stained glass “cathedral” that had every hockey trophy imaginable on display, even the Stanley Cup. I then reached the interactive zone, where there were some cool games to play. I played one that was a video screen of Mark Messier slap-shooting. I was the brave goalie (complete with goalie gear) trying to stop pucks as they shot oot of the screen. I saved a sexy 4 oot of 5, owning everyone around me by at least 1.
5:15 PM: I left the Hall of Fame and tried to figure oot what to do until 8. I still hadn’t heard from Denver and it was getting late but I still had hope. Just then I realized something: I LEFT MY ALICE COOPER TICKETS AT THE HOTEL. GOD DAMN FUCKING SHIT BITCH ASSEATER. I would have to return to the Hilton, and then drive all the way back. FUCK.
I got back to the parking garage and was paying when my phone rang. There was a strange number on the caller ID so I answered it. A woman’s voice was on the other end but just as I was getting excited I realized it was my cousin from Michigan wondering how my trip was going. Damn.
I left the parking garage into a maze of 1-way streets. Every left turn I needed to make was a 1-way street going the opposite way. I sat at one stop light for 10 minutes while waiting to get to the freeway. When I finally reached it, I entered a wicked traffic jam. I heard on the radio that the expressway should be avoided because of a fuel spill blocking 2 lanes. THANKS FOR THE HEADS-UP ASSHOLES.
I didn’t get past the accident until 6:30 and didn’t reach the hotel until 7. I grabbed my tickets and rolled another spliff for the show. Despite my driving frustrations, The Docks was too far from the subway to walk there so I drove back. It was getting late but I could care less if I missed Cheap Trick.
8:25 PM: I arrived back at The Docks stripperless. As if I weren’t frustrated enough, I realized I had to walk back to the car and ditch my cameras otherwise I wasn’t getting in. I feared Alice Cooper might be dead by the time I got there. When I finally got in, I found it to be an awesome place to see a concert. There was tons of room and bars everywhere. I grabbed a Labatt and settled into the crowd. Unfortunately Cheap Trick was still playing. I had to hear 3 of their songs including the nauseating “Dream Police”. I was going to light up my spliff when I remembered there was no smoking indoors in Toronto so I would stick oot like a sore cock.
When Cheap Trick was done, all the smokers filed outside to the back porch, which was expansive and right on the lakefront. I explored the area and saw all of the sporting areas The Docks had, like a soccer field, batting cages, obstacle course and tennis courts. I settled in by the rail towards the back and lit up while watching some people play soccer. I smoked the whole thing and holy hell was I high.
I went back in to watch Alice. Inside, a chick asked me if I had any weed and I explained I just smoked it. I wished I hadn’t already because I could have tried to hook up with her. Within 5 minutes the lights went oot and the crazy keyboards started. Soon The Man himself came oot: Alice Cooper. Now that he’s old, he looks even creepier in all that makeup.
It was a really rockin’ show to see. All the people in his band looked young enough to be his sons. There was a part where this really hot chick (which I later learned was his daughter) came oot and kicked his ass then put him in a straight jacket. They wheeled oot a guillotine and chopped his head off and held it up. I watched it very closely to see where the fake head went in but it was so seamless I couldn’t tell.
I saw people smoking all around me so I could have gotten away with it. Half way through the show I went to get another Labatt. I got it and turned away when the bartender chick said, “You gotta tip your bartender, honey”. SHIT. I realized that I hadn’t tipped a single bartender the whole time I was in Canada. But I had an excuse in that I was a stupid 19-year-old kid with no bar purchasing experience. I walked away and vowed to start tipping with my next purchase.
12:00 AM: The show ended and I was in a much better mood. I was going to head back to the hotel since I was a little intoxicated but once I got outside I had other plans. I was staring across the lake at the beautiful Toronto skyline (Pic?) and felt like I had unfinished business in the city. I started driving back towards it…
12:27 AM: I found myself back at the entrance to the Brass Rail. I handed the bouncer my ID. He stared at it for 20 seconds and said, “Are you going to take this or am I going to have to keep it?” I was confused when he told me it wasn’t like the Wisconsin ID’s they had and it was a fake. I argued with him aboot its validity to no avail. I was denied re-entry, which was a total buzzkill. I found oot when I got back to Wisconsin they’d changed the design of the license and not bothered to tell me. Fuckers. It wasn’t even a problem until I came across that jerkwad bouncer.
Disgruntled, I ended up settling for a British pub down the road where I got a Guinness. Not much happened there except the English bartender chick told me something aboot cumming 3 times a day. She wasn’t helping me do that so I left. I’d be checking oot of my hotel at noon, so I bid the fine city of Toronto goodbye.
Tuesday, August 23rd: I (gladly) checked oot of Paris Hilton’s Fully Serviceless Hotel and prepared for my journey back. 20 minutes later I was feeling good while listening to the sonic assaults of Zakk Wylde. Near the end of my spliff, I hit a bump and it exploded all over my lap. I’d have to stop and clean up before the US Border Patrol whooped my ass.
Not much later, my good feeling went away. I came upon another exciting traffic jam. While stuck in traffic I was able to get another entertaining picture:
I also discovered where al-Quaeda has been hanging out since the U.S. Invaded Iraq. I saw an Islamic guy driving a brand-new Mercedes convertible with a license plate that said “HUSSEIN”.
After an hour of stop and go traffic, I found the source of the stoppage:
5:15 PM: Back in the U.S., I could already feel the laser sights on my head. I was back to my home where I didn’t really feel at home. It took all the strength I had to not turn around and go back to Canada and start a new life. But, Canada will always be there for me to visit (unless the U.S. invades that too) until it’s feasible for me to move there. What an awesome country.