Thursday, July 1, 2010

I'm Not Your Buddy, Guy

Ah, Canada. What can I say. I love you. You have the friendliest people, the best beer, some truly awesome cities and Neil Young. There may be those among you who commit atrocities like clubbing baby seals or starring in The Love Guru, but the vast majority of you seem remarkably chill. Thanks, James, the cute Quebecois who gave me a Keith’s Red at a campground once. Thanks, St. Catherine’s Street, for making thirteen-year-old me ask my mom what a dildo is. Thanks, one-armed dude in Niagara Falls who let us park for free.

And let’s pay tribute to Niagara Falls, for just a moment. The natural wonder is…well, Niagara Falls. You have to see it for yourself. But the actual town of Niagara Falls, Ontario, is the most insanely kitchsy, schlocky place I have ever seen. We counted at least five different wax museums, three different “four-dimensional experiences” and at least two places to buy “erotic gifts”. It is also home of the most expensive Denny’s anywhere. It is packed with American teenagers, huge Indian families, and Eastern European couples who walk around with their hands in each other’s back pockets. It’s awful, and yet wonderful. If it were in America, I would probably get all worked up about the desecration of a natural wonder, but I just can’t. It’s Canada. I have a cold Keith’s and a pizza and I’m about to go buy a vibrating cock ring and a bong. Life is good.

I’d especially like to thank the customs agent who let my boyfriend and me back into the country from Nigara Falls even though we couldn’t prove we owned the BMW convertible we were driving (it’s his parents’) and he was pretty sure we were drug dealers. Terrified, stammering drug dealers. You had a choice man, and you let us go. That Montreal-blend coke is selling like gangbusters. We couldn’t have done it without you.

So Canada, enjoy your day. I don’t know why this is your day, but enjoy it.

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