Sure, city life has a lot to offer — but sometimes it’s nice to be partying with old pals in the small town where you were raised and subsequently got the fuck-out of as soon as you could.

 
Sure, city life has a lot to offer —  but sometimes it’s nice to be partying with old pals in the small town where you were raised and subsequently got the fuck-out of as soon as you could.

For those of us who grew up in these small towns, going home is like taking a vacation to a place where tight pants are still weird, and Sublime never got old. My own personal Shangri-La, where I spent my youth skateboarding and listening to NOFX, is a town 2 hours north of Toronto called Penetanguishene.

Its population is about 8,000, and is located between a few smaller townships full of Frenchies and farmers. I don’t know what the name means, but generally we call it Penetang for short – or Poontang if you want to be ironic. (Not ironic like your t-shirt, but ironic because it’s impossible to get laid here, or at least, extremely unpleasant).

Anyway: I grew up here and got the fuck out as soon as I could. Afterwards, I spent about four years in university, hundreds of miles away, and when I graduated this December I decided to take off for South America (right now I’m in La Paz). But before the traveling began, I went back home for a visit with mom and who ever in the old crew was still around.

Mostly I hung out with this one dude, my good old friend Benny.
  

He is the only coke dealer I have ever met who brings the scale out with him, and one big bag of dope, and weighs it out right there on the spot. (This is possible in small towns because parties don’t happen at bars, where a scale would prove troublesome, but always in basements or outdoors around fires. On a similar point there are NO BARS there, except for the Legion, and the kids all go get drunk at the Boston Pizza, in the next town, on Friday nights.)

The first night we hung out we watched cool dance videos on TV for a while and then I wanted a pack of smokes, so we walked 20 minutes to the only corner store. This is what the streets look like at night:

No side walks, hardly any lights, and plenty of snow. Maybe it was the ecstasy we parachuted earlier, but the stars were out in amazing numbers and I fell in love with the absolute silence of the place – there was no wind and no noise, except our crunchy footsteps. I felt like I was in a dream world and I even started wondering why I ever left this place…

Benny is on unemployment during winters and he is in love with only two things: his beautiful girl and his snowmobile. I remember him being a scary driver in highschool – he used to drive at crazy speeds in his underwear, grasping a bottle of vodka in one hand, swerving around bends and trees to make it out to bush parties — so I was pretty worried when he told me we were gonna go out and go for a ‘big rip’ on his sled on one of the many frozen, picturesque lakes in the area the next morning.

Hesitations aside, the next day I put on some of his girl’s snow gear and we set out. Here’s me looking like a loser in girl pants:

It was a sunny day and there was a layer of water on top of the ice. He drove at least 100 mph and it felt like it would take just one miscalculated turn and we’d spin out, fly through the air and bash our skulls before plunging to our icy deaths.

At one point, he parked the sled in the middle of the lake for a bit; when he saw the worry painted on my face he said: “Don’t worry bud… You only need two inches of ice to support us..” Then he jumped up and down on the ice. “Look at that! Fuck! at least six inches here..”

Across the lake he showed me this little shack where a dude lives with his dog.

 
And here is the “bum casserole” Benny found beneath the bed (a casserole made of pennies, nickels and cigarette butts):

We smoked a roach joint, drank a tall German beer and ate a few Percocets before heading out once more to the ice, this time on foot, under the full splendor of the sunny Northern Ontario winter day. Jesus, it was so beautiful.

Later that night we took a cab out to another pal’s house to jam in his basement. I was shocked and pleased to learn that the cab driver was the dude who lives in the shack! Here is a picture of him, his name’s Andy, and he seemed nice.

Andy told me he actually doesn’t live in the shack anymore, though, but that he used to when he couldn’t afford the rent or something about the cops. . .  I can’t remember.

Anyway, all the good times aside, by the third day, it started to get real boring. I still have some pals who live with their parents, and none of them all really seem that happy. Most want to get out, now, too. And although it is a nice relief from a life in a bigger place, where there’s always shit you have to do and buy and people to deal with, I would never go back if it wasn’t for visiting mom.

-Tobes McSquire

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Remember that guy who wore the question mark suit and yelled at you about FREE MONEY!!!!!!!!!!!! Apparently Cash for Gold macheted his face off and took over his tv spots.

Remember that guy who wore the question mark suit and yelled at you about FREE MONEY!!!!!!!!!!!! Apparently Cash for Gold macheted his face off and took over his tv spots. Do they want to cater to the person who thinks the word “ethical” means immigrant? I don’t know about you, but this ad managed to rouse my long dormant sense of moral outrage. The last time that happened was when I found out some dickwad conned my grandfather out of thousands of dollars. Fuck you Cash for Gold, I want my teeth back.

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2008 was a real breakthrough year for Canadian Fashion. No longer destined to rest on their plaid and beige laurels, Canadians took to the streets to show off their new minted fashion sense.

While barely tracking on the international FASHION scale, many advanced FASHION analysts were setting their sights on, what they dubbed “the mecca of madness”. PARKDALE, CANADA

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Parkdale is in Toronto, Ontario, which is in Canada, which is in North America, just north of The United States of America.

Parkdale is in Toronto, Ontario, which is in Canada, which is in North America, just north of The United States of America. Parkdale is one of the only worthwhile things left in Toronto. The reason has nothing to do with the invasion of self-conscious, insecure losers wearing Czech jeans from 3 seasons ago with their sad Bono glasses lining up in front of boutique Hotels. It’s because the legitimate Parkdale is a perfect Petri dish of maniacs, drunks, the working class and good old-fashioned genetic losers. It is also the home of once funny comedian Billy Connolly. We spotted him walking down the street despite his new footwear. Yes, that always-kooky William has done it again! He is using leg braces as shoes. Seriously, two leg casts as shoes. GENIUS. What will he barely think of next?

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I come from a tiny town in Northern Canada so when you’re listening to what I have to say about New York City, know that I have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about.

When I die, could somebody please dump me into this river? Thanks!

I come from a tiny town in Northern Canada so when you’re listening to what I have to say about New York City, know that I have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about. I’ve spent like, a week in New York. If you’ve been before then please don’t read this because you’ll probably get mad. If you haven’t, you should read this because it’s stuff big city people wouldn’t think to tell us.

STAY AT THE GREENPOINT Y, NOT CROWN HEIGHTS

Brooklyn is fucking big, people. Sacrificing location for a few bucks a night is NOT worth it. On my last night in Crown Heights, I had to walk through dozens of NYPD officers and past yellow police tape to get into my building. The cops gave me the same confused look I’d been getting from Crown Heights people all week and a cop asked me, “What’re you DOING here?” I told him that I was staying here, and he was genuinely shocked. He said: “GOOD LUCK WIH DAT.” A kid had gotten his brains blown out onto the street directly in front of my place an hour earlier.

In movies, they draw a chalk-line, but in real life they just leave the hat where it fell. After I snapped this picture, a lady from across the street started freaking out and screaming because she hates pictures.

Call the Greenpoint Y. You get your own private room and maid-service and little plastic cups and breakfast vouchers every morning for $40/night. The Bedford L stop is only a fifteen-minute walk. You do not need more than this.

Actually, you do need more than this. Chilled wine turns a dump into a palace.

SCREW YOUR PLANS

Go to The Lower East Side and the East Village. Get lost wandering on some Flâneur shit. If you need directions, just say: “which way is Avenue A?” It’s our first instinct as Canadians to start out real polite and say, “Sorry, I was wondering if you could help me out…” Cut the preamble. Polite intros are what homeless people do and New Yorkers appear to be sick of that shit.

BARTALK

When you go to bars in your hometown, you maybe walk around until you find somebody that seems interested. In New York, try the opposite: just grab a stool at the bar and observe. Try to ignore the fact that incredibly hot strangers on either side of you are drunk and are asking you about stuff. I’m serious. Don’t be embarrassed that you don’t know anything about anything, either. Keep saying “eh” and then apologizing. It’s way better than a fake Bronx accent.

In New York you WILL get hustled. Just when you think you’ve got all the scams figured out, this girl will suddenly not answer your calls and your favorite hat will be gone forever.

BOOZE + DRUGS = SEX

Try to spend all of your money on booze and drugs only. You will have way more fun this way. Buy lots of drinks for yourself and for your new New York friends until your funds are non-sufficient. The favor will be returned to you in fun. Spending lots of money on eating out is boring, selfish, and it gives you the shits. Don’t eat. Buy shots.

I was going to use a picture of myself at the bar surrounded by babes, but I don’t have any.

LAND OF OPPORTUNITY

Look at Google Maps for a second. Zoom right in. There are millions of ways to get lost, murdered, drunk, fall in love, etc. You can go missing very easily. Just open the door and start walking in any direction. With over 8 million people in the city (more hot girls than you’ve ever seen before) it’s kind of hard not to act like you’ve just escaped from prison. You might make people nervous with your sweating and your speed walking and your huge eyeballs. Actually, fuck it- that’s a great feeling.

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Our buddy Kenny Hotz is in big trouble for flying a flag over Toronto that said “Jesus Sucks.” Most sane people who saw it thought, “That’s funny but if it said Mohammad Sucks’ the Canadian Human Right Commission would fry him.” One guy even went so far as to file a complaint just to show how gay Canadian Human Rights complaints are.

Sounds funny right? I mean, China’s Human Rights or North Korea’s maybe but Canada? Here’s the scoop: Canada is so determined to be the opposite of America that, after someone whispered to them America is racist (it isn’t), they said, “Okay, we are going to be the most un-racist place on earth.” They then started their own Human Rights Commission whose first order of business was making potentially hateful thoughts illegal or, more specifically, it is illegal to communicate by phone or Internet any material “that is likely to expose a person or persons to hatred or contempt.”

Lots of people recognized this as the Orwellian B.S. it is and have decided to antagonize the commission. Calgarian conservative Ezra Levant immediately reran the Mohammad cartoons in his magazine Western Standard and tore the bureaucrats a new ass (Canada style – which means calmly and quietly) when they came to interrogate him. Watch it here…

He was recently acquitted.

Praise Allah.

[Ed note: the following two paragraphs are from a letter sent by an anonymous Canadian who was very worried about being identified.]

Then America Alone author Mark Steyn got put through the wringer three times—twice by Provincial HRCs in Toronto and Vancouver, and then again by the Federal one in Ottawa—over one essay: A statistic-filled piece printed in a tame, mainstream newsweekly that is the Canadian equivalent of TIME or Newsweek, in which the author worried aloud about expanding Islamic demographics.

Yet fighting the HRC in its court-but-not-really-a-court, where “Truth is no defense” (!!!), cost his editors an estimated $150,000 in legal fees. Although a conviction has not been obtained, it’s not clear that Steyn’s ordeal is even over yet. He has been predicting that he will be deemed unpublishable in Canada. Good thing he recently moved to America.

The biggest problem with this commission is most Canadians secretly like it. They love thinking they are more sophisticated and evolved than Americans and they love complaining. If someone offers a breast feeding woman somewhere to sit, her tits are going to sue.

If a comedian makes fun of a lesbian for heckling him, he too must feel the wrath of justice.

If America is into freedom, Canada will be into – um – what’s the opposite of freedom? Doesn’t matter! As CHRC lead investigator Dean Steacy said when asked what value he gives freedom of speech, “Freedom of speech is an American concept, so I don’t give it any value….It’s not my job to give value to an American concept.”

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Last night I waited all night to get the new iPhone 3G in Canada and I got quoted all over the Canadian media. The quote?

Last night I waited all night to get the new iPhone 3G in Canada and I got quoted all over the Canadian media. The quote?

Kyle McInnes, 24, who works as editor-in-chief of QuicklyBored.com, had the third spot in line. “It’s the pinnacle in mobile entertainment,” he said. “It’s pornography for gadget whores.”

NB: My brother is so petty and jealous of my overnight iPhone fame all he said when he saw me on TV was, “That quote doesn’t make sense. Whores don’t want pornography.”

But fuck him because The National Post used it as their article title.

iPhone ‘pornography for gadget whores’

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Even though I’m in Canada I don’t really know what’s going on with this.

Even though I’m in Canada I don’t really know what’s going on with this. Are we all going to get sued for copyright infringement now that some ass has decided unlocking our phones and making funny YouTube videos is against the law?

From the Facebook group:

If enacted, the Canadian DMCA will leave Canada with one of the most restrictive copyright laws for the digital environment in the world. Far from providing assistance to the digital marketplace, this law will have a stifling effect on creativity, innovation, consumer rights, and free speech in Canada.

Because Pinky is Canadian, I’m pretty sure he’s going to jail forever.

Under the proposal, there are exceptions for uploading or posting music online (ie. making available) and even the suggestion that posting a copyright-protected work to YouTube could result in the larger $20,000 per infringement damage award.

I’m also getting completely screwed.

While Prentice could have adopted a more balanced approach (as New Zealand and Canada’s Bill C-60 did), the effect of these provisions will be to make Canadians infringers for a host of activities that are common today including watching out-of-region-coded DVDs, copying and pasting materials from a DRM’d book, or even unlocking a cellphone.

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