Toronto

Lagging a bit from my encounters with the Iron Belt and Border Patrol, I limped into Toronto with high expectations. Canada, the Great 51st State, is a whimsical place with vociferous advocates needling me about the wondrous time I was bound to experience there. Rumors surfaced of beautiful sirens unknowing of their feminine charms, willing and able to speak with even the most poorly goateed travelers. Culture flashed from the mouths of these sojourners, whipping up tales of an elite populace sitting just behind the impenetrable slums of America's borders. I was intrigued, and promised to stay in only the nicest of hostels in this fair city, for slumbering in an auto was simply below the standards prematurely set forth by Toronto.


Domineering over the skyline was the CN tower, and I must say that it is nice to finally see something do my initials justice. The large tower pointed towards the sky in some phallic swords battle with the Washington Monument, but after having already experienced the joy of seeing inanimate objects from a high distance in St. Louis, I skipped my trip up. If I had to choose, though, I'd say that CN was bigger.

As for the city itself and the rumors surrounding it, they were for the most part true, except for the false parts. The women were beautiful, with a mix of culture surfacing in almost every one. If America is the boiling pot of different races and ethnicities, then the really hot amalgamation of women are poured into Toronto. Upon being poured, the city promptly tattoos and dresses them as if they were extras in a Billy Idol Concert. This held true for the most part of the city as an auru a British punk seemed to be injected into the majority of people as if shot from the proverbial Sex Pistol. This infusion of Europe did not, however, make Toronto the classier cultural counterpart of America. It was by and large simply another big time town in the United States, except for the part about Canada it not being United with our States. Just totally dependant on them.

My hostel was great, giving me a chance to sleep in a bed, which is all I can truly ask for in this trip. The place was littered with Brits and Aussies visiting for the summer and picking up women strictly with their accents and no effort whatsoever. Having one of these accents for a guy is like having big boobs for a girl, you don't have to bring anything to the conversation--just so long as you're in it.