(Slacker’s Notes: In the year 2006, in my less bald youth, I lived in Toronto. I no longer reside in that city; some people love the ol’ ‘TDot’, but it just wasn’t a good fit for me. I’ve since moved back to the city of my birth.
While surviving Toronto, I wrote the following parody article to get out my frustrations, fears, and traumas about ‘The Big Smoke’… huh, that city sure has a lot of nicknames: ‘Centre of the Universe’, ‘Hollywood North’, ‘T.O.’…
Anyhoo, please attempt to enjoy, or even get through, this article I wrote in 2006. Goddamn, has it been 19 years already?!? Where does the time go? Probably the same place my headful of hair went.)
I almost love Toronto. With its proud CN Tower, vibrant shopping, and a zoo full of drugged gorillas, Toronto is one of the best cities in the world. But I don’t fully love Toronto.
There are ten things I absolutely friggin’ detest about this city, and I’d like to share them with you now in this wonderful article. My therapist says writing is a much more acceptable way of expressing my inner rage, instead of my usual practice of shoplifting women’s lingerie from the Eaton’s Centre, changing into a sexy little lace teddy, and heading down to the food court to order a “Frogurt”.
Indeed, nobody likes me when my “Shelly” personality takes control of my mind, and I don’t blame them. So to avoid another public psychotic episode involving pantyhose and enraged security guards (I’m up to hundred and thirty seven so far; I’d be famous right now if Guinness World Records encouraged traumatic psychotic transvestism), let’s get right to the pulsating core that makes up my HATE:
1) Homeless People Asking For Change
Spare Change Haiku: "I have no spare change. Please do not touch me, strange man. I have no spare change."
Okay, okay, calm down. I do not hate homeless people; I hate the fact that people are homeless mostly due to an ignorant, greedy government. I don’t hate the person but the situation.
Look, I’m not a cold bastard, I do give money to people who genuinely seem to need it. But most of the homeless in Toronto appear to be capable of, well, making more of themselves. Sure, there’s a lot of individuals without money or homes due to mental illness, but most of the homeless I encounter seem to hang around beer stores or have obvious drug problems… and there’s no way I’m funding someone else’s addictions when I have oh so many of my own to support. Ha! Ha! Ha! Uhm… sorry.
I guess this is just one of those things about Toronto that I hate because I feel morally responsible as a citizen for the problem, and yet have very limited means to help the situation. I’ve thought about making a whole bunch of tasty sandwiches to hand out to homeless people, sort of a “Sandwiches for the Homeless” personal campaign. Hey, if you can’t give a homeless person a house, hopefully they’ll appreciate a delicious bacon-lettuce & tomato sandwich when it’s forty below! (Always throw on a little extra mayonnaise, the homeless have suffered enough).
I know my next complaint will probably get some people’s panties in a twist, but I can’t help it because:
2) Every Time I Walk Up Church Street, Everyone Assumes I’m Gay
Everybody Dance Now! WHOM-WHOMWHOM-WHOM-WHOMP!
Okay, okay, for Baby Jesus’ sake CALM DOWN! I do not hate Gay people! I like Gay people! Hell, I think Gay people should run the goddamn government for chrissakes! Sort of like a “Homocracy”: Toronto police would look nicer in pink & lavender uniforms, the city streets would be cleaner & certainly more colorful ‘n festive, and the homeless would get really tasty sandwiches with sprouts ‘n tofu ‘n fat-reduced mayonnaise.
It’s just that… I feel a bit uncomfortable treated like a piece of delicious man-candy whenever I have occasion to pass through Church Street. I’m flattered, sure, as I feel hundreds of lustful men’s eyes surreptitiously traveling up and down my rippling abdominal muscles & lean Scandinavian-swimmer-like body. So why don’t WOMEN give me these kind of looks?
I’ll tell you why: because every woman on this planet is plotting to make my life miserable. My ex-wife leads this conspiracy. I’m not joking.
Ha! Ha! Ha! Okay, I’m joking. My ex-wife doesn’t lead this conspiracy; it’s actually run by Henry Kissinger:
"I will stare into your MIND until your soul is MINE. Please do not struggle during the procedure."
Henry’s the man (actually an alien lizard-being in human form) responsible for each and every conspiracy on the planet, which includes all the occasions you’ve lost your keys, woken up late for work, or suffered the loss of bladder control during important staff meetings.
Yes, Mr. K’s influence is everywhere, in the cosmic rays, in the deepest pool of fear inside my soul, and in:
3) Those Goddamn Huge Electronic Billboards That Scar My Eyes
“Send in eighty-seven Proofs of Purchase of our product and we’ll send you a free sample of sight-restorative eye-drops! ($29.95 shipping and handling, 8-16 months for delivery you poor blind bastard muwhahaha buy our product.)
Maybe I’m crazy, but I think that the last thing a Toronto downtown shopper wishes to observe are massive arena-sized supernova-bright computer screens hanging off the sides of buildings. Or worse, huge malfunctioning monitors flickering at bizarre frame rates that lead to full blown sidewalk seizures. And yet, we see these damn electronic monstrosities all over downtown Toronto.
I detest computer billboards with the fury of a thousand scarred corneas. I don’t know what’s worse, tearing down a beautiful old building or turning it into a corporate whore by slapping a big-ass gaudy display on it. And even if there’s nothing technically wrong with the picture, do we really need to be bombarded with hair conditioner messages from yet another advertisement flashing in our faces? We’re shopping already, for God’s sakes; take the big bright light away! Take it away! My eyes… oh sweet blessed St. Al Waxman, my EYES… MY RETINAS ARE ON FIRE.
Sure, it’s fun to watch tourists in Toronto clutch their steaming eye sockets and fall to the pavement, but that can’t be good for our city’s economy. I say, tear the electronic billboards down… or let them randomly fall down due to non-maintenance. This will ensure a more exciting downtown shopping experience. One day I want to see one of those billboards fall off the side of a building and pancake a big flock of street pigeons. I don’t hate pigeons, mind you, I just think it’d be really funny. And you would, too. Admit it.
I guess it’s not politically correct of me to make fun of defenseless birds, so I’ll ensure more hate comments on my blog by discussing the:
4) So-called “Multiculturalism” of Toronto
“United all cultures stand for glaring suspiciously at a dumb looking bald-as-fuck Caucasian writer with the ego to call himself THE Internet Slacker."
Sorry, but I just don’t see much friendliness in the Toronto multicultural scene. Many of the stores I explore in Chinatown are usually run by old Chinese ladies who glare suspiciously at me.
And… oh, wait. I can’t think of anything else to support this argument. I guess suspicious old Chinese ladies are my only reason for number #4 in this list. Not much of one, is it? Well, have you seen the way those old ladies stare at you? It’s unsettling.
My other minor complaint is that Chinatown in Toronto is always crowded with people buying spiny things from outdoor vendors who sell spiny things. And the spread-out blankets offering home-made pirated DVD’s do get in the way of foot traffic. But that’s not bad or anything, I’m sure those spiny things are tasty when cooked up, Asian cuisine is awesome…. and who hasn’t watched a pirated DVD? (Dear Feds: I haven’t).
That’s Toronto for you: wherever you go, there’s a bunch of people on the sidewalk doing their goddamn best to sell you something, or ask for spare change, or just won’t get out of your way. Maybe my “walking etiquette” is a bit too demanding, but what really flames my nuts on the open grill of hate are:
5) People Who Use the Entire Sidewalk As If They Own It
For three days I’ve tried to come up with a funny caption for this picture while vaguely worrying about getting sued by George Lucas. Suffice it to say, I love George Lucas and everyone should collect ‘Star Wars’ memorabilia until they VOMIT. God, I am a WHORE.
There is a certain type of person who instinctively knows how to “walk ‘n block” everybody else on the sidewalk. Such a walk is hard to describe, but imagine someone moving their feet not so much forward as they are diagonally weaving back and forth along the sidewalk’s general direction. And while they are walking slower than you, somehow (as if they have eyes in the backs of heads) these people weave into your path, blocking you better than a professional steroid-crazed NBA athlete on defense.
I am a non-violent person, but I really, really want to strangle these people. Slowly. On a sidewalk, in full view of horrified bystanders. And many old Chinese ladies would nod their wisdom-wrinkled heads, knowing they were right about me, God bless ‘em.
But I always prefer to walk. I enjoy walking, and it’s just not safe for society in general to accelerate my fat ass at greater speeds than a light stroll. I know I’d make a lousy driver because, well, I hate:
6) Cars in Toronto & the People Who Drive Them
Force equals mass times velocity squared or cubed or something like that. What I really know is that a steel engine block accelerated by human stupidity driven into my knees really, really SUCKS.
I don’t drive. On the whole, I don’t like cars: noisy, smelly, big metal things that have run me over or flung me from their roofs while I was hanging onto my buddy Ron’s 1989 Datsun 280zx during drunken college parties.
Getting hit by a car sucks, but fortunately I suffered only a mild concussion muffins tractors Cracker JACKS.
I actually have never owned a driver’s license or car, and that’s because I’m afraid of my family curse. It seems that whenever a male specimen in our family tries to operate anything that moves them faster than walking speed, they (read: me) crash it into something heavy and non-moving.
You think I’m kidding? The first time I put on skis, I pulled a “Non-Fatal Sonny Bono”, a ‘NFSB’. Well, non-fatal for me, the tree wasn’t so lucky. Ice skates? The problem there is I can skate just fine, I just can’t stop. My body refuses to do the stopping motion with the skates because invariably I launch myself into the air at about the height of nearby people’s rib cages. So my brain refuses to stop my legs when I’m skating.
It’s a psychological disorder I’ll thank you to not laugh at. Three years ago I was skating on the frozen Ottawa River in February and I slid all the way to the mouth of the St. Lawrence Seaway until I managed to come to a full halt by slamming into a frozen buoy sticking out of the ice.
Roller-blades? First time I tried them, I went down a way-too-steep-for-my-novice-ass sidewalk and panicked. I grabbed and nearly uprooted a sapling maple tree halfway down the hill as a car full of Rastafarians drove past me, the occupants of which started laughing uproariously while shouting, “You can do it, mon!”
And that’s why, to this day, I like Rastafarian people. They’re very supportive.
Suffice it to say, I use the public transportation system now. It’s a lot safer to the people and general environment around me… but it’s not safe for me. No, we couldn’t have that now, could we, God? Each and every time I pay the TTC I have to suffer:
7) Strangers Who Sit Beside Me on the Bus or Subway Train and Press Their Thigh Against Mine and/or other Touch Me Inappropriately
My buddy Scooter didn’t give me permission to use his photo in the above picture, probably because he doesn’t know and I didn’t tell him. Shhhhhh.
Dear merciful God in Heaven Who laughs at me and mocks my pain, don’t you get enough amusement watching me get “pwned” by life each and every day? Traveling on the bus or subway should afford me some quiet time sitting with only myself & my deep, deep important thoughts.
But, no. Whenever I sit my fat ass down on a seat, invariably a Toronto denizen of questionable personal hygiene plops down beside me and presses their leg against mine. Sometimes, their entire side begins to rub against me. One time a guy rested his head on my shoulder with a gentle wistful sigh.
In the name of every sweet deity out there, GET AWAY FROM ME! I don’t like being touched, unless the person is a close friend or lover. Lover? Ha ha ha, yeah, right. Close friends, anyways.
No, wait a minute… none of my close friends want to touch me, not even on the bus. So it’s either a life of no physical contact, or I get felt up by strangers on municipal transportation systems. Damn.
Here’s another form of my seething hatred of crowds for you to ridicule, because I know you and my ex-wife and Henry Kissinger laugh at me behind my back all the time. I absolutely loathe and despise screaming crowds, a phenomenon Toronto excels at:
8) The Crushing Mass of Shrieking Idiots around MuchMusic When Yet Another Corporate (uhm) We Mean “Musical” Band Appears
“Yes, give us Justin Timberlake so that we may KNOW HIM.” Genesis 19: 4-5
I like a lot of music: classic rock ‘n roll, house, trance, even some stompin’ country and western tunes (as long as they involve potatoes from Prince Edward Island) are groove-licious in fulfilling my musical appetite. (Please note that I invented the word “groove-licious”).
But I carry with pride the old-fashioned opinion that Rock ‘n Roll is about stickin’ it to The Man, man! It’s not about making money! So what if you’re starving, homeless and rubbing up against people on subways for cheap human contact, you’re making REAL music.
Look, it’s either struggling for years playing your music on the cold streets, or immediately shooting to the top via corporate sponsorship and getting crushed to death by a sex-starved mob consisting of supple and soft-skinned admirers...
Aw, dammit. I’m… probably not supporting my argument very well here. Instead, let me perform a public service by discussing the very real threat of:
9) The Giant Parkdale Iguana
“We will also discuss rent controls, lawn maintenance and… aw, who the hell are we kidding? WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE MURDER THE HUGE FREAKIN’ IGUANA!!!”
Almost every week another poor bastard gets eaten by the Giant Parkdale Iguana. As a Toronto citizen I’m sick and tired of hearing the mayor’s constant excuses as to why the police force hasn’t killed it with their new nuclear tank.
C’mon, Mayor David Miller! Get with the program! Nobody wants a seventeen foot tall carnivorous iguana in their neighbourhood! The combined angry hissing and screams of the 7-11 clerks are keeping people up all night!
Yes, yes, yes, Parkdale residents, I know you’ve tried to kill the Giant Parkdale Iguana by driving a Toyota Tercel loaded with home-made fertilizer bombs into its pale green abdomen, but that didn’t work, did it? The memorable massive explosion, the 7-11 store’s front windows blowing out, more screaming and hissing, Hostess Twinkies packages showering the neighborhood…. gee-zuz…
Look, we’re gonna need dozens of nuclear tanks in Parkdale! And stealth biplanes! And giant dead flies laced with tranquilizers! Once we got all that, Giant Iguana BBQ time, baby! (I got dibs on the throat wattle). Finally, 7-11 clerks everywhere will breathe a sigh of relief as they clutch their Twinkies. Er, yeah.
To all you supporters of the Giant Parkdale Iguana saying “it’ll clean out the neighborhood”: SCREW YOU! I hate huge iguanas who LICK MY HEAD to judge my flavor when I’m waiting at the bus stop, and while we’re on the topic of HATE I REALLY REALLY HATE:
10) Zanta-Haters
“You… light up my life. You give me hope… to carry on. With your beach towel… and push-upppppssss…”
For those who don’t know, Zanta is an eccentric individual in Toronto who blocks people on sidewalks while screaming his Santa-wearing head off, performs push-ups in heavy traffic, and generally loves making new friends who are usually you. It’s considered “good luck” to spot Zanta in a confused & mildly terrified crowd; there’s even a LiveJournal community dedicated to His Zantaness: community.livejournal.com/zantabulous/
But there are those Toronto citizens who don’t appreciate or even like Zanta. Sacrilege, yes. Or is it “Zacrilege”? Only Zanta knows…
To those people who don’t appreciate Zanta, I send forth a hearty offensive hand gesture involving both my arms and a wrist. Without “colorful” individuals like Zanta making our streets more interesting & full of nonsensical ravings, Toronto would be boring. So bring on the Zanta and his inexplicable push-ups.
Personally, though, I hate push-ups. I do three of ‘em and I start sounding like an asthmatic moose that somehow wandered to the top of the CN Tower via the stairs. But Zanta’s cool in my book because he rattles the Normals. And when I say “rattles”, I mean RATTLES. S’fun to watch.
In Conclusion:
Here is the best way to solve these ten problems:
We elect Zanta as Mayor of Toronto, and hire an all-Gay staff for City Hall. This new political force creates clean, well-decorated homes for the homeless. Several new by-laws are put into effect as well:
Bylaw #1: No electronic billboards. All existing computer billboards will be torn down and sold to rich computer geeks who will use them as huge monitors to play ‘World of Warcraft’… to the Extreme!
Bylaw #2: No cars in Toronto are allowed, only Vespa scooters, bicycles, and those weird homemade lawnmower engine-powered skateboards you sometimes see freaks ride. (Oh, and to the guy on the unicycle I’ve seen riding around Toronto: I ORDER YOU TO BUY A REAL BIKE WITH TWO WHEELS. I don’t care if a unicycle is environmentally-friendly, YOU LOOK LIKE A MOBILE VILLAGE IDIOT. Sorry folks, I had to get that out of my system.)
Bylaw #3: Bus seats & sidewalks are doubled in size, with protective barriers in the middle. Seat barriers on the subway will have a small electrical charge for further “groping discouragement”.
Bylaw#4: Gay men are not allowed to molest my taut, Adonis-like body with their eyes (or any other organs). However, I should make a compromise with the Homosexuality community in the spirit of understanding & goodwill, so I will allow Lesbians to spank me.
Bylaw#5: MuchMusic is only allowed to broadcast musical acts with actual quantifiable talent. When CityTV goes bankrupt in direct response to this rule, the channel will be filled with re-runs of ‘AIR WOLF’. SHUT UP I LIKE AIR WOLF.
Zanta & his fabulous crew will also commission a task force to kill the Giant Parkdale Iguana; the plan will probably involve a lot of push-ups, loud screaming (human & animal alike), and seventeen beach towels soaked in ether. The corpse of the Giant Parkdale Iguana will be turned into delicious iguana-lettuce-tomato sandwiches (or “ILT’s” as I call ‘em) with extra low-fat mayonnaise for the (former) homeless. So far, they’ve received a free home decorated in seventeen tons of fuchsia & a tasty exotic lunch… pretty good deal.
Okay, that leaves us with the remaining dilemma of elderly Asian ladies who glare suspiciously at me, the evil consuming dark force that is my ex-wife, and the ever-lasting mystery of Henry Kissinger. Here’s what we do: we turn the old Maple Leaf Gardens stadium into a gladiatorial colosseum and fill it with an audience made up of all the old Asian ladies in Toronto who glare at me. This audience will watch a “Thunderdome”-style death-match between Kissinger and my ex-wife, instead of glaring at me. That sounds rational.
After Henry Kissinger is brutally reduced to his component atoms by the sheer fury of my ex’s annoyance of being put in a boxing ring with Henry Kissinger, five strong men with gorilla handling experience will taser her into submission and place her temporarily inert human form into a small containment unit made of pure adamantium which will then be shot into deep, deep space.
For legal reasons, I am saying all of the above in complete parody and I truly do not want my ex-wife to be tasered by large angry men and/or launched off this good planet Earth forever and ever in a small, cramped, and inescapable pod.
After all of these ten problems are solved, only then will I truly love Toronto. Thank you.
What?!? It’s getting BIGGER? Well, that’s it for me, then, I'm gettin' the hell out of Toronto. Faithful Readers of ‘The Internet Slacker’, we’ll meet again in my next article, “The Ten Things I Hate About Edmonton Even Though I’ve Just Moved Here to Escape The Giant Parkdale Iguana.”