Viva Quebec

Well Watchmen sucked. Just thought I'd get that out there. If you want the full rant, see me in person. Fuck that shit... I don't even really want to talk about it. Maybe 15 minutes of quality in that two hour and forty-five minute abortion. 

Blogging from America's hat, aka Canada. But I'm not really in Canada, I'm in Quebec city. Last walled city in North America or some shit. Also, they want to be their own country, and not be run but the Queen. Been there, done that... like 300 years ago. Anyway, we're crashing at Mur-dog's boy's crib. His name is Simone, he hates Canada more then most Americans (for instance, when Murray had to get a disposable camera at a souvenir shop, Simone had to leave the store because of all the Canadian shit) , speaks French, and races ostriches. One of those facts is false.

Last night Murray and I arrived just in time to start crushing, and crushing we did. Simone had to order our drinks for us non-frenching folks. Of note: girls here are bangin', but they don't want to/can't speak the english... such torture. Good thing I speak the universal language of love. Word. Hit up some real tight bars, and didn't get bounced despite Simone breaking two glasses in one bar. Also, Murray's other camp homie John 'Francis Ford' Coppola is here. He got really drunk, and booted this morning due to hang-overedness. Big ups to him, I've been there... all too often actually. We were actually driving to breakfast and Simone had to pull over so he could yak. Good looks.

Today Simone gave us a tour of this fine city. We saw a huge ass waterfall, a sick island, and did a walk through the walled city. Tight. We ate poutine. The sidewalks here are really fucking icy, due to daytime meltage and night time freezage. Makes drunken walks home trecherous. I thought I was pitching a perfect no fall game, but according to Murray I bit it last night (and I fell like earlier today). This explains why I punched a snowbank, and awoke with cuts all over my knuckles... silly