Booze + Rugs = Pain.
Let me explain.
With hockey season upon us, I begin contemplating my yearly trip with my buddies to the city of Montreal, Canada.
"Why Montreal, you sexy, sexy little man?" you ask.
(especially after THIS F*CKING EPISODE, that's a pretty good f*cking question)
Well, pull your underwear back up and sit right down there my little Mexican immigrant pool boy, and let me tell you.
Is it the old-world charm?
Is it to experience the cultural significance of a government system where Health care is free?
Is it the beauty and splendor of a country that has primarily untapped and untouched resources?
It's pretty much just the strip joints.
I first ventured to the north during – of all things – Spring Break.
When most kids head south to Florida or warmer, sunnier states, I headed up to the frozen tundra of the north with four of my college buddies.
Smart move? I’m not so sure, because I’ve probably left a small fortune in Canada over the years.
I could probably fund a small guerilla outfit in Latin America for the money I’ve spent.
Or another Mexican pool boy.
I'm undecided at this point which way to go.
Regardless, the whole fascination with Montreal started out with the realization that they have an 18-year old drinking age.
This is VERY important to college kids who don’t want to be arrested in Florida...
(or appear on "Curious Gay Boys Gone Wild" (but that's another story))
...but still want to get really, really, really drunk.
I was introduced to the concept of getting drunk at a young age when I dated a girl in high school whose father was from Quebec.
I believe his name was "Pierre" or "Jean-Luc" or "Picard" or some French Canadian shit like that...I can't really remember.
I was banging his daughter and that's really all I cared about.
Every year, he would arrange a bus troupe ("troupe" is French for "group"...or maybe "meatloaf") of high school kids would head up to Mount St. Anne for a ski trip – which happened to be during the “Winter Carnival” in Quebec city.
The Winter Carnival is basically a Mardi Gras in Canada…where you get completely obliterated in a giant party atmosphere - all outdoors.
The main difference here, though, is that you’re freezing to death.
Had a girl decide to expose her boobs, they'd probably immediately turn black and fall off.
HEY!! FREE SOUVENIRS!!
Huh...they're heavier than I expected.
As such, we were all basically a bunch of completely drunken 16 year olds…sharing hotel rooms…drunken debauchery….it was AWESOME.
On one morning, I woke up and noticed that one of the bigger kids on the trip, Joe, had one side of his face completely sheared off.
This was the direct result of the elevators in the hotel...
...having carpeted walls.
Although nice in appearance, having carpeted elevator walls does not bode well for someone who actually passes out while standing up in the elevator…
...subsequently sliding down the length of the wall with their face against the carpet.
Rug burns can leave scars.
Trust Joe - he knows.
Booze + Rugs = Pain.
See? I told you I'd explain it.
So, hockey season is back.
However, I now head up there with a group of three to five guys…where we do more drinking than going to the strip joints.
...with the exchange rate these days, I just can’t afford the luxury of $600 blue balls anymore.
Yet another reason to hate George Bush.
Like we needed one more.