I’m pretty excited to go to Montreal this weekend for Pouzza fest. I’m gonna be up there doing my best impersonation of someone who can play the guitar and sing at the same time and I’m gonna check out the sights and smells of French Canada with my friends in the Ste. Catherines, Elway and the Holy Mess. Who else? I know my friend Joe is gonna be up there. Let’s conduct a quick Google search…
Hmmm. Yeah. That’s about it. There are some other people that I kind of know and some folks that I’ve been corresponding with, and of course Joe Queer, who I don’t know but kind of want to observe from a distance, but the folks I mentioned in the first paragraph are the people that I’m gonna be going to get poutine with, the people I’m going to the all nude diner with and the people that I’m gonna go to that weird place where you stick your dick in the tube and the woman behind the glass that’s molded in the shape of tits works a bellows until you jizz into the public ball emptier. Oh, you’ve never been to Montreal? Well, let me walk you through the culture a little, ya know…just to get you ready for everything.
Montreal is awesome. Let’s just get that out of the way right now. It’s one of the uniquely weirdest places on earth. Here’s why: English and French Canada maintain a mutual respectful disdain for one another (and it really is quite polite in the way that only Canadian generalized mutual dislike could ever be), while the French, the classic, or ‘old school’ French from France, outwardly and rudely dislike the French Canadians, to the point where they’ll pretend that they don’t even understand Canadian French when it’s spoken (the notable exception to this, of course is the cursing, which everyone agrees the French Canadians have taken to an almost profound level of creative artistry. ‘Tabernak!’ Is the go to if you’re looking to exemplify the vulgar canon of the Quebecois and I guess it means tabernacle. Our curse words are all about sex and poo, but theirs are all about religion. I don’t know. Seems weird to me too, but whatever. If you’ve ever watched a bearded French Canadian with no shirt, holding a violin, piss-drunk in the snow, accidentally stub his toe and scream ‘Tabernak!’ at some stranger over the course of his nightly staggerings, well, you’d know that it’s a pretty cool word).
The upshot of all this disdain is that French Canada has a real plucky and ‘fuck all y’all’ attitude.’ It’s a very culturally self-propelled place. The fashion is really unique. The haircuts are ahead of their time and the whole city of Montreal, which is beautiful, has a vaguely ‘mad max’ kind of vibe as a result. Oh, and the food is totally awesome.
Poutine is becoming exploited by gastropub dipshits all over the US, but it started out as the 2AM go-to in Quebec. It’s fries covered in cheese curds and brown gravy. You drunkenly shovel it past your mustache at 3am with a plastic fork while packed in, 6 dudes to a booth or small car, or alternately while walking home. It’s delicious and every place in Montreal claims to have the best poutine. Most of them are correct. The other gastronomical feat that Quebec has mastered is the sexy breakfast.
Sexy Breakfast was introduced to me by my friend Sam the morning after a show in Montreal a few years back. It’s a diner where you can get bacon and eggs or poutine (I got poutine) and everything about it is normal except for one thing: there’s no windows. Why? Well, because the waitresses are buck naked. No panties, no bras, just a little apron for the checks and a pot of coffee. It’s wild. When the coffee at the next table gets refilled, you’ll likely find yourself staring right into someone’s asshole (it’s up to you if you think that’s awesome or gross or distracting or curious or whatever). The crazy thing is that there’s really nothing else to this place as far as I could tell. It doesn’t sell dildos or lapdances or anything. It’s just a diner with naked waitresses. As usual, Montreal keeps it weird.
Finally, there’s the dick-tubes. These establishments look like a cross between a peep show and a dentist office. You go into a highly sterile clinic type place, and there’s a glass partition that’s got a mold of a woman’s naked body in it. There’s also an apparatus which is clearly designed to put your dick in. So, a woman comes out, writhes around behind the glass, puts her body in the mold (presumably so she can, for example, put her tits in where the tits of the mold are and you can touch the tit shaped glass, which looks like tits, but has to feel like feeling up a statue), while this reverse hose thing sucks you off. I’ve had friends who have done it and they’ve all referred to it as both awesome and weird. I’ve been in the places for a ‘consultation’ just to see everything for myself but I’ve never done it (for two reasons. Reason one: it’s expensive. Reason 2: I’m not sticking my dick into some tube that a zillion other losers that fuck blowjob machines stick their dicks into every day, regardless of the cleaning regimen that they endure) and I’m probably not gonna do it this time either. I mean, my old lady is gonna be with me, and she sometimes lets me touch her without a barrier of molded glass between us, which is a nice personal gesture for a wife to offer her husband every once in a while during a working vacation.
Anyway, see you folks in Montreal. For the rest of you, have you voted for BSC for best local blog in the reader’s poll yet? If not, go here. It would be truly great for a free web based publication that haphazardly tosses terms like ‘dick tubes’ around to get recognition in a long running metropolitan weekly, would it not? Of course it would.
Tabernak, y’all. Tabernak.