Sure the sign read Boston Pizza, but the look of the place was enough to give me some second thoughts.
After our brief stint at the Roulette table, Paul, Bryan and I headed across a sketchy ally to the glowing lights that are Clifton Hill. It's a great place if you've never been there, and includes such things as a planet hollywood, rainforest cafe, donuts and the best thing ever -- Canadian people.
Boston Pizza also had Canadian people, but mainly they were the surly kind. That's right, teenagers who look 17 but are somehow sitting at the bar and having a Blue. Gotta love the Northern Neighbors.
We partook in our own salute to Canada of course by ordering a pitcher of Molson. It's no Blue but it was still Canadian, and last Thursday that was enough. We also ordered two pizzas to kill the appitite. It was sometime between opening the menu and realizing that every girl in the room was jail bait that we came to a horrifying discovery.
It seems that if Canada has one flaw, it's that it can't spell. ESPN's Sports Center magically became "Sports Centre." But this wasn't surprising, I mean not everything Canadian is good. Just look at Alan Thicke (of Growing Pains fame).
If Canada has two flaws, it's that they don't show American football on Sports Centre.
Hell, why not just call it "waste of Space," if you're not going to show NFL highlights? It even fits the Canadian spelling motif by ending in an "e."
We drank the beer more quickly to forget about this, and soon found ourselves needing to visit the rest room. Bryan needed to go the most, but strangely enough his dick seemed to change it's mind when it was called over by a female. Turns out the girl who called him over was from Baldin Wallace, Bryan's school. It also turned out that she and her boyfriend had just parted ways.
Anyway, while Bryan was busy auditioning for season two of MTV's "Who's Got Game" (It's the canadian version -- it ends in an "e"), a slightly inebriated Paul and I tried to find the bathroom.
After running into a dead end, it looked like we might have to hold it till the states. Paul then spotted a possible solution.
"It's down there," he said pointing to a set of stairs.
Of course, Paul was pointing to the Clifton Hill street, and while that kind of behavior might be aceptable in New York City I quickly pointed out that here it would probably only hasten our trip back to the states. He agreed and then we started venturing into the Kid's section of the resturaunt. It was great, but only beucase we found the bathroom.
Afterwards, we walked the strip in search of fried dough. We didn't find any, thus demoting Canada from America's Amusement Park status down to Playground. But I must say, it's still the best damned playground I've ever been to. I mean, neither Cass nor Como park serve donuts or Labatts, which is coincidentally how we ended our evening.
Well that, and Bryan and I made off color remarks during our border crossing. Once again Paul almost pulled an angry parent on us -- threatening to turn the car around and come back there -- all that fun stuff. Bryan and I shut up just in time to act like clean-cut white kids, and the border man let us come back to the States.
All in all, an enjoyable evening and fitting tribute to an equally enjoyable summer.
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