OCTOBER 26th, 2001
I didn’t get much sleep last night. I find the beds really uncomfortable here. We walked down to Molson Centre and got tickets to tomorrow night’s NHL game between the Montreal Canadiens and the Philadelphia Flyers. We paid $24 and we’re in the nosebleeds. We then had another look around the city. Montreal has some of the most perfect looking women I’ve ever seen [2015 Me interjection: Which would be trumped on a trip to Barcelona some five years later. Spanish women should be elevated to God status]. I’d like to dip my dunkin into a Montreal donut (sic) [2015 Me interjection: I literally have no idea what this last sentence means. I assume it was designed to be sexual]. I bought a scivvy from Gap today. Dave and John agreed that I looked like the money in it [2015 Me interjection: then they were clearly drunk or lying]. I kind of felt like King Dick [2015 Me interjection: I was half correct on that one].
We checked out some nightspots in the evening. This city has a certain energy that is hard to define. It’s laid back and chaotic all at once, which I like. We visited an Irish pub called Hurley’s first. Again it was underground. The beer was expensive so I only got one. We then headed up the street to a place that looked snooty on the outside but was full of sketchy characters inside. We had to check our coats, which was weird, plus it cost two dollars to do so. The place was crap. After that we walked to the Latin Quarter. We went back to the spot from the previous night, the one with no ambiance and cheap beer. By this stage my two associates were really drunk but I was fine. I wasn’t up for drinking. John told Dave that he loved him like a brother and told me that he considered me his soulmate. He must’ve been drunk! We left the place and I bailed. I figured that they were drunk and merry and I wasn’t up for it so I didn’t want to drag them down. The walk home was nice but cold.
OCTOBER 27th, 2001
John and Dave went out to Old Montreal today while I grabbed some lunch in the city and watched a film called 13 Ghosts. It stars the lovely Shannon Elizabeth [2015 Me interjection:if you were to ask me back then who the big stars of the next century would be, I’d of said Elizabeth and Kate Hudson. Whoops.]. The film was scary enough but not very good. The cinema itself was pretty spectacular, in fact I’d go so far to say that it was the greatest cinema I’ve ever frequented. I feel bad because I’ve seen two bad films in a row. There’s not much on at the moment though.
I got back to the hostel at about 5pm and met up with the guys. We all went to dinner and then to Molson Centre for the ice hockey. We had awesome seats, that was until we got kicked out of them by the rightful owners. We had some trouble locating our actual seats but everything was settled eventually. The game itself was boring. Going to a sporting event in North America is always more than just ‘some game’ – it’s an experience. They really know how to put on a show. Philadelphia won the game, 5-1. The lone goal by the Habs (what the locals call them, apparently) caused the crowd to go wild. I’ve never seen such a reaction to a goal from a fanbase that knew its team was going to lose. That’s real fandom. I spent a lot of the time ogling this girl that was sitting in front of us. She had reddy-brown hair and a blue top that barely contained two of the most luscious looking tits I’d ever seen. She had a loser looking boyfriend – don’t they all? The game seemed to go on forever, it took three hours. There were three periods of twenty minutes each – how did the game take that long?
After the game we went back to the hostel and decided what to do with the remainder of the night. I suggested a nudie bar [2015 Me interjection: of course I did] as I wanted to see the Montreal female form in its naked state. I didn’t care in what way or by what means, the girls in Montreal are so fine that it just had to happen. Tonight was not that night though. We instead ventured to the subway and headed to the Latin Quarter. On the trip we were the subjects of some group of losers’ idea of wacky French Canadian wit. This guy was clearly bagging us out to his group of friends so he could look big. The French are rude. I will never go to France unless I’m paid a lot of money or a woman wants me to go [2015 Me interjection: I’ve been to France. Twice. Both times with my wife, who was and remains a woman. I loved Paris]. We ended up walking around the Latin Quarter trying to figure out a place to go. Nothing looked great (last night seemed busier), so we got back on the subway and returned to the hostel. So ended a Saturday night in Montreal.
OCTOBER 28th, 2001
I can’t seem to get up early on this trip. Today I woke up at around 2pm. Being our last full day in Montreal, we agreed to do a hard target search of retail land. John bought some aftershave for his dad, Dave bought a wacky orange woolen hat with flaps, and I wacky LA Clippers jersey. Number 7 – Lamar Odom. I was quite happy with my purchase. Montreal people are so rude. The city itself is very nice but its inhabitants really spoil it. It is so fucking cold as well! We returned to the hostel and discussed how to spend our final night in the city. I know what I wanted: naked Montreal ass. My wish came true. Tonight’s crew consisted of so much more than the three heroes of this story. Tonight we were joined by some Korean guy that shared our room, a psychotic Italian dude that had a tough time deciphering the order of the days of the week (presumably a language thing), and Ziggy, the Dustin Hoffman looking Alberta native. To see this ragtag group walking down the street, you could’ve been convinced that the cast of Revenge of the Nerds 6 was in town.
We all headed to the main street in Montreal and entered one of many nudie bars in the city. Five dollar cover charge and six dollars per domestic beer or soft drink – what a rip! I proceeded to get into a conversation with the Italian guy in our party. His opinion on his home country: shit, and the people are shit too. He then asked us for assistance on the sequence of the days of the week. Dave and I helped him. He kept referring to Thursday as Tuesday. A waitress came over to take our order, and the Italian Stallion almost had a fit when she wanted to charge him eight dollars for a Heineken.
While attractive females got naked around us, Italian Stallion stared off in the opposite direction. We figured he was potentially plotting to kill at least one of us, or maybe the dancers. Who knew? He stormed off ten minutes or so later, without saying a word to any of us. We didn’t see him for the rest of the night. We didn’t care much, we just settled back and checked out some ass, which was plentiful. There was this old couple across from us. They looked so out-of-place, like they were meant to go to the opera but zigged when they should’ve zagged and ended up in a strip club instead. The lady seemed to be in awe/shock. When they got up to leave, the old guy tripped over something and one of the dancers helped him up.
I became infatuated with a girl called Angel. Perfect body (not an ounce of fat on it) and a really nice face. She moved me. I partook in what is referred to as a “contact dance” with her. Twenty Canadian dollars later and I’d groped her great chest and amazing ass till my heart was content! Dave did the same with a Nubian princess called Sextasy. Great name [2015 Me interjection: if you live in a trailer park, that is]. Dave was having a tough time getting his idea of what he wanted from his session with Sextasy across to her. Maybe, again, a language barrier? Who knew? Not to put too fine a point on it, but Sextasy seemed a rather…simple lass. Not much going on upstairs if you catch my drift. All Dave wanted was for he and her, and me and Angel to run the contact dances simultaneously so we finished at the same time. That was it really. Sextasy took this to mean that the four of us were to be in the same room at the same time, which was a no-no in this establishment. But that’s not what Dave was asking for. Both parties were getting visibly frustrated. In the meantime, Ziggy wandered off with some dancer and returned an hour later and one hundred dollars lighter for his trouble.
We left the nudie bar and hit the freezing streets once more. Ziggy told us many stories: there was the tale of his friend that was once so horny that he cut a hole in his mattress and proceeded to engage in sexual intercourse with it [2015 Me interjection: oh yeah, Ziggy. Your “friend”]. Then he started making fun of homosexuals and talking about something called Johnny Bend Over Cream. We had fun with that one for the rest of the night (the concept, not the product in question).
Our last night in Montreal will certainly be remembered [2015 Me interjection: almost fourteen years later, I’m sad to report that it barely has been remembered. I vaguely recall portions of the night, but maybe I’ve had too many beers in that time for a full recollection of the evening, and Montreal in general.]