The Great Canadian Adventure (Part 1: YVR)

Every young man must go out and see his country.

I don’t know who said that, but it sounds pretty profound, so I’m going to go ahead and tag that on to this big gigantic Canadian adventure that I’m undertaking. Tonight I’m flying from Victoria to to Halifax, Nova Scotia. From there, I will drive to Calgary, Alberta. I’m taking Canada by storm with nothing but my sexy new mohawk haircut, a couple of CD’s and a desire to get all up in Canada. I’m of course going to talk about it endlessly on social media and my blog, because that’s what all the cool kids do in this day and age, and I am nothing if not one of the cool kids.

I’m in YVR. Vancouver. Part 1 of the big gigantic red eye flight fuck-fest is over. I’ve had two dark beers and a plate of calamari. I’m almost done my book. I always liked YVR. The free Wi-Fi seems like a pretty swell luxury (even if most people can snag free wi-fi from passing cars these days.) Also, there’s not that many people, which is always pretty choice.

Next stop is Montreal. I haven’t been. At least, I don’t think I have. Let’s hope that the airport is nice, and the free Wi-Fi feels good.

Also, hopefully there won’t be some douchenozel with his shoes off. I mean really, don’t take your fucking shoes off in public, it’s not a fucking hard rule. It’s not like whatever bullshit, dad-joke sandals you’re wearing are super-uncomfortable. They’re made out of nothing but the soft, delicate, uncool fabrics of shoes for people who watch Law and Order, read shitty books, and suck in bed.

Put your fucking shoes on.

Also, I am envious of the fact that your un-shoed carcass has taken the ONLY FUCKING OUTLET IN THE AIRPORT.

Ah, adventure.

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