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epitome of incomprehensibility
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Quebecer explains Ontario to other Quebecers: Brock University is not in Brockville, it's in St. Catharines. St. Catharines is not St. Catherine Street in Montreal. Montreal is the name of at least two streets in eastern Ontario, while Ontario is a street in Montreal. Are we confused yet?
Anyway, Brockville, where I walked yesterday between a gas station and a Home Hardware, just for something to do while the car charged. I saw sandbags to hold a sign in place and felt a little sad that one or two of them had split, spilling sand. I wondered if someone had done it maliciously or if was a caprice of the elements.
Then The Butcher Shop. Sign something like "We serve meat so fresh, you'll wanna slap it!" Wondered while I wandered why that sounded like a masturbation metaphor. Beat one's meat, that's why. But slapping for insolence seems more vulgar since violence is meaner than sex. And language is the worst. The pun makes me want to shun meat for the rest of my life, or maybe it's the too-heavy meal at the Swiss Chalet that ended up being lupper. A lump in my guts that is not fit for the blather forest but for the road, a load to lull me to hotel sleep and hotel dreams two stops later.
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