Adventures With GayBoy! Part Gazillion!

Synopsis:
We went to the Spag, rode a dyke or two, then hit up Timmy Ho's for sthpeshul sthervice from Clefty!

The Treatment:
We rode the nasty 25 minute-long ride out to SilverCity where we planned to see our movie, then Genius (that'd be me) realized the coupons for FREE ADMISSION had been left at home! (I so thtoopid!)

So, we decided to have some food and then see if we wanted to ride back and get the coupons. Enter The Old Spaghetti Factory.

Now, the OSF is a nostalgic place. Meaning, the only reason people go there is because their parents took them when they were six. (Me! Me!) The food? Shit. The service? Mediocre. The cleanliness? It's predominantly frequented by kids (do the math).

But here's what I wrote on the comment card I'm about to mail in:

The "rich" tomato sauce completely lacked flavour. I could easily surpass it at home by merely adding BASIL to HUNT'S CANNED TOMATO SAUCE. Oh, and salt. The "clam" sauce contained ONE clam. (ONE!) Again, the tomato sauce was the most uninspired I've ever had. Did I mention that? There was WATER on the plate from the poorly drained pasta. It was so overcooked no sauce would stick to it. I won't even mention the obviously canned "button" mushrooms in the sauce, either. Oh, wait, I just mentioned it!

And... wait for it. Wait for it! Within 30 minutes my friend developed the trots from your so-called "potpourri" of pasta. MmM.

We took our scooters up and down the dykes after, ate a few mouthfuls of riverside bugs. (Well, the food wasn't doing much for us, and the protein wasn't too bad a notion.) GayBoy says, "I'm STILL spitting up bugs!"

Finally, we hit up the legendary Timmy Ho's (Tim Horton's, for the uninitiated) where we were served by a guy with a really, really nasty cleft lip. The kind that stylized cartoon characters might have PLUS new braces. We couldn't understand a word. We ordered and hoped for the best, and passed over excessive funds just in case. Coins were obviously contributed to the Tim Horton's Camp for Kids With Special Needs fund there on the counter. "Go, Clefty, go! Paddle faster!"

"Sthank you and thome again!" (The kid was nice, and I feel sorry for him, but it was unfortunately really, really funny to a couple loser-gigglers like GayBoy and me. But we were cracking ourselves up as GayBoy couldn't decide between the "apple" or "blueberry" fritter.

"Get the blueberry," I said. "They're in season."

He guffawed, "No, not these, they've NEVER been in season."

Then I noticed they had "Maple" Dip as well as "Canadian Maple" donuts.

"What," I asked, "are the others from Vermont? They're imported?"

At Timmy's? Imported donuts? NoOoOOoo! Anyhow, Clefty was there at the counter, giggling at everything we said, and looked about 10 pounds lighter as we left, so he obviously had a good time at our expense, so it's only fair we should return the favour, right? Clefty rocks. I just didn't understand a fucking word, is all.)

(Ever since, we've been doing the Brady Bunch movie line ad nauseum: "Thee you at the theethaw, Thindy!")

Furthermore, I now need to add this passage to the OSF comment card:

Dear sirs--

I wish to be reimbursed for the can of air freshener I had to use when my friend, forced by necessity, evacuated his bowels in my residential washroom. Aromatically scarred for life, I'll never think of my loo quite in the same way again, and it is entirely your fault.

Not happily yours,
A Scribe Called Steff.

(Oh, and in case your Steff Decoder Ring is busted, this means I had a wildly fun but stupid night. Bad food, stupid mistakes, cruel observations, dining on bugs, illegally riding scooters on dykes... shit! All good! Fun! Life's too short to do normal good things all the time, you know.)