Je me souviens Montreal...

There it was. Morning. The Khan to this Drunken Poet's Jim Kirk.  Sleeping in a basement, head pounding as though a herd of rhino's was using my brain for a siesta.  Memories of the previous night of insanity start flooding back in an unending torrent of continual laughter.  I cough.  Too many cigarettes the night before.  Oh Crap, I agreed to give Spyboy's friend Rockgirl a ride to Montreal. Check the clock. Was supposed to pick her up in 20 minutes.  The rest of the crew is still comatose.  Not going to happen.  Emergency text.  She was already planning on waiting for us knowing what the Market can do on the unsuspecting. Great Girl.

English walks out of his bedroom. "Did we almost get a fight last night?".  More laughter.  Manage to get the troops out of bed, packed, and shower while they're getting going.  Wish the rest of them had.  Manhole packs for the trip: a Toothbrush and a pair of socks, no change of clothes. Dude is a legend.

Pick Rockgirl up an hour late. Not too bad, all told.  Car reeks of booze seeping from our pores.  Poor Girl.  Car trip is one of the ages, listening to crazy English music off Matt's Ipod.  Manage to make it to Montreal.  I fail at navigation, went to the wrong hotel. Somehow, we manage to not drive Rockgirl away from us entirely, agree to meet up later in the evening.

More after the jump...

The Nation's Capital...

Been awhile since I've posted anything, and there is an excellent reason for that.  I've been nearly dead with exhaustion.  I posted last saying that English and I were headed off on a bit of a vacation last weekend, and it was an adventure beyond imagining.  We rented a car and headed out, to pick up our friend Matt from the airport, on the second leg of his world tour.  Matt is from England, so I knew from the get go that these travels would result in nothing more than my liver losing a few years of my life.  Oh if only I had known...I would have done it anyways.

First stop, Ottawa, our Nation's Capital, to visit Spyboy & Manhole.  Spyboy was on his way back home for Easter, so we allowed him to show us around the City, as we planned our assault on the city for that evening.  For those of you who know nothing about Ottawa, I will introduce you to the greatness that is the Market.  In the city where I currently spend my time, we have a modest drinking quarter, something along the lines of 12 or 15 mediocre and basically pitiful establishments.  The Market in Ottawa, is a literally a district. Filled with Pubs, Clubs, back out of the way establishments, everything.  It is, in the most basic terms, a literaly utopia for a Drunken Poet such as myself.  We wended our way back and forth, partaking in the evenings finest, consuming without regard for the state of our livers, our self respect, or most importantly our wallets.

Read more after the Break.