Bloorp.

Imagine boarding a bus en route to the indigenous Embera community in Panama, a long drive and boat ride down a river, far away from a privileged resort life of excessive food and free-flowing alcohol.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First, picture a tour guide named Tony, speaking into a little microphone for his voice to carry over the din of the mini-bus speeding its way across the Pan-American highway.

Tony announces that a typical Panamanian salary is around $400 a month, and a post-secondary education runs about $30 for the year.

Suddenly, a woman from B.C. in the tour group decides this is the perfect moment to bring up her own plight.

“That’s so cheap!” she exclaims incredulously. “Do you know how expensive everything is in Canada? It’s going to cost me $100,000 to put my daughter through school! Oh, and our health care system is the worst, you have to wait forever…”

Then you think/hope she’ll shut up any second because she’s embarrassing herself, not to mention the person who chimed in to agree that, yes, everything costs far too much in Canada and we have such a rough life, especially compared to the high-rolling citizens of Panama!

But she doesn’t shut up.

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Snapped in the men’s room at Ajisen Ramen in downtown Toronto. Matt came back from the washroom in mid-meal to alert me about the signs, at which point I decided it was imperative to see them for myself.

He stood guard while I snuck into the tiny (and yes, empty) men’s room to take these pictures. One was pasted to the paper towel dispenser and the other above a urinal.

After I had done my business — and not in that way — I made a quick escape, filled with a special kind of glee that only comes from encountering Engrish. Luck was on my side as the washrooms were down a level, so I was in and out and back at my seat before other patrons realized they needed to pee.

Oh, Engrish. How I love you so.

Snapped in the men’s room at Ajisen Ramen in downtown Toronto. Matt came back from the washroom in mid-meal to alert me about the signs, at which point I decided it was imperative to see them for myself.

He stood guard while I snuck into the tiny (and yes, empty) men’s room to take these pictures. One was pasted to the paper towel dispenser and the other above a urinal.

After I had done my business — and not in that way — I made a quick escape, filled with a special kind of glee that only comes from encountering Engrish. Luck was on my side as the washrooms were down a level, so I was in and out and back at my seat before other patrons realized they needed to pee.

Oh, Engrish. How I love you so.

My friend’s husband Keith and my longtime buddy Alfred. In case you can’t tell what’s going on here, Alfie had hooked his big toe into a dangling cord on Keith’s inner tube — tethered to the dock — to prevent him from floating away.

If there was a photo that embodied the absolutely blissful laziness from my girl Kristin’s cottage this past weekend, this would be the one.

I shouldn’t freely admit that I get handjobs from strippers, but whatever. It was behind a fake plastic tree in Tokyo.

— You know who I love? My friend MM, who has once again proven to be the most matter-of-fact, bluntly honest man I know. Whether or not he’s drinking, I can always count on him to tell me exactly like it it is, no filter necessary—he probably wouldn’t know what to do with one, anyway.

Playing video games with my cousins has become a sort of ritual at family gatherings.

This, however, became problematic at the last such function when we wanted to do four-player on N+ and found ourselves short one Xbox 360 controller.

My brother looked around the room and caught sight of the Rock Band drums resting by the wall. More specifically, the Rock Band drums with a d-pad.

You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?