Monday, 27 August 2012

WELCOME TO THE SHITTY OF BRAMPTON

POOP-SMEARED BILLBOARD BROUGHT TO YOU BY BRAMPTON'S 
WINGED GOODWILL AMBASSADORS 

A little bird told me . . . what I already knew. I've lived here for three years now and for three years I have been saying, "WTF? Where are the nice restaurants? Where are the quaint neighbourhoods? Where are the urban planners? How do they sleep at night?" It is a bulging, charmless goiter of a city that was allowed to get too big, too fast, a colony of suburbs gone stark raving mad. I once asked a neighbour: "What are some fun things to do in Brampton?" She laughed and said, "Go to Toronto." (Oh come on, Marie, you must be able to come up with something nice to say about your town! Hmm. Well, it has some pretty trails. I walk on one of them every single day and it really brightens my mood because I see flowers and bunnies and butterflies and signs that have been despoiled by birds with a sense of humour and perfect aim. Other than that? Uhm, yeah. No.)