Help, I'm an American trapped in the body of a Montrealer

It’s sunny mild and beautiful here- I’m 10 seconds away from an awesome gym and great food stores, the chicks are retardedly hot and I’m getting into great shape….so why the general dissatisfaction…???

Frankly I’m not sure of anything except that the TV sucks and there is still the talk of Separation 35 years after their demands were met and the balance of power now is not shared, it’s been commandeered.  The language police are such that the occasional goose step wouldn’t raise eyebrows but everything seems to work in a patchwork madras golf pants sort of way…so why the general dissatisfaction????

The Olympics only highlight the resigned acceptance of living a bronze medal sort of existence here.  I recently got a job offer to move to LA and I’m working on it post haste- although it’s temporary and I’ll have to move back in few years… the thought of living without Sorel snow boots and hopping the dirty slush gives way to  non language inflamed race riots and gridlock traffic.

I have the body of an aging beach volleyballer who’s plyometric ‘Baryshnikov’ days are well behind him; and while ideally I prefer a suit and never wear sandals, I’m sure I can blend in with the native warpaint and become certifiably flaky

I just feel as if I’m in the remedial class with a bunch of hillbillies as some sort of karmic bitchslap for past transgressions that will best be left undisturbed on the riverbed of my life.

Cars are cheaper, and there’s a beach so my SPF expenses will exponentially explode and  I might just return home early if I nail a bleach blonde in a convertible…