Hardcore island bird sex

Posted on June 15th, 2009 2 great comments. Room for one more!

Imagining ride-the-rides-till-I-puke fun, and fully intending to top this off with the closing performance of Luminato,  I decided to enjoy a sunny afternoon on the Toronto Islands yesterday.

No sooner had I left the docks than nature decided to go on her rag:

Island Weekend

Kudos to all of you who spotted Bobby Lee in this photo.

Despite the ominous ceiling and ravenous  seagulls at Centreville (Toronto’s lumberjack-inspired answer to Coney Island), I managed to scarf down a funnel cake with “the works” consisting of a light dusting of icing sugar (childrens’ cocaine), early-season strawberry goop (later in the year, the storage barrel’s accumulated fly droppings adversely affect the flavour), and ice cream (childrens’ meth). The eight-dollar price tag (four bucks for the pointless, barely-dusted variety), seemed a bit steep, even if they import from Colombia.

The few rides that seemed like they could support an adult man were overrun with coke-crazed kids, and the others were closed down for repairs. Shame. But I did get to wander around, fondle some goats at the petting zoo, that sort of thing.

The northern part of the island has some interesting, less-traveled areas like the hedge maze where children come to do drugs in private and then run around screaming incoherently, presumably because of the hallucinatory insects crawling on their skin. Note for you parents: this is a good opportunity for you to suddenly and permanently “lose” your kids. Well worth the trip.

The beach at the very northern end of the island is surprisingly syringe and condom-free, but the fishy smell and the looming clouds didn’t inspire a dip. Instead, I got a good gander at the cormorants that are re-populating (and defoliating) the Leslie Street Spit, from the pier that juts out into lake Ontario. For a dollar, the coin-operated binoculars provided three minutes and twenty seconds of nude trees and hardcore bird sex.

Island Weekend

Sexy. But not as sexy as Toronto’s very own haunted phallus, the Gibraltar Point Lighthouse:

Island Weekend

Despite the awesomeness of this photo, the structure is barely four storeys tall. Well, maybe six. You could probably see the light out at a distance on the lake but the tree line would block it out near the island, the only place you would really need it. Most of the trees look pretty old so I can only conclude that they must’ve Agent Oranged the hell out of the place back in the day.

If you were thinking of peeking through that red gate at the base, you would be rebuffed by a Dr. Evilesque voice saying, “You will find that quite im-possible. It’s a very solid door … with lay-zers.” So outside with the mosquitoes, cell towers, and lost/urinating tourists you stay.

The building certainly looks authentic enough, and chunks where cement has patched the masonry are visible but executed very cleanly. The grey and white morning-salute to Toronto should be around for ages to come. I bet it’s breathtaking at dawn.

Alas, the day was growing dark so I returned to the docks, shoved aside a bunch of old (weak!) people and made my way to the front of the boat.

Island Weekend

The final Luminato show was an hour-long delay with people in the crowd shouting, “What the fuck? This fucking sucks! Where’s the cock-sucking show you assholes?” Sophisticated art lovers all, just not my type of crowd; plus my dogs were barking something fierce, so I decided to call it a day.

Island Weekend

Suckers.

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