In Canada, there’s absolutely no place quite as strange as South O— so naturally that’s where we hail from. This is the land of the KD and hotdog dinner, a land where vegetables have yet to earn a place on the plate, where it’s Christ now or a burn victim eternity. It’s okay to smoke while preggers, because at least she’s not eating oxys like they were wine gums. And, oh yeah, the ubiquitous pig roast, that ever-turning spit. Yeah buddy, let’s drink some pop and get our tarps off and get’er done, eh.
One of the most noticeable features across South O is the signage. It’s like some vast comic conspiracy is being carried out by the municipalities, the townsfolk and the business owners. Some of the shit is just dead wrong – like anti-abortion ads on public transit, and yo, don’t forget to cop a fresh high-crop fade at the Hair Port on your way outta town. lol.
South O also boasts something else. That’s old fashioned good people. There’s this moment when you realise that nothing really matters other than kindness and giving from the heart. If you’re ever having one of those who-gives-a-fuck-we’re-all-just pieces-of shit-fuck-the-world moments, all you gotta do is chill with Grandma Shirley. She’ll break you off with some homemade butter tarts and a glass of milk. And then she’ll smile at you warmly and tell you about Windsor city before the shopping malls and casinos. For real.
Werd up, we been out in MTL for quite awhile now, and we like it, but trips like this one make even the hardest all city chiller long for something a little smaller, and truer, and simpler. Respect to South O, even if they can’t style for shit or keep it p.c. half the time – at least they’re keeping it real, and you can feel that.