TORONTO – After a recent weekend spent in far-flung Winnipeg, Gerald Skinner is regaling friends and family with tales of life in the exotic international city.
“A chicken finger, you say? Interesting. They call these cluck stubs in Winnipeg,” said Skinner over dinner. “And a proper cluck stub is dipped in honey dill, not our backwater barbeque sauce. But I guess it takes time for news from the cultural capital to reach distant provinces.”
“By the way, I grabbed some jambusters and a two-four from the LC so we can have a real gooder of a social,” Skinner added. “Oh, forgive me, I picked up some modern slang on my travels. I brought donuts for our party. Such quaint terms.”
While some of Skinner’s acquaintances have taken his newfound metropolitan character with good grace, others have expressed concern.
“Okay, we get it, you went to fucking Winnipeg,” said one friend. “I’ll admit Gerry one-upped my week in the Italian Riviera, but he doesn’t have to be a dick about it.”
“I didn’t raise Gerry to gallivant around big scary cities like New York and Winnipeg,” Skinner’s mother said. “It’s his life, but I wish he’d settle down and be happy in little old Toronto.”
Despite these reservations, Skinner remains thoroughly enchanted by contemporary trends.
“Well, it’s your house, so okay, I’ll wash my hands before we eat. But I have to say, when I was in Winterpeg — if you haven’t been, you might know it better as Winnipeg — no one would be caught dead partaking in such superstitious nonsense. ‘Water is just beer you haven’t met yet, so don’t waste it on your body,’ as they say there.”
“‘No thanks, you have to drive’? Huh. In Winnipeg everyone says, ‘Sure, I can always sober up on the road,’” Skinner said, after his friend refused another drink. “Aren’t cultural differences fascinating?”
At press time, Skinner was telling onlookers that a proper Winnipeg assailant would have stabbed him with far more incoherent rage.
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