It’s Monday night (or technically, 3:00 AM Tuesday morning) and I’m enjoying downloaded television shows on my computer. It’s a weird feeling to have a weekday, knowing that you don’t have to go to work tomorrow; I’ve taken the day off just for kicks. I haven’t eaten in seven hours – I guess normally I’d be asleep – and the dark voice of hunger and addiction creeps out from the shadows around me and whispers in my ears, poisioning my mind with thoughts of delicious gravy oozing across melted cheese curds and crispy french fries. It’s 3:00 AM in the morning, I protest. It’s time for sleep, not poutine.

3:00 AM is precisely the time for poutine. There is no other time of day that poutine tastes better. What? No, that’s absurd…where am I even going to find it at this time of night? Everything’s closed, Smoke’s Poutinerie is only open late on the weekend for drunk people lurching out of clubs. It’s Monday night.

You need it, the voice claims. You will figure it out. You will not stop until you do. This is stupid, there’s nothing out there. Well, maybe like a 24-hour diner, but what are the chances they’ll even have it? I bet they’re all gay bubble tea places or coffee shops with confectioneries and shit, where packs of loser university kids gather to play vintage board games with each other and piss their lives away. There’s no way there’s any real diners with real food in the city here, and I bet they’re all sketchy as hell too. I don’t want to have to drive like an hour out to some dirty place just to get stabbed and left to die in a gutter. See? I’ll prove it to you, I’ll look them up, and you can see for yourself. Once I rub the ridiculousness of this idea into your face, I will have a smoothing and delightful sleep.

The Lakeview. Open 24 hours. Dundas and Ossington. 15 minutes away. 10 with no traffic. What? No, it’s probably a horrible place, I don’t feel like getting raped today at some greasy spoon. It’s probably some dive trucker stop, it’s not what I’m looking for. Not that I’m looking for anything.

All burgers have vegetarian options. Eggs are all organic free-run. Okay, probably not a dirty truck stop then. But that means they probably don’t have any poutine. I bet it’s some hipster yuppie place with faux Indian food and junk. Forget this, I’m just going to –

Four different types of poutine on the menu.

Poutine Lakeview. “Sweet potato and fresh cut friends, cheese curds, crumbled feta, peameal bacon, garlic onion crunch, wild mushroom saute and house gravy.”

I’m getting in the car.

There is a lady at the counter already when I walk in, the only other patron. She has greyed hair, looks to be 60ish, and is furiously typing away at a glowing MacBook. This is a strange place. Scientist Studies by Death Cab For Cutie is playing – I would end up listening to their entire discography during the hour I spend here. The poutine is as advertised and as anticipated. Rare is it that you can have a meal at 4:00 in the morning and not find it to be the most delicious thing in the universe. The coffee is…well, you know, coffee, and I have three cups of it, so I’m feeling pretty great and jittery and full of poutine. It’s not a bad feeling.

Okay, now cruise around downtown Toronto aimlessly for half an hour while listening to the Tron soundtrack.

Let’s do it.

God won’t stop talking to me. His power is the in the mix! I haven’t slept in 78 hours. Oh, my goodness, I’m knackered.



Destined to fight the world's evil, The WAMBAG endures massive battles involving impossible stunts, races on horse-pulled carriages, and the desecration of enchanting medieval castles (all done with dizzying computer graphics). Not only does the eye candy keep on coming, the tongue-in-cheek writing and deep Transylvanian accents perfect the film with a dose of dark humor.



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