Sanctimonious Icebox? Don't think so.

Well you know a lot of people say that Toronto is a sanctimonious icebox, that's its uptight and too politically correct and you have to play ultimate Frisbee for three years before people will allow you into their social group. And OK sure this is the same city that wouldn't let the Bare Naked Ladies play in Nathan Philips square because of their "controversial" name and yes its the same place that wouldn't let Toronto based Ms Universe Natalie Glebova link to story speak at that same square because beauty contests are too sexist. HOWEVER, Mr Toronto was looking to illustrate that that is simply not the case. I joined the gay pride parade on Sunday, June 25th. Now gay pride is about as unuptight as you can get. Leather boys and caribana queens syncro dance with drag kings and lipstick lesbian hotties. Its a real departure from the Toronto that is mired in Protestant conservatism (and the same city culture that didn't have an outdoor cafe until 1968 -The Diplomatico). The parade hall monitors almost kicked me out which was going a ways towards showing that even a gay pride parade can be uptight when something FABULOUS happened. Aggressive hot lesbians tore off all my clothes. Yes that's right I was ravaged and left as breathless and naked as a Conan the Barbarian love interest.



I began my standard "here's me" dancepanther approach to a stunning brunette with Jackie O sunglasses- that seemed to be going well. My latin dance training was coming in handy. The slow yet sensual approach created a space and began to captivate the crowd. The music was building to some sort of crescendo.Tout a coup a blonde surfgirl grabbed my hips from behind and began a grinding thing. Who was I to complain? Jackie O had a rascally look in her eye and moved to the beat slowly closer to me. Smiling devilishly. With a sudden lunge (keep in mind there are hundreds of people watching along Yonge Street) Jackie grabs my shirt as the blonde surf woman tightened her grip on my hips and Jackie rips off the shirt in one tiger-like tear. A leather boy and a Pippi Longstocking of some description joined in the strip Mr Toronto fray. The music exploded into full bass bashing swing. As my chest was exposed to the sun, I gasped and the crowd went bananas. My shirt was in shreds, my pants were partially ripped and left drooping around my ankles. I was left to gather my tattered clothing and my dignity and limp along the rest of the parade route.

Sanctimonious Icebox? I think not.