Tarts of Toronto

One of the great things about living in Toronto is the diversity of tarts that ply their scented wares in the many convenient locations across this most important city of the racist shithole that is Canada. You can walk to a brothel or whorehouse from pretty well any subway station.

This tasty specimen works out of the whorehouse above the hardware store here on the Danforth between Main and Woodbine. It is only a block west from my regular whorehouse at the end of the street where I live. Unlike the last tart, this one will only slap you if you bite her. Originally from Nova Scotia, this tart has applied for refugee status, claiming fear of torture in her native Yemen. Of course, she is not really from Yemen, but saying negative things about her cheating the welfare system brings our socialist system into doubt, which is worse. So, shut up and come on down to the rooftop Tart house and take advantage of Canadian Tire Money week.

Ask for BJ., as that is what she calls herself. She is collecting social assistance to obtain a certificate in African Gender Roles and Global Warming at George Brown College. She is in the third year of the one year program, and has never attended classes, which is impressive. Under no circumstances let her put handcuffs on you.

your pal, Fenris