Memories of Québec City

People think that Québec is a historic and interesting city,
Full of Froggy speaking trappers and sophisticates,
With the only marginally decent food in North America
And some really good tourist trap artists on the pavements.
But there is another side to this Canadian paradise:
Believe me, I know, I was there about 15 years ago
And I have seen it in all its indescribable nausea.

I was dancing in the bar of the Château Frontenac,
With my left-hand thumb about four inches up my lady companion's anus,
When a hideous noise erupted in the goddam corridor
Fuck me, it was a group of demented Korean tourists
(part of the International Round Table of Rotarians)
And they rushed into that cosy little dance bar,
Dragging my parents off into the night,
Even though they were engrossed in watching
My digital explorations of my bird's keester.

Those nasty Asiatic mothers left my Mum and Dad 100% decapitated,
Their poor weak skulls sent flying over the 70s carpet in the lobby.
And why? Was it just because my poor parents needed a shower?
I really don't know but they smelled fairly OK to me (I suppose).
But it rather casts doubt upon the myth of the "Good Canadian"
Dear God, I shall head for a Rotarian-free zone in the future.