toronto

A very large city on the north shore of Lake Ontario, and the economic and, (tied with Montreal), the cultural center of Canada. People living in Toronto generally secretly wish they were living in New York, but when they get to New York think, gee, Toronto's actually so much sweeter (like Cole Porter, except the opposite - not that there's anything wrong with NYC, we all love the Apple). Characterized by small buroughs and a deep sense of community, it's the kind of place where you get to know people by shopping at the same market. All this in spite of having the most diverse population in the world, of a whopping 5.9 million (2.48 million in the downtown core). One of the best Indy rock scenes in North America. And of course, it's the city that Americans are ferociously jealous of (particularly those in the midwest who can't stand the idea that something Canadian is better than something American) as can be seen in many of the entries in this dictionary. Secretly loved by those living here, and publicly loathed by almost everybody else. It is also home to the tallest tower in the world, the CN tower, which is famously interpreted as a sign of penis envy by the city's detractors and great achievement by its supporters. Sometime home to Ernest Hemingway (1920s), Morley Callaghan (1920s), William Faulkner (1940s), Vaslav Nijinski (world's greatest ballet dancer, 1950s), Glenn Gould (world's greatest pianist, 1930s), Hunter S. Thompson (1970s), David Cronenberg, 1980s), Michael Ondaatje (currently), Margaret Atwood (currently), Oscar Peterson (currently).

"Toronto you massive prick, I'm going to miss you" (anonymous)
"Writers tended to disappear once they moved to Toronto in the 1920s, but felt compelled to do so nonetheless" (Hemingway in Toronto, David Donnell)
"Memories of another painful morning in Toronto" (Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas)

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peach

Urban or Freudian allusion to a vulva. The juiciness, soft hair, and shape of the fruit obviously resemble the female vulva. Biting into a peach, with the consequent explosion of juices, is often invoked as a Freudian exposition of male (or female) libido.

"Do I dare eat to a peach..."
T.S. Elliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

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