Why Kendrick Lamar Got Robbed At The 2014 Grammys

Just so you know, it’s going to be a bit before I get into the meat and potatoes here (and you read the point, which I’ve articulated in the title) because I’d like to take a bit of space and explain my opinion of the behemoth that is the Grammys and how I feel about awards shows in general. Now then:

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Sunday Night’s Grammy awards ceremony was the type of show that some folks would call memorable, featuring your typical “star-studded” performances, “touching” acceptance speeches, and even Pharrell’s bizarro hat (which magically became self-aware halfway through the show, quickly thereafter establishing its own Twitter account). Earnestly speaking, there were a number of entertaining moments – bursts of passion and wit interlaced with nostalgia and panache – that will hijack the zeitgeist for weeks to come (at least until the Oscars mounts its campaign to upstage and outdo).

Neat hat, buddy

Neat hat, buddy

Now, I’m not a fan of awards shows and the Grammys are no exception to this rule. I don’t hate music or the celebration of passionate artists and incredible talent; however, for me, watching an awards show is a bit too similar to self-flagellation. The acceptances all feel trite, especially when winners feel obligated to name drop everyone they have encountered since birth; the performances are canned and irrelevant (although to my pleasant surprise Beyoncé performance was incredibly sexy and mesmerizing to watch, as was Pink’s Cirque du Soleil routine), and the fashion and drama always upstage the actual art itself.

Perhaps the worst part of an industry award ceremony such as the Grammys is the lack of impartiality demonstrated when selecting nominees and winners. For example, Hattie McDaniel, the first Black Oscar winner, received the award ten years after the tradition began, and it was fully 24 years before another Black person would win (Best Actor by Sidney Poitier; another significant first). The issue standing between non-white nominees and victory was not talent, but a lack of respect and recognition, and it still plagues today’s Academy Awards (and will likely be a prime factor should Steve McQueen fail to win Best Director this year).

Because seriously, how could this guy NOT win Best Metal Performance?!?

Because seriously, how could this guy NOT win Best Metal Performance?!?

From a Grammy-centric perspective, a prime example would be the 1989 upset in the Best Hard Rock/ Metal Performance category that saw Jethro Tull win out over Metallica, exposing the flaws of the voting process. At the time, Metallica was arguably the face of Metal and had been pushing and expanding the genre by leaps and bounds with every release. Unfortunately for them, Grammy voters were disconnected from the state of Hard Rock and Metal in 1989 and did not take into account the meaning of the newly created category, leading to misclassified prog rockers Tull taking the award.

The 2014 awards saw a similar situation happen to up-and-coming rapper Kendrick Lamar, who arguably (and hands-down, in my opinion) released the best Hip-Hop album of 2013. Lamar was nominated in 7 categories, most importantly Best New Artist, Album of the Year, and Best Rap Song. His elevation to Hip-Hop legend was halted in its tracks when another fresh face, Macklemore, swept the rap category.

Let’s not deny Macklemore his due; the Seattle rapper (along with his creative partner Ryan Lewis) put together one of the most popular albums of 2013, and several of the songs on the album became hits. His hard work and persistence has paid off, and he is more than entitled to enjoy his success. However, insofar as his brand compares to Lamar’s, he is more mainstream-friendly and his style invites crossover appeal as much as his skin color does. The widespread recognition of Macklemore as a brand, combined with out of touch voting procedures means that in all likelihood, his work was judged less for its artistic merit and more for his popularity (the same can be said of Lamar’s case as well, with less appealing results).

Judging the artists upon their body of work alone, the Professor presents a more laid back and tempered flow than K.Dot, although his lyrics are imbued with passion and feel genuinely meaningful to him. The music behind his words is generally poppy and anthemic, and overall, Macklemore stands firmly in hipster territory (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing; it’s just his thing).

K.Dot, on the other hand, is like the only soldier of a one man army, on a mission to shake the Hip-Hop world to its core, and rebuild it in his image of perfection, or burn out trying. His flow can be tender in one verse and blunt in the next; laid-back and comical, or acutely intellectual. K.Dot has a very focused brand of intensity, and knows how and where to push his listeners’ buttons to hit them with a wall of sound reminiscent of Nas and the stripped down, fit lady that Hip-Hop once was. Between these two artists, in terms of creating an experience that must be, well, experienced, and pushing rap as an art form, Kendrick Lamar is firmly in the lead.

Of course, a Grammy represents more than just technical proficiency; it is the type of award which takes the entire performer, intangibles and all, into account. Because of this, despite whatever shortcomings anyone (myself included) may perceive in Macklemore’s musical abilities, the sum total of his brand stands on equal footing with Lamar’s (and the other nominated performers as well), at least in the Album of the Year and Best Rap Song categories.

Indeed, the biggest disservice to Lamar came in a category which superseded Hip-Hop: Best New Artist. Not only was Lamar featured in collaborations with a number of popular artists of various genres, he also delivered some of the most lyrically and musically appealing songs released in 2013. And then there was “Control.” In one fell swoop, Lamar put the Hip-Hop world on notice that he was going to fight tooth-and-nail to create his legacy, even if that meant destroying a few in the process.

Lamar specifically took aim at a number of popular artists (including some he counts as friends), and did so with an immaculate clarity and intensity that any of them would find hard to counter. Instead of playing second fiddle as a guest on Big Sean’s summer hit, Lamar stole the spotlight and delivered (in my opinion) the best 32 bars of the year, hands down. That said, I believe that Lamar demonstrated the greatest potential and presented the most entertaining and meaningful brand, and for this effort if nothing more, he deserved to receive Best New Artist, especially over Macklemore.

Fortunately for everyone, the future looks very bright for K.Dot – if he can continue to release high quality material, and push his own and others’ limits (and all indications are that he can and will), he will receive every bit of recognition due him sooner rather than later.

As far as Macklemore is concerned, well, his next step should be to STOP apologizing for beating Kendrick Lamar. In the end a win is a win. Listen to what the Professor himself had to say to Hot 97’s Peter Rosenberg about the whole Grammys blowout situation:

-Namakemono

Random Thought Of The Day: If A Deer Farts…

Sometimes, I think some rather random things. I don’t know if they are worth sharing or appropriate (well, the answer is probably a resounding “NO” on both counts there, actually), but, now they’re out there. And you can’t unread them. You’re welcome. 

I bet you’ve never seen this before. I think this deer and I would get on pretty well; that was a killer rip! What’s more puzzling to me is how the hunter (I assume that’s who was tracking the little stinker) didn’t immediately crack up and scare the thing away! Go figure.

-Namakemono

 

Random Thought Of The Day: Bad Taste

Sometimes, I think some rather random things. I don’t know if they are worth sharing or appropriate (well, the answer is probably a resounding “NO” on both counts there, actually), but, now they’re out there. And you can’t unread them. You’re welcome. 

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That hamburger song tho – that was my joint – my lil’ fat kid eat more garbage nomnomnom joint. Oh boy.

I used to like Skee-Lo. Oops.

(Who am I playin’? I still do. Yes, I played it again. Of course I sang along!)

-Namakemono

Random Thought Of The Day: Can’t Nobody Hold Me Down

Sometimes, I think some rather random things. I don’t know if they are worth sharing or appropriate (well, the answer is probably a resounding “NO” on both counts there, actually), but, now they’re out there. And you can’t unread them. You’re welcome. 

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Remember that song, “Can’t Nobody Hold Me Down” that Puffy did? Yes you do.

When I first heard it on the radio, I thought it was a prank – that a couple of little kids had called in and Hot 97 was being nice letting them do their kiddy freestyle.

I was straight convinced I would walk into school the day after and run into a kid on the playground bragging about getting on the radio. I still didn’t believe it until I saw the video. Who would’ve guessed?

Turns out, it would’ve been much better if it was a little kid instead of the “shiny suit man”

masepuffy_330653

Yes you can stop. Cuz you should stop. I thought I told you that you need to stop, I thought I told you that you need to stop, uh-huh, uh-huh.

Mase was iigh tho.

-Namakemono

Random Thought Of The Day: Alpacas Are STOOPID Dope

Sometimes, I think some rather random things. I don’t know if they are worth sharing or appropriate (well, the answer is probably a resounding “NO” on both counts there, actually), but, now they’re out there. And you can’t unread them. You’re welcome. 

Maximus-May-2011

Alpacas are STOOPID dope.

I know, I know, but before you click away whilst thinking, “What are you talking about you doltish kumquat?!” Just hear me out. Because before you leave, I’ll have you saying “Alpacas are STOOPID dope” too.

Have you ever been to a petting zoo, the ones where they have all the animals people love (to eat) but really hope don’t come up and get stinky animal goo all over their good pants? You know, they fence them off and slap up a petting zoo sign, place a bucket of corn or something at the gate and overcharge for a handful of “animal feed?”

Like This

Like this one!

Time and again you go in, hoping that this time will be pleasant and that all the various meat-precursors on display will actually be clean, cute and  well-behaved. Instead, the ducks, chickens and geese squawk incessantly and the pigs think that everything attached to you is food and treat your clothes accordingly. The goats think that exact same thing, and that you serve a dual purpose as a stepping ladder (*cloppity-clop*, Oh you just dry-cleaned that? That’s too bad! *cloppity-clop*). The unsupervised little three-year-olds are having mind explosions and can’t sit still, and the cows and horses are TOO BIG. That’s right, TOO BIG. They scare me, so what (It’s a long story involving an actual rodeo that actually came to the South Bronx)!?

Cloppity-Clop.

Cloppity-Clop!

Then you have the llamas.  The llamas are dicks. Not only are they TOO BIG, they’re mean to boot. According to National Geographic Llamas are actually the South American cousins of camels, minus the hump. Native folks strap ’em up with loads of stuff and have ’em carry things all over the place.  They can survive on minimal sustenance, their poop can be used as fuel and they might just be pretty tasty. Also, their fur and hides can make leather and wool, so they can totally hook you up with that badass mountain man outfit you always wanted, yay! But it’s not all gravy, baby – because like I said, llamas are dicks. They can become stubborn, refuse to move or cooperate, and hiss and spit at you. SPIT AT YOU. So why are these animals even featured in petting zoos at all?

Yup.

Yup.

I don’t know, but their cousins, Alpacas, are STOOPID dope.

A few summers ago, while I was riding my motorcycle along through the mountain passes of Northwestern Japan, I happened to come across a little janky mountain zoo. My butt was tired and beaten up from the hours of abuse it took from my bike seat, so I decided to stop and have a look around and see what none of the fuss was about. I was pretty nonplussed about the whole thing; there were rows upon rows of rusty old cages, with animals spattered throughout, failing fences,  broken playground equipment and plenty of weeds growing through the cracks and patches. If it wasn’t for the old lady sitting at the entrance collecting a ¥250 per person donation, I would have guessed the place had been long abandoned.

Something's wrong with your face there, pal!

Something’s wrong with your face there, pal!

There was a cage full of monkeys, staring longingly at the mountains from which they came not even twenty meters away, yet as impossible to reach as if they were 2000 kilometers away. A little newborn, who knew nothing of the mountains hopped about eagerly in an unwitting bliss, pausing long enough to stare into my face through the bars, maybe wondering why it was brown instead of red like his.

Another cage held a tiny little mountain bear who looked too hot and exhausted to even swat at a fly, much less throw a glance my way. There were, of course, turtles, the obligatory peacocks, though none as impressive as one in my neighborhood whom I had lovingly dubbed “King Cock,” and chickens doing what those animals always do (squawk, cluck, poop – squawk, cluck, poop). Across the clearing from these animals was another row of enclosures that held the cows, horses, sheep, and goats.*Cloppity-clop*, TOO BIG – didn’t go.

The real stars were behind all that in a modest enclosure that was surprisingly well maintained. On the right side of this enclosure was a lively herd of ostriches, who were in the middle of a high-speed endurance race and really letting the sand fly as they lapped each other, fighting for position in a race that didn’t end while I was there. More importantly, on the left side were the cutest, most awesome, bestest, coolest, adorablest animals on the planet – a pair of vanilla and chocolate no-longer-quite-baby alpacas.

Cute as hell - These lil' guys would make even a hardcore gangster soft as baby shit!

Cute as hell – These lil’ guys would make even a hardcore gangster soft as baby s-*BEEPS*-t!

These little guys were really playful, but not rude about it at all. After feeding them, they followed me around the enclosure, which was super cute given their recently-shorn status – humming along happily, without spitting on or trying to step all over me. They were in general really friendly and didn’t mind being touched, and I was also surprised at how clean they were. You see, unlike all those other petting zoo-approved animals, alpacas take care to designate one spot as their bathroom and they all use that same spot, kind of like us humans. So their living area was free of poo, not smelly and pleasant to be in. It was almost a sad moment when closing time came and I had to say farewell to the little guys, and my cat (cute as he is) very narrowly missed out on having to find a new home, because if I could have taught one of those little dudes to sit on the back of my bike, he would’ve been gone!

If you tell me you wouldn't be super giddy that these little guys were following you around, I WILL KICK YOU.

If you tell me you wouldn’t be super giddy that these little guys were following you around, I WILL KICK YOU.

Look, let’s be real here. Alpacas are camelids, like llamas, but smaller, fluffier, less aggressive, and much cuter. They have been bred by humans for thousands of years and have developed friendly personalities. They are neat and clean, easy to provide for and their wool is even finer than that of llamas. You could eat them, but why would you want to when they are so damn cute? The petting zoo might be a hectic, nasty, smelly, uncomfortable cesspool which people are somehow convinced to spend time inside of, and that basic fact won’t change. Stinky pigs will be pigs, rambunctious goats will be goats and chickens and ducks will squawk incessantly. Sheep will always be timid and cute, but dirty, and cows and horses will always be TOO DAMN BIG. But one minor change could bring a little less noise, a little less filth, a little more calm, and a lot more cute. Swap out those llamas for alpacas and the petting zoo might just become a place worth visiting. Maybe.

Which brings me to the conclusion of my rant, so say it with me!

Alpacas are STOOPID dope!

STOOPID dope.

Look how cute that is! STOOPID dope.

-Namakemono

Film Rants: [Why] I Walked Away From The Walking Dead, And You Should Too

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Once upon a time, there was a groundbreaking AMC show called The Walking Dead, which did what no media property in the zombie genre had done before. It gave viewers an intimate look at the breaking pieces of its characters’ lives and let them live long enough for viewers to watch it all fall apart. As the journey of TWD‘s merry band of misfits carried on looking for clusters of hope wherever they were to be had, we watched families come together only to be torn apart by the circumstances dealt them, and all was good.

For a season or two I watched, spellbound as Rick, Shane, Lori, Carl, Andrea, Dale, Glenn (Yes I am going to name them all, you can skip along to the next sentence if you’d like), Daryl, Carol, Sophia, T-Dog, Maggie, Hershel, and all the rest of the crew running from the Zed-Zoo (Okay, too many even for me, I gave up) held together a weak alliance, feigning ignorance towards the truth and pretending that salvation was to be found just one step further than they’d already gone. The merry band would find a pocket of safety, then cling to it and the illusion of normalcy it provided until the truth could no longer be denied, then they would simply wash, rinse, and repeat.

Toward the end of the first season, this pattern had already started to wear thin, however, TWD also kept viewers in suspense by knocking off semi-important characters every so often. Unfortunately for me, this veneer was too thin, and by the end of the second season, I lost interest in the show.

So here is my biggest issue with The Walking Dead, which lead me to walk away from the show: the core characters are too safe.

Isn't she just the sweetest thing?

Isn’t she just the sweetest thing?

For me, everything wrong with TWD stems from this problem. The central characters are often in danger, but not life-threatening danger. Sure, the peripheral characters are certainly not safe from a gruesome ending, but it seems to me that the worst of the chaos never really reaches the core crew.

To be clear, I believe that the core characters of this story are Rick and Carl and that the story is ultimately one of how a father and son face the end of the world. Other characters like Daryl, Glenn, Shane, Lori, and Andrea are also fairly central to the story but only insofar as they serve a purpose for Rick and Carl. As such, it is sad but not unimaginable for them to die once they serve their purpose. AMC seems to be banking on the loss of these characters to distract viewers from the fact that Rick and Carl essentially remain untouched, in the eye of a violent storm.

Now, while they have both lost significant people in Lori and Shane, Rick and Carl are still essentially free to continue doing what they have done consistently since the start of the show: be horrible people. Finding his nuclear unit intact, Rick was free to assert his dominance with confidence and assume the alpha role. Shane was no longer a brother, colleague, or friend; he was a threat to Rick’s dominance and had to go. Carl, on the other hand, should have learned to be a strong-willed kid, but missed that memo and took all of Shane’s (admittedly abhorrent) mentoring as a sign that he ought to become somewhat of a recalcitrant meat head. To top it all off, since his real father returned he had no need for the substitute and so again, Shane had to go. Lori was also a source of division and it is made abundantly clear that Carl has no need of a mother figure, so she’s clearly disposable. Hell, he even did the job himself, what more is needed to prove that point?

Welcome to the Ricktatorship, Bro - Now get the fuck out!

Welcome to the Ricktatorship, Bro – Now get the f-*BEEPS*-k out!

Neither of these characters truly express remorse for their actions nor regret over their losses. Even Hershel was so moved by the loss of his loved ones that he kept them locked away instead of killing them once they became zombies – displaying genuine emotion. Rick and Carl are emotionally disconnected from their experience and therefore cannot grow stronger.

Perhaps TWD should look towards other shows for inspiration – Dexter being one, and AMC’s own Breaking Bad, another. In these shows, they kill truly important people, whose loss has significant effects on the central characters and the direction of the story itself. They change the game up, which TWD does in a sense, but I feel that Walt, Jesse, and Dexter are forced to evolve, abandon their principles, and grow as humans, for better or worse, learning more about themselves along the way. Rick and Carl, on the other hand, just keep walking in place. Where Dexter and Breaking Bad transform their scumbags into likable filth, TWD just leaves their scumbags as unredeemable scumbags.

Finally, in what I find to be an affront to the zombie-horror genre in general, TWD just won’t end. One of the greatest parts of  zombie art is that almost everyone dies at the end. It’s absurdist, unexplained death, with no escape. It ties into our deepest fears as humans about the breakdown of the social contract and our inability to control the will of others. Excepting a handful of modern hybrid zombie films that parody the genre, the common point is that all hope is gone. Rick and Carl have been around for too long, and really, they just need to die, or I’m not going to be satisfied.

You two schmucks really need to die, now.

You two schmucks really need to die, now.

In fact, out of every character on TWD, the only one who really deserves to survive is Glenn. Because I like him, so what. Not even Maggie should make it. No Daryl either, although he’s a pretty good guy, so I’d say he should be the last one to die, and do so protecting Glenn. Even then, Glenn, bearing the pain of losing everyone that mattered to him should be unstable, and it should be unclear as to whether he will choose to live on or kill himself. Or if he’ll even survive the ever worsening zombie onslaught.

So let’s just go back in time a bit, and pretend that nothing after the first half of season three happened. Here’s how The Walking Dead should have crescendoed :

After losing his best friend and his wife, both of whom having been eventually shot by Carl, Rick realizes that in this new world his son is swiftly becoming a monster, and he begins to unravel at the thought of losing the last vestige of his old life. Perhaps Carl even goes ahead and kills his little sister, Judith, believing that her weakness and vulnerability was too much of a liability for them. This final act proves to be the catalyst that hastens their mutual demise.

Don't- push - us, 'cuz - we're - close - to - the - edge --

Don’t- push – us, ‘cuz – we’re – close – to – the – edge —

While traveling to their next safe zone, walking through the woods, or perhaps along a road, Rick begins to have visions; hallucinations of the monster inside of Carl and what he might do. He sees Carl shoot people in cold blood, become increasingly violent, unstable, and uncontrollable, and all but lose his sense of morality. Rick’s visions continue to intensify until he can no longer tell the difference between the images in his head and reality. Even though Carl hasn’t yet become as bad as the Carl he envisions, Rick is convinced that eventually his son will become that Carl. Suddenly, without warning, he pulls out that huge Colt Python and *BLAM* plants a bullet in the back of Carl’s head then watches him drop to the floor. Cradling him as he dies, crying and murmuring, Rick utters, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry..He made me do it…I’m so sorry, Why did you make me do it?! I’m Sorry…” the entire time.  

Maybe for Rick, the guilt of losing his family is too much, and he puts a bullet into his own head to join them someplace ‘better’ or maybe, one of their companions views Rick’s loss of touch with reality and subsequent actions as a threat to the group and shoots him down out of an abundance of cowardice and caution. No one is spared in this world, and nothing makes sense.

Bam! The camera drops to the ground next to the lifeless bodies of Rick and Carl, and through it, we see the remainder of the group walk off, continuing on to their next point of false salvation, future corpses just floating about in the machinations of an absurdist system (or lack thereof). Fade to black, show over, hooray, job well done!

Now that, folks, would be good television. That is how zombie fare should be done. 

-Namakemono

Random Thought Of The Day: Shuffnuts™

Sometimes, I think some rather random things. I don’t know if they are worth sharing or appropriate (well, the answer is probably a resounding “NO” on both counts there, actually), but, now they’re out there. And you can’t unread them. You’re welcome. 

shuffnuts

“I’m A Shuffnuts™ Kid!”

“Shuffnuts™ are a delicious new snack brought to you by the great folks at Glico! Enjoy for breakfast, on the go, as an afternoon pick me up, or a midnight snack; Shuffnuts™ are always a great choice! With a smooth, crunchy, bittersweet-mellow flavor, Shuffnuts™ are bursting with that lack of flavor you know and love, and allsome none of the vitamins and nutrients that kids need! It’s Shuffnuts™, by Glico! Get yours today!”

♪Shuffnuts are tasty, オイシイ , Shuffnuts are yummy, ウマイ!♪

-Namakemono

Random Thought Of The Day: Lil’ E.

Sometimes, I think some rather random things. I don’t know if they are worth sharing or appropriate (well, the answer is probably a resounding “NO” on both counts there, actually), but, now they’re out there. And you can’t unread them. You’re welcome. 

et

Last night, I had a dream.

A dream which within moments undid 25 years of loathing for a a character that is generally loved and accepted by most other folks.

I had a dream about E.T. (Yes, THE Extraterrestrial –  the one with glow sticks for fingers and a Reese’s Pieces habit for days)

Now folks, understand that when I say that I loathed E.T., I mean that I detested that awkward little creature from the bottom of my heart . You see, I have a fear  dislike preference for avoiding the topic of aliens ( which is a long story for another day) in general. You talk about aliens, I’m having nightmares for a good two or three days at least, so, yeah, thanks for that.

A little TOO close to that pop star there, buddy

Anyway, I reckon that it was roundabout the ripe old age of three when my aunt introduced that timeless Spielberg classic into our household, and I had the pleasure of crying my guts out after watching what was definitely the most traumatizing piece of media I had seen up until then.

Everything about the little brown guy just creeped me out; the huge blue eyes, awkward drawl, zombie-like shuffle, hyper-extended arms, glowing parts, and penchant for making friends with pop stars just didn’t sit well with me.

This little guy wasn’t an unfortunately mutated martial-arts turtle or anything my little brain could deal with, he was an intergalactic turd on an invasion mission from that big black void above my head, and he had to go!

That childhood VHS copy of the film? I destroyed it. Figurines? Smashed ’em. T-shirts, undies, socks, and the like? F-*BEEPS*-k no, thank you! Even as an adult, I went out of my way to avoid E.T. the Supercreep. One of the schools I taught at in rural Japan had a little plush E.T. which they always displayed prominently near the window. It creeped me out. I buried him. I was also obligated to teach lessons from a textbook that used  E.T. for an example. I ripped that up. I tell ya, folks, I really did not like him at all.

Until I woke up around 7 this morning and thought about the contents of a dream I just had. You see, in this dream, E.T. didn’t find his way to Elliot, but to me, and it was up to me to protect the little guy. He was being chased by the dudes with the strangely dangerous walkie-talkies, and at some point got caught up in a box-type  contraption. I got him out of there, took him to the hood, and turned him into a lil’ G, with a street name and everything… Lil’ E.

Lil’ E. was legit cool (mostly because my brain said so), and so I took him to the playground to go meet the other lil’ hood kids. Dude was a beast at stickball for real, and suey, and all the other little schoolyard games (again, because my brain said so). Roundabouts where that big fat kid who always just follows you around wrecks your perfectly good day at the playground came along is when I woke up, but I had already seen all that I needed to. 

So yeah, E.T. is legit in my book now. No more passive aggressive E.T. abuse for me. Probably. Maybe.

Yup. I bet you wish that whole story was more interesting, huh? Well, too bad. Go phone home.Yup.

-Namakemono

The Canadian Expedition:Into the Frigid Northern Wilderness Pt. 1

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-The following is an excerpt from the log of Captain Robinson, recovered from the wreckage of a metal taun-taun people mover in the Canadian Arctic. 

Captains log: Day one – 8:30am. I awoke to find my trekking partners encased inside a strange, metal taun-taun. Feeling the urge to stand in solidarity, I sat down and joined them inside for 12 hours.

Captain’s log: Day two – 11pm. I set out on a glorious make-for-great-of-motherland-and-grand-leader-trek to Canada. America Jr. The world’s largest exporter of perfectly packaged pop stars. Judging by the frozen crystals that hang in the air when I exhale, I’d venture to say that it is cold as balls – upon exposure to the Quebeckian atmosphere, my face spontaneously sprouted a full beard, which assumed a mountain-man-type formation. I fear it is only going to get worse as this expedition continues, as Quebeckian general stores hold no signs of razor sales.

Over the past day and a half, I have spent hours tracking up and down the Quebeckian landscape and have gathered that these Quebeckians must be borne into baths of ice water and spend their summers sunbathing in meat freezers. Even their Quiver (the Quebeckian River) changes directions at their will, it seems. I attempted to soldier through the endless trails of slush in my trusty hush puppies, but eventually quickly stubbornly capitulated to a sturdy pair of boots once I realized that my feet, made of mere flesh and not stainless steel, could not stand up to the refrigeration.

There are many attractive features to be found dotting the Quebeckian landscape, which reminds me of an amalgamation of all the rurality I have experienced until now. Rolling hills of mountain lights like your Salty Lakes or your Pittsburghers, walls of snow like the Yukiguni, intricate light systems designed to distract tourists like your Tokamachis or New Yorkes, Steamy, smoky, fiery clouds of cloud from a Bob Ross painting. None of this impresses me. Did not look.

The Quebeckians speak a strange tongue, part baby, and part B-movie villain. This seems to stimulate hunger.

Exhausted from the trek, I managed to procure a tasty meal of ale and mutton flesh which restored manliness. Ale seems only to come in your choice of very hoppy or very f*BEEPS*-ing hoppy. Am confident acquired manliness will last until the town cryer shares word of the forthcoming weather on the picture box. Cautious of poutine geysers.

I retire to my chambers for the evening, hoping to claim some relief from the exposure of the harsh Frenchlands. Pushing forward to Mount Reals shortly. Will be on the lookout for pockets of truth.

 

-Namakemono