Everything Moves Really Slow . . .

Attack of the Duff
Manufacture. Sell.

The Duff was in town last night, put on a sold out show to thousands of her screaming young Winnipeg Minions, decked out in Duff Clothes, Duff Shoes, Duff Hair Products, Duff Make Up and popping Duff 2-in-1 Contraceptive/Stay Slim Pills. Halfway through her set of sugary pop hit radio singles written by old men in tall office buildings with dollar signs fixed into their pupils, The Duff brandished a pink AK47 and proceeded to riddle the Minions with official brand name Duff Stuff ammunition. The impressionable Minions dived at bullets, eager to receive any kind of personal gift from The Duff Herself. Some of the young girls took it right in the teeth and those the immediate area were splattered with brain matter and bone bits. The mob gobbled the warm, sticky remains of their fellow Minions, fighting each other for the scraps, and screamed for more bullets. The Duff fired more rounds into the crowd before continuing with her set, finishing off with a blood bath involving air cannon blasts of razorblades and nails.

After the show one of the Minions, face cut up and purple from razorblade blasts, gave this comment:
"It was like amazing! Like I can't believe I actually I got to see Hillary! I mean, it was like a dream come true! And look at this," she gloated, lifting her ravaged left arm, "Like the round is still in me! I can't believe it! I'm never going to take it out, my Mommy says I have to, but I'm not going let her! Like, it's from Hillary!"

+ =
The Duff + Duff Stuff = Duff Bucks

So Damn Cold
Welcome to the Winnipeg, where it's fucking freezing.

I meet a guy from Libya at school today. His name was Youssef. Youssef was trying to find the bus loop, which we were standing in. "I've only been in Canada six days," he said, "Three days in Winnipeg. It's so damn cold."

Waiting for the bus sucks. Here's an idea . . . pull all the food out of your freezer and crawl in. Close the lid. Then somehow generate unforgiving blasts of Arctic wind. That'd be fun.

Some guy's poor car.

Temperature -36 degrees Celsius. With windchill, -48.
Most people can probably hack the cold. It's the wind that will the knock off the weak, though.

Once you hit -30 it really doesn't matter. -32, -35, -40 . . . it doesn't feel any colder. It's already as cold as your nerves are going to allow you to feel. You just die faster.

The snow and the bright sunny mornings do make the campus look nice, however..

This winter I realized that I actually enjoy the cold though. Growing up here in the middle of this giant godforsaken field known as the Canadian Prairies, you really get to appreciate the extremes. The summers are wracked with hoards of mosquitoes and 30 degree temperatures, while winters are so long and so cold that it's a wonder we don't have to bury the dead in mass graves at the end of every week . . . and only half of the dead would be from the weather. The other half would be those who had gone crazy due to Cabin Fever. The cold is what I grew up with and it's part of me already. I think if and when I'm ever somewhere over winter where it's not tremendously cold that I would miss it. I like the snow crunching under foot, the powdered sidewalks under the streetlights at night and the mornings so brisk and so bright and so cold that it sucker punches when you walk out the door and you can see the air glistening. It kind of invokes that bit of Canadian pride . . . yeah, I'm Canadian. I like beer and hockey and rock music and cold weather.


University as an Industry:




Now we should all sit back, drink up, and listen to Banana Phone.