We interrupt this vacation to bring you astonishing news
Aug 19th, 2011 by Unamused
Good evening, and welcome to the first (and quite possibly last) surprise midnight vacation edition of that mildly popular ongoing thought crime, the “Unamusement Park,” brought to you tonight from the top of a pine tree growing in the exact center of a small, circular, heavily bear-infested island in the uncharted depths of Algonquin Provincial Park (located in Ontario, Canada — land of the mighty moose, the busy beaver, the delicious maple syrup tree, and of course the VORACIOUS BEAR that devours all other living things), and which I have been forced to climb to escape from the aforementioned voracious bears that infest its tiny circular interior so heavily, and which I believe are attracted to the moose flanks, beaver tails, and gallons of maple syrup I have accumulated on this ill-fated expedition to bring race realism to the proud peoples of Canada — the true north, strong and free.
At least, that’s what I think is going on. My vacation expedition has taken a turn for the bizarre, indeed the incomprehensible and life-threatening, here in Algonquin Park among the Ojibwe (or Chippewa, as you may know them), especially since Laughing Beaver, the Tribal Elder’s youngest daughter, after plying me with exotic strong Canadian liqueurs and what she claimed was a “traditional Ojibwe pole dance,” convinced me to “spirit walk” with her, in an ancient native rite involving the massive consumption of Moosehead lager and a psychoactive fungus known to the Ojibwe as the “funky mushroom,” in order to commune with the “Great Bear Spirit” and let him know “what a colossal dick he is” for reasons far too complex and culturally sensitive to enumerate here.
I briefly present my evidence in favor of the tree/island/bear/funky mushroom/crazy stoned Indian chick theory of what the damn hell is currently happening to me:
- it is cold and very dark (this, I understand, is typical of Canada at night)
- it smells like maple syrup
- there is a pinecone stuck to my head
- when I look up, I see the North Star and Aurora Borealis (“Northern Lights”)
- when I look down, I see fourteen pairs of blood-red eyes (each the approximate size and shape of a voracious bear’s eye), fourteen sets of slavering fangs (ditto), and one crazy stoned naked Indian chick dancing in a stone circle and singing an ill-conceived heroic ballad about how the Great Bear Spirit “has a big fat butt” and an unnamed “crazy white boy” is going to “kick [his big fat butt] into a million pieces”
- sometime in the last 24 hours, I took the precaution of downloading to my laptop a file named “great bear spirit funky mushroom spirit walk combat tips.txt”
Unfortunately, on closer inspection, this file appears to be a walkthrough for a secret Great Bear Spirit level in a little-known American Indian video game for the Super Nintendo console called “Funky Mushroom Spirit Walk” and inspired by the television series “Twin Peaks.” Useless! Not only am I about to be devoured by the voracious bear minions of the actual Great Bear Spirit, egged on by a crazy stoned naked dancing/singing/spirit-baiting Indian chick, but I don’t even know how to get to the secret Great Bear Spirit level! I never once made it past the spawning salmon gauntlet on Level 3.
But I digress
As I was saying: welcome. I’ll be your host this evening, and indeed every other evening, until and unless the bears manage to shake me out of this pine tree and I don’t land in the protective stone circle erected by the crazy stoned naked Indian chick. My name is Unamused, but not really, and I am a professional
racist race realist, but again, not really.
Like several of you, I hold down a respectable day job involving no race realism whatsoever. This — my “career” — has been a source of constant aggravation for me since this website became so mildly popular this summer. You see, I’ve realized (these past few weeks) that I would much rather earn a living doing what I do best (when I have the time and energy to do it at all — see below), which is writing about race relations, human biodiversity, and other reactionary favorites, instead of receiving only the occasional donation for what I consider to be my most important work (perhaps not including bizarre ramblings about the Great Bear Spirit, etc.), which for the moment I can only work on in whatever time and with whatever energy I have left over from my actual, pointless “career.”
Therefore, I have tentatively begun to explore the possibility of someday getting paid to do something I don’t hate.
The first step seemed clear: before embarking on my great Canadian vacation expedition, I should go to my home town (I know, I said I was raised by wolves in the Vermont wilderness — I lied) and tell my various family and friends as much as they can handle about what I believe, and do, and would someday like to do, about race relations and other outrageous subjects. So that’s exactly what I did.
If I survive the night, I’ll tell you all about it. Boy, those bears look angry. I sure hope this pine tree holds out…