He looks Chinee!

DFM is back in Korea. This time for roughly five months. Keep abreast of the adventures on The Kindergarten Cop's sister site: The Korean Cop.

Keep Our Cake Pure

When I was growing up in Alberta, things were simpler. My television picture was in low definition, my Internet came through a telephone wire that made it possible to download a 4 MB song in fifteen minutes, and GST was an easy to calculate 7/100 of a dollar. What could be better than that?

However, things are changing now, and not necessarily for the better. Sure, I suppose high speed Internet access and televisions that don't require an entire room for themselves might be considered an improvement by some. But, what about that most grotesque of modern perversions the liberal media has tricked our young people into embracing recently? That's right, I'm talking about ice cream cake.

When I was a child I used to look forward to birthdays and other special occasions because it meant the possibility of eating cake and ice cream. My ancestors had consumed cake and ice cream and so it was good and pure, it was part of our culture. Unfortunately, I was young and naive then and I did not know what horrors lie waiting to scare me in the near future.

In the mid-'90s Dairy Queen invented the ice cream cake. While some members of the liberal media elite might tell you that Dairy Queen actually invented the ice cream cake in 1985, I suspect they only sold these ice cream cakes in certain neighbourhoods and bath houses in San Francisco. These were of no concern to good Christian boys though, since their parents rightfully warned them not to go near these places for fear of catching The Plague. I can only assume this involved having a large slice of ice cream cake shoved down one's throat until he gagged. The Plague also apparently involved a sore anus, since it was God's intention for birthday treats to be the union of both cake and ice cream - further proof that ice cream cake is an abomination against God.

Right now you might be asking yourself what I have against ice cream cake. If the above trustworthy recollection of my childhood wasn't enough for you, then I'll have to pull out the big guns. That means informing you that it just ain't Albertan, and that means it just ain't right. Alberta is the number one province, we have freedom from PST (and quality public transportation)... but I digress.

When I was a young boy I remember that things were better. The cake stayed on a silver tray on the counter, and the ice cream had its own special plastic bucket so it could stay in the freezer. Sure, they were separate, but I swear they were equal.

Now I'm not a foodist, I'm not saying that cake can't love ice cream, or the other way around. It's a free country. But this is reverse foodism. True ice cream cake, the way God intended, would have a thin sliver of ice cream hidden between two pieces of cake. However, these affirmative action chefs are creating abominations against The Intelligent Baker by giving spots traditionally held by cake to unqualified ice cream. We let the ice cream be eaten with metal utensils just like the cake. If the ice cream still melts in the sun, then perhaps it needs to work harder.

If you aren't afraid yet, you should be. After all this reeks of something that was written in the '30s in Germany. Think of the bakers who won't be able to sell their cake anymore. How will they be able to feed their families? If any of them are Catholic or Evangelical, they might have as many as seven kids to feed (it's their right, don't you question it).

I for one am very afraid. That's why I'll be heading to my nearest Dairy Queen to protest. I'll be showing up with the knife I use to cut cake in hand - The 18" SWAT Big Game/Hunting Knife (pictured below) - to show everyone I'm a true Albertan. I urge everyone who cares about their children to show up and read their local Dairy Queen manager the riot act too (respectfully of course). It's the Albertan Way.

(I use this knife to cut cake. It's my right!)

Update On My Shame

I was searching the Internet, and it turns out my local paper did in fact advertise the Festival with an article. This of course means the blame must be shifted to the people of my city, a fact about which I am not in the least bit surprised. The surrounding area of my city has 200 000 people, meaning less than 0.1% came out to support multiculturalism. Nice job rednecks. Appologies to the local reporters who may have felt slighted by my earlier comments.

Ashamed Of My City, Going To The Garden To Eat Worms

Recently my northern hick town decided to hold a festival to honour the various "foreign" cultures that comprise our city. It was a beautiful gesture, and one I was looking forward to appreciate first hand.

Due to prior engagements I was only able to see half of the performances that day, but what I saw was inspiring none-the-less.

The first act I saw was a group of Ugandan drummers and dancers. One of their dances was exceptionally lively, and I was told by one of the performers that it was designed to mimic the sound of the cows dancing in the field.

Next came some belly dancers. I'm pretty sure this was a local belly dancing class that was asked to perform because of the obvious exotic nature of the art, although not necessarily the members themselves.

The definite highlight of the show though, was the Vancouver-based capeoira group, Ache Brasil. These guys were professional and it showed. I don't know how we got them to come up to Hillbilly Hell, Alberta, but I'm glad we did. They had colourful costumes, traditional instruments galore, and some of the most incredible tumbling and dancing you've likely not seen before.

While the performers were great, and I once again applaud the city for putting the festival on, the turnout was nothing short of dismal. In a city of about 45, 000 people (maybe less after everyone left following the recession), you'd think you could get more than the roughly 200 people who dotted the hillside in the park to watch the dancing and singing. However, you'd be wrong.

I can't fault the people who showed up, since they were there, and I'm not really faulting those who didn't show up, because they probably did not know about it. The blame lies squarely with the local media. I know they knew about it, because I saw multiple photographers from the paper there taking pictures. However, when I checked the paper that afternoon, after the show, though, I found what I suspected: no advertising (update: I have since found that there was an article, read here for more information).

I guess I can't say there was no advertising. There was a tiny side-bar mention of the festival burried in one of the pull-out sections of the paper. This might be enough for the local Junior A hockey team's next game, since people are going to be searching for the game times anyway. But when you are bringing in a top-notch performing arts group like Ache Brasil, why would you not at least write up an article on the event sometime during the preceding week? It is baffling how badly the ball was dropped this time, and this for a city where the ball has been dropped so many times I've taken to counting the number of times it has been held onto instead.

But what of the people who were there? Surely they would appreciate what a great event they were witnessing, right? Wrong. In my generous estimate, only 20% of the people there could be said to have been actively participating, and that is a very generous estimate. On numerous occasions the ungrateful cretins were asked to move forward and participate more, and by more than one group, but unsurprisingly they chose to sit put on their asses instead.

When I expressed concern, even anger over the situation, I was told not to worry about it. It might be tempting to let it go, but what's the point? What else do I have to do? And more importantly, WWHHD?

"With the joy of responsibility comes the burden of obligation," is what Hank Hill would say, not to mention "with great power comes great responsibility" (Stan Lee, with a nod to FDR and Luke). With the power to recognize evil, I have a responsibility to be angry about it, and with the responsibility to be angry about it, I have the obligation to turn into the Incredible Hulk. DFM Angry! DFM SMASH!!!

In all seriousness though, it was a pretty low moment for a city I didn't think could sink any lower. Here we have a wonderful chance to show the world that we aren't just a bunch of selfish rednecks, and what do we do? We show up to a free event and refuse to participate. Smooth. We had a duty to be good neighbours and welcome these visitors, and we failed. Hank Hill did not keep novelty mail boxes out of his neighbourhood for all these years just to see this happen; he must be rolling in his cancellation grave.

This unbearably grey cloud did have one slim silver lining though. The behaviour of my fellow city folk was so reprehensible that it has eliminated any doubt in my mind that I will ever come back to live in this soul stealing nightmare ever again. Nope, instead this is the beginning of the future for DFM. From here on DFM will be a nomad, a man without a home, attempting to live in every province and territory in Canada (where he will find a home, thereby contradicting his earlier statement).

Keep tuned to to The Kindergarten Cop over the next 10 to 75 years to hear how it goes. The journey starts in three weeks when I head back to Seoul, then hopefully to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Pass me the Maynards Wine Gums, I'm going on an extended road trip, Woo-hoo!