Canadian Existentialism

Written by Connor Cushman

So there I was on Amazon looking up what Russian propaganda I was gonna hang in my room not for any particular reason but because I’m sure people would stumble into my room and wonder what kind of man I was “Connor isn’t even Russian, I’m not sure he knows what his ancestry is” and I don’t all I know is I’m white in a world of white people even though my preferred instrument is the electric bass, and I am a decent basketball player turned decent distance runner which on paper would prompt questions like “is he also good at dancing” and “How’s Grambling State treating you” which are questions I’ll never get to answer because they’re also questions that were never asked, because I refused to put a question mark at the end of them because I don’t have a firm grasp on how punctuation works and pointing out the obvious aside I’m scared of question marks because I think they’ll end sentences and ending sentences is what I do best as I toil through a life of undeserved handshakes and uncomfortable silences in a quest to receive the handshake least deserved and the silence most uncomfortable and if I can think it just right it goes “something something this gypsy jew was beaten to protocol, you’re quite the voracious passenger” that was the handshake situation, and it was given to me by some wax bearded train conductor who was sober as a gofer and mysterious, the silence is the easier one to think about “something something this Applebee’s fiancé needs your help, also the union is on the phone” I’m sure it would be a distant family member telling me and at most I would respond by existing, maybe giving them a blank stare, checking my phone to find my girlfriend from middle school wrote on my MySpace wall in what truly would be an awkward nirvana, which has a cool double meaning because if that situation actually happened I would arrive at some complete awkwardness and speak at colleges as some awkward Dalai Lama, also I would want to put a shotgun in my mouth and have Courtney Love pull the trigger or I mean pull the trigger with my toes either way I’m sure I’ve painted an accurate picture for you of how Kurt Cobain actually died (the former method) and I’m sure the conspiracy is true because if Courtney Love did it, then jet fuel probably can’t melt steel beams, there was at least one dude on that grassy knoll, and my bologna’s full name isn’t Oscar Meyer which is some shit in the highest degree I grew up on that song and if the truthiness of it cannot hold I’ll be forced to bring our little predicament up with a certain Michelle Hussein Obama in what I’m sure will get you removed from your position at the FDA, the only FDA you’ll be a part of after that is the “Fucking Dicks Administration” who I hear has good benefits but y’know you get some, you give some, you lie to your wife, your kids disown you, you get high on some McInsulin, rob a convenience store in Westminsterfield Iowa, and eat a can of Copenhagen for dinner in what is more formally known as “the Toby Kieth Triple Crown” but enough about what I picture a post Duck Dynasty dystopia being like the original question was about Canadian existentialism and whether Mounty’s uniforms should be jean jackets accompanied by jeans of the same wash and whether they should be required to bathe in the blood of a maple syrup tree before riding their moose equal to the curling match where they bravely watch over their sons, their heritage, and their future.

 

Connor Cushman, the sophomore financial mathematics major, lives to laugh, run, and slap the bass. You might find him at Taco Bell or storming shirtless through Lithia Park.

Connor Cushman, the sophomore financial mathematics major, lives to laugh, run, and slap the bass. You might find him at Taco Bell or storming shirtless through Lithia Park.

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