
Alec Ballswin —^
For some time now, it’s been all quiet on the northern front. We haven’t heard so much as an “Eh?” from Andrew Wright, contemporary artist/poopyhead from Canada. For a fleeting moment there, I thought our long national nightmare might even be over. Until now. I was just checking my email to see if all that spam I signed up for had come in yet, when I saw the following:
Hi Andrew,
I met you in November at the Film Culture Forum in
Kitchener. You had mentioned that you’d be willing to
donate some money to Ed Video to help us with our
move. We’re moving to 40 Baker street in June and I
was wondering if you’re still able to donate
something?
You can donate directly on our website, if you’d like
(www.edvideo.org)
Thank you very much,
Eliza Crosland, president, Ed Video Inc.
Well, that just tears it. Seems this lady has confused me with my archnemesis. But why? And how?
Yes, it’s true that I am currently blowing Canada Boy off the Google map. So maybe she found my site and assumed I was him. Granted, I am attempting to steal all of his traffic, destroy his identity, and drive him from the Internet forevermore, so it would seem everything’s going according to plan, right? WRONG. I suspect something far, far more nefarious is afoot here.
CLEARLY what happened is this. Andrew Wright, contemporary artist from Canada, was approached at a party and asked by this kind woman to donate to her charity. Ordinarily his response would be to say, “Fuck your cause!” then slap her with a paintbrush. But then a rare thing happened: A thought burbled its way through his maple syrup-clogged synapses. He could give them MY email address and CLAIM that “Andrew Wright” was going to make them a generous donation. Everyone at the party thinks he’s some kind of a hero, then I get stuck with the bill! Meanwhile, this guy’s getting tax-deductible blowjobs all over the place. (I’ve heard about these nonprofit parties.)
I mean, the gall! The balls! The gallballs! The great, big, greasy, ballsy gallballs on this guy. Where the hell did he grow up—on a ball farm? Is that where he got the balls?
Urgh. I can just see it. Every morning little Canadian Andrew Wright would rise with the sun to go plough the fields of balls on his ball farm:
ANDREW: “It’s gonna be a great ball-harvest this year, pa! Balls, balls, balls, as far as the eyes can see. Yup, this is the year. I can just feel it in my balls!”
DAD: “Fuck you, son! I never loved you!”
And thus a shitty artist was born. A shitty artist with an endless supply of balls.
I knew you could never defeat me in direct combat, Andrew Wright, contemporary artist from Canada. I would never let my Founding Fathers down like that. So you had to resort to the lowest forms of chicanery and subterfuge to try to take me down. Well, I’m wide awake to your scheme. And as soon as I figure out my next move, you’ll know, you Canadian ball-farming weirdo freak. YOU’LL KNOW.