“What else is there to say? Oh, yes–snow. Christ on a pike I’ve had it up to here with this city. Hasn’t everyone? Memorial is moving its English Department to the Science Building, bok choy is too expensive at Sobeys, people fart in the library without even a moment’s hesitation … we are animals. Animals that eat and sleep and waste time and go to shows and pretend we l-o-v-e the bands we hear except (hold on!) we actually don’t like it all but it’s better to grumble about how bad Overcast articles are than actually make the scene explode once more, burst up this sly contrivance of ‘punk scene’ or ‘folk scene’ or whatever we call those people who list Pantera as their favourite musical act and make spotify playlists entitled ‘james hetfield iz cool/rip 2017.’ Please send help mr. trutru, that is, mr. Justin trutru. How can this island keep its own head above water without Pierre’s son at the office throwing fish food into the water in some far off asiatique castle, smiling and holding hands with his wife, the bugger — amiable, soft, so resolutely handsome … good lord i’d like to see him survive a night out in Joe Bats with only a thermometer and a can of gravy for company. Please, overcast, for the love of good googely hermione granger gracious me we have to get this city to play shows before 11 at night. Someone, do something. help.” – Crumpus the Mad Rumpus