the grey jay recently beat out the common loon, the canada goose and the snowy owl to be named canada’s first national bird by the royal canadian geographic society.
it is also known as a whisky jack, a name derived from the algonquin translation for the bird, “the mischievous prankster,” so given for the way the bird will sneak up on people and peck for food out of their bags and pockets.
as a member of the corvid family, the grey jay is a highly intelligent animal. in fact, its brain to body ratio is similar to that of a dolphin and chimp.
it’s also a tough bird, choosing not to migrate but to endure the harsh canadian winter. the grey jay stores cashes of food throughout the forest, which it’s able to find thanks to their great memory. they coat food with sticky saliva then stash it under bark on trees or tufts of lichen, kept fresh by the cold but safely above the snow.
found coast to coast throughout canada’s boreal forest, the grey jay is mostly seen when venturing out into the wilderness. and given its friendly nature, it will almost certainly approach if you just hold out your hand with some food in it.
God I fucking hate Olaf the snowman so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he’s in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he’s got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid lumpy face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking legs? Who the hell makes a snowman with legs. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking SNOW BUCK TOOTH that no snowman has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD’S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Olaf or an Olaf gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I’m overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. “Bhurr blur, I’m Olaf the fuckshit snow fucker, I like warm hugs”. Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Tow Mater summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking lumpy carrot nose and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he’s sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That’s the worst part. I know he’s just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children’s movie, I know it doesn’t matter, I know I shouldn’t care. But that’s part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world’s array of sinners, and I can’t even begin to justify it. Shitstick the snow dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity’s saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking nose. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It’s EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it’s disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional snowman
holy shit you’re not wrong
I’d feel better about this whole rant if Olaf weren’t queer-coded. It might be largely the voice acting – the lisp, the inflection especially – but he’s got massive “harmless gay sidekick” vibes. And if you’re actively critiquing that? Sure, great, go all out. Hate whom you will. Say whatever you want about how “gay” is equated with “harmless silly sidekick used for comic relief, with no serious bearing on the plot, literally inhuman and treated by Serious Human Characters as… well,a sidekick, peripheral to your life and safe to ignore.
But if you’re not engaging critically with that aspect of his character and are just overwhelmed with hatred whenever you see or hear or think about the queer-coded character and his mannerisms make you feel violent, that is a little bit. Uncomfortable. At best.
My loving relationship with boyfriends always ended up in failures, and I didn’t understand why. I thank saint Sebastian with this exvoto for opening my eyes because my love has been in front of me for a long time and it was my best friend Paulina. Eventually we realized that we have something more special then friendship between us. We live together now and are very happy.
This is the silky anteater that lives in the trees of Central and South America. Despite being the smallest living anteater (weighing less than a pound), it has an aggressive defense strategy. When threatened, it will grip a limb with its hind legs and prehensile tail, stand upright, and hold its front claws near its face. In this position, the anteater will punch at any predators that get too close with its sharp claws.
![endlingmusings:
“A young laughing owl photographed around 1909. [ x ]
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