So apparently, Soulja Boy likes anime to the point where he wrote a song about it. Personally, I couldn’t care less, but apparently this has angered the community of anime-lovers and weeaboos1 beyond reason.
Yesterday morning, the first thing I saw when I logged into facebook was a multitude of my weeaboo friends bitching and moaning over this new Soulja Boy development, and someone had even created an event aimed at “putting an end to this shit.”
Sorry, but last time I checked, the United States of America was a country that supported “freedom of speech” and that Soulja Boy can essentially rap about whatever the fuck he wants to.2
I’m also sick of these weeaboo faggots acting like anime is some elite club that Soulja Boy is not qualified to join. Last time I checked, the quality of Japanese animation is generally sub par to other forms of animation. So what if Soulja Boy wants to dabble in anime and manga? It’s not going to change the face of the industry forever; in fact, I’m pretty sure he’ll hardly even make a dent. I think that, if anything, he’s bringing a sort of acceptance to a community that has long since been considered “nerdy.”
In short, everyone needs to shut the fuck up and get over themselves.
1 A “weeaboo” is a nickname coined for someone who is obsessed with all things Japanese, and even goes so far as trying to act Japanese, even though they clearly are not. They tend to litter their every day conversation with mis-pronounced Japanese words.
2 I put that in quotes, because I know there’s quite a bit of limitation the government puts on us.
As you can tell, I got sick of my “new” layout very quickly, and I’ve decided to re-do it. I’m still in the process of working on it though, so most of my site isn’t functioning right now.
Last night, I went to karaoke in Farmingdale with Joe and Maggie. On the way there, I assured them that the way they’ve heard me sing is not the way I really sing. I don’t think they were quite prepared; all they’ve heard from me is the flat-toned sing-alongs I partake in during car rides. (And by flat-toned, I mean no technique applied whatsoever. I sing on pitch, always.)
We got there, and I sang “Just a Girl” by No Doubt, which is one of my favorite karaoke songs. After I finished, I sat back down at the table, and Joe just stared incredulously at me for a good minute.
“WHY,” he asked, “do you sing like you do in the car, when you actually KNOW how to sing?!” I muttered a sheepish “I dunno” in response and changed the subject.
At one point, this old woman (see also: around or past retirement age) came over to our table to look at the song book (we kind of hogged it) and picked a song. She showed us what she was singing, but neither Maggie nor Joe got a good look at it, so they didn’t actually know what she was singing until she got up there and the music started.
She sang “Enter Sandman.”
This woman was definitely someone’s grandma. And she was singing Metallica. I have never witnessed anything more epic in my entire life.
There were of course the usual drunks who completely butcher the songs they choose to sing, the most creeptastic-looking guy ever (he could easily have been a serial killer/rapist… he had that look about him), and a woman who was either severely intoxicated or somewhat mentally lacking who more or less ruined two out of the three songs I sang. Regardless, we had fun, and I know Maggie at least wants to go back next week.
July 25th, 2010 |
