Is she rebranding herself? Is she Doja Cow now? She disavows cats in the chorus. She does not meow.
I love this so much because it’s so fully fleshed-out by one person in a bedroom. The question she asked herself is “if I was a cow, how would I own it?” “Time to re-purpose Luda and Kelis with a bovine twist.” From there, she said “I have a laptop and a green screen, how do I film the music video?” “Let me look in my closet for cow-like, farmer-ish outfits.” “Order a burger? Sure, I’m hungry!” And she floats through it all with her charisma and confidence. “Bitch, I’m a cow” never felt so powerful. Been lowing “mooo” all day in both positive and negative tones.
If you haven’t seen her leading single “Go To Town” yet, you might as well. Props for the Cyriak clip that crops up too.
Eliese wants to tell you a story. She wants to tell you a story, but there are so many things about which she cannot speak. Particle physics, for example. Also, industrial psychology, protein synthesis, polymer science, and the peculiar magic that makes water bugs skate so perfectly on a pond. She wants to tell you a story, but she lacks so many things. Multivariable calculus. Pie making. And there is so much she has forgotten. The conjugation of the verb vouloir, the purpose of a Golgi body, the middle name of her first boyfriend. Eliese does, however, know about horses. She can talk about horses. She knows equitation and conformation and equine disease. For example, Eliese knows that white horses must be bred with care. Sometimes, a white horse is born with a fatal genetic disorder known as lethal white syndrome. A foal with this disorder will appear healthy at birth. It will stand and suckle and sniff its mother’s scent. A new, white life. But deep inside the foal’s gut, something has gone wrong. Its colon has not formed properly. It cannot expel waste. These foals always die—either naturally and painfully over the course of a few days, or through euthanasia. A white, perfect body splayed dead on the straw. The violence of a harbored, hidden waste.
This is one that I’m not going to expound upon. It’s a story we’ve heard before but is new and deserving of our attention every time. It’s more-than-okay when a story other than my own conveys a “shut up and listen, for a rare shining moment, shut the fuck up, dude.”
An easy choice for a cover song, given the circus freak theme (emphasis on freak). But they did a complete job with it. It’s not a minute-long loop. It’s slightly short of three and a half, full of true chuggy chords, and it comes into its own at minute two. Additionally: SKEWT Doo DOOTT DE LOOT DOo doot dee dooT Doot
He’s injected the lasagna with some horse. It’s tempting but frightening. Comical and brutal. The lasagna is made more valuable, but consuming it would be a self-destructive act. Art, baby! I first read about Bader here.
Yes, obviously Ninja should stream with women. His excuse–that inviting a woman onto his stream will bring about an avalanche of gossip–is a weak one; as a public figure, there’s already gossip. It’s not as though the situation will be more toxic for it, merely a different flavor of toxic.
But I’m linking this more to discuss his handle. How can you allow yourself to rise to the peak of gamefame and still go by Ninja? Was it selected when he was twelve? Does he know it can be changed? I’d be loathe to give up “FMchubs,” everyone knows this; but by god, it’s mine, it’s not a noun that could be strung into a “versus” title with zombies, pirates, robots, etc. “Ninja” has the slightest tinge of appropriation, of a man aspiring to be that which he isn’t, on the back of not only physical capability and training, but of culture. He wasn’t raised in a country that has ever developed ninjas. “Darkflame” is preferred, or “Excalibur,” or “Mercenary.” “Peasant,” “Nutsack,” I can come up with preferred names all day. Of course the number one Fortnite player is also its most basic.
Pitch: Just send me there to solve the mystery. I’ll do it. Whatever, who cares, me and my cat will go to Dustmouth, Straya and get supremely drunk, tanned, and gator-bit. Eleven people in town? I can absolutely turn eleven strangers into confidants in, like, a month. I’ll be mayor by month two. What are you afraid of, editors?