Random Weirdness for the week of Nov. 10, 2015

svalbardbeer
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We’re starting to feel like they’ve rented space here in recent months (feel free to send us a check), but once again we’ve got to tip our hats to the local beer barons for making history in yet one more way by shipping their first batch of brew to the mainland. Yeah it took them six years to get everything going, but we suspect they’ve had a serious buzz on since they started up this fall which (mostly) has little to do with consuming too much of their own product. Even so, there’s still plenty of alcohol-loving back-seat drivers wanting a turn at the wheel who aren’t being shy about it on the brewery’s Facebook page. Some are debating various ways even more beer could be squeezed onto those outgoing pallets, while other outsiders – including especially persistent guy in Denmark – are wondering when the heck they’ll be able to get their drink on…

Meanwhile, another big local hit – the Svalbard-centric episode of “The Hunt” featured on this week’s front page – has its own share of critics, or should we say truthers? The comments section of the YouTube clip mentioned in the article features some convinced (spoiler alert) the bear didn’t actually capture the seal that seemingly eluded it on an ice floe. “I’m not convinced it’s all as it seems,” one commenter wrote. “I cannot see that the seal would have drowned that fast and the bear has only caught its rear flipper that would obviously not be a fatal injury in that time scale. Also the dead seal is hauled out onto a different section of ice when the camera shot changes.” A fellow truther agrees “I think the bear that lifts the dead seal out onto the ice is a different animal.”

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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