Hidden beneath all the hype of his album Blonde, artist Frank Ocean actually quietly released a second album just hours after. However, this album was even more difficult to acquire than Blonde (do people actually use Apple Music?) It all started when Frank’s brother tweeted out a set of coordinates which corresponded to an old abandoned floppy disc factory.
When I got to the factory the doors were open, apparently by some large bolt cutters. Inside the large building was completely empty save a box of, that’s right, floppy discs. I grabbed the antiquated piece of hardware and got back into my car to drive back to my parents house. They, for some reason, had a computer that still took floppy discs.
On the disc, to my pleasant surprise, was a copy of the 1971 game Oregon Trail. Billy, Timothy, and Margaret all died from dysentery, but Samantha survived and at the end of the game I was greeted by Frocean’s face. A short video told me I was one of the chosen few who might, just might, be able to listen to the album. It gave me an address and a date and time.
The time was 1:00am and the place was a ratty bar. I walked in and no one was there besides the bartender who pointed me towards some stairs. The basement was even more disgusting than the bar itself. It was dark and something kept dripping on my head. I was greeted by an old AV cart with a tube tv strapped to it and a skinny kid. Ocean’s face popped up on the tv and informed the two of us that we were going to have to brawl it out, fight club style, and the winner would receive the location of the album.
Thankfully the other kid was even skinnier and weaker than I am so I was able to use some of my grade school tang soo do moves to beat him into submission. A large suited man stepped out of the shadows and handed me a piece of paper with an address on it and told me to go there immediately if I wanted the album.
The address brought me to a Wendy’s in the middle of Nobody Cares, Missouri. It was about four in the morning at this point and the Wendy’s was obviously closed; however, one light was on inside.
I walked in and saw Frank Ocean himself sitting alone at a booth. I sat down across from him, introduced myself, and explained how much of a fan I was. He said nothing and just stared straight ahead. I asked him if I could get an autograph and he gave no response. Finally I snapped and started yelling at him that I’d been through hell and back to get this album and where the hell was it. He leaned over slowly and poked his finger right into my chest. “The album is right here, man.”
