ANTARCTICA — December shall forever be recorded in the official textbooks of the People’s Republic of Slowjamastan as a month of historic inevitability, when destiny itself marched in lockstep with our fearless, tireless, and extremely well-rested Sultan.

Under banners of progress and totally peaceful intentions, His Excellency launched a bold campaign to expand the glorious national footprint of Slowjamastan (colonization being a word favored only by decadent Western critics and mapmakers).

The southern advance began in Mexico City, a metropolis of great culture, mighty monuments, and an alarming surplus of soldiers. While the Sultan conducted extensive diplomatic outreach in the form of tacos and cervezas, he quickly observed that Mexico already possessed a military, and seemed quite attached to it. Intelligence reports concluded that annexation would require something more than paperwork and a vacation timeshare presentation. This was deemed inefficient. Strategic enjoyment was declared complete.

The mission continued to Santiago, Chile — a city of impressive order, beauty, and an equally impressive concentration of uniformed individuals holding firearms. Though the Sultan admired the people, the architecture, and the vibes, the presence of police and army forces suggested that Chile, too, was tragically over-defended. As a leader of peace, love, and lounging, the Sultan heroically chose not to fight people with guns. The southern advance resumed.

At this point, unforeseen cartographic challenges arose.

Due to what the Ministry of Navigation has officially described as capitalist map distortion, the Sultan discovered there was no more land. Only water. Much water. After bravely flying across it anyway, the expedition landed triumphantly in Antarctica.

Immediately, a sense of revolutionary familiarity washed over the delegation.

No roads. No electricity. No running water. Endless white terrain. Snow where sand should be. It was Slowjamastan — inverted, refrigerated, and clearly awaiting liberation. The Sultan felt at home, as if destiny itself had been chilling here, waiting.

Finding no armies, no borders, and no bureaucrats brave enough to stop him, the Sultan and his loyal sherpas conducted a thorough survey of a modest but ideologically perfect parcel near Orne Harbour. With heroic flourish and zero opposition, the Slowjamastani flag was planted firmly into the ice.

Thus, the land was declared ours.

After all, who would notice 11 missing acres? Especially when those 11 acres create perfect revolutionary symmetry with our 11 acres in North America. Balance has been achieved. History is satisfied.

This new territory shall forever be known to the world — and especially to future posters — as:

SNOWjamastan.

Long may it freeze.

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