i am a slave to red letter media. the dulcet tones of middle-aged midwestern men speak to me in my sleep. i could listen to 24 hours straight of their content without feeling the need to blink, eat, sleep, or otherwise sustain myself
perhaps, then, you are inclined to the idea of being a trek guy, the self-soothing impulse to attach to something greater, but fatefully mistaken in this pursuit, you discover only hollowness, a beetle humping a glass bottle in the desert…
i think i will discover not hollowness, but an earnest and full-stomached feeling of accomplishment akin to the eating of a McDonald's Sausage Egg and Cheese McGriddle
