Oh, good, you made it.

Now you might be wondering: who the fuck am I? And I don’t want you to worry. I ask myself this all the time. Never the same answer. In truth, I’m just a simple man. A simpleton, really. Nothing I say deserves any latitude. But my beard is impressive, and that entitles me to a certain amount of consideration. Alright? I think it does. So don’t bother disputing it. These are known quantities.

What’s important here is that we get to know each other. So, you know, just pull up a seat. I’ve got a warm fire going. The dogs are hot. The mallow is toasted. I promise you will not find a better time. What’s your pleasure? That’s all I’m asking. Books? My life revolves around them. I write them, I read them. Nerd shit? Got it in spades, just ask. Musings on pompous, philosophical bullshit? I live for you here, okay, not the other way around. If I ain’t got it, you don’t want it.

All of this boils down to a single point: I am yet another dickhead proffering my unproved expertise and general meandering knowledge to the world’s largest peanut gallery. Only I, too, am the peanut gallery. It’s a very complex riff on the camera obscura. A theatre of the mind where I am you, you are me, and neither of us knows what’s going to happen. I hope you stick around for the veritable ride.

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