Punk and Jock Unaware They’re Bonding Over Hating Completely Different Eagles

FERNDALE, Mich. — Two former strangers seated together on a Megabus ride found common ground through despising the Eagles despite one referring to the band and the other the football team, astonished sources confirmed.

“I try not to judge anyone too harshly on first looks, but I’ll be honest, with his crewcut and brand new ‘Fuck the Phillies’ shirt, I thought I wasn’t gonna like this guy. But, it turns out he despises the Eagles just as much as I do!” said punk rock lifer Gunther Bergins. “Sure, he seems a bit confused when I talk about how overplayed they are on the radio, but he was on board. He was much more enthusiastic when I started talking about the Saints. Again, I didn’t figure him for a fan of Australian punk, but it just goes to show you! I gotta get this guy to make me a mix!”

Bergins’ seatmate Harlan Klein was just as dubious of his unlikely companion at first glance.

“I thought the freaks come out at night, not 9:45 in the morning, if you get what I’m saying. But, my mouth was shut as soon as he started popping off on those damn Birds. I’m a Saints man, understand?” said Klein, as he showed off his Drew Brees tattoo just out of sight of Bergins. “I just feel comfortable talking to the guy, what can I say? Plus, he likes basketball too, I guess, what with how enthusiastic he was about seeing the Sonics back in the ‘90s. Although, I’m not sure where he gets off saying ‘their sound started back in the ‘60s.’ Don’t all basketballs pretty much sound the same? Ah, whatever, maybe he’s had a few beers, and hopefully he’s sharin’, am I right?”

Overhearing their entire conversation, the driver of the Las Vegas bound bus was the only person who knew the true story.

“These two dummies have been talking about totally different subjects the entire ride, and I’m apparently the only one who realizes it. I’ve almost taken a wrong turn a half dozen times just because I’m so flabbergasted that they haven’t figured it out by now,” said bus operator Fannie Pritchard. “I wish I could place a bet on how this shakes out. Will their friendship make it to Vegas? Only time will tell. I’m hoping for the best, but in my experience, punks and sports fans don’t mix. But, then again, maybe they can bond over their love of violence after they’re exposed. Either way, I’m just hoping I don’t have to pull over and ditch them on the side of the highway.”

At press time, the budding friendship was still inadvertently going strong after the two got on the subject of Modern Baseball.

I Know I Never Listen To You Or Care About Your Life, But That’s The Price You Pay For Befriending An Artist!

So, I’m telling the other servers I work with about this chick I nailed after my set last night, when they suddenly confront me about my self-involvement! Can you believe they had the balls to talk back to me? Me! A singer in a band! Like, sorry I never listen or ask about whatever lame shit you do. That’s just the price you pay for hanging out with an artist who does cool shit like open for Barnaby and the Riders on a Tuesday night at Dino’s Bar and Grill!

Since it seems like my stories will now be met with responses, I needed to find a medium where no other perspective could be voiced but mine… This article. So to you, my non-artist civilian friends who’ve seen me do my thang on stage and somehow think you deserve a similar word count, why can’t you just sit back and enjoy the show that is my life? After being in the weeds for an entire dinner shift, don’t you just wanna crack a beer and hear all about my vocal range and the few positions I had that chick in last night?!

I just want to help put a little spice in their boring lives. So they can then brag to their friends that they have an insanely cool friend who met Wes Borland in 2006. I guess it’s my way of giving back to the little people. Man, I should honestly have my own reality show.

It’s like they can somehow see that instead of actually listening, I’m wracking my brain for a cool story after hearing a decent keyword. Like yesterday, my buddy who works in marketing or accounting or some business-y shit said he was at a rocky stage in his life. So I burst in with a sick story about how I banged my drummer’s girlfriend when he was in the hospital.

I thought I had this seamless ability to steer every conversation towards my creative process, so this is actually pretty scary. Like, if my work friends could somehow crack my code, can everyone else?! It looks like I’ll have to be a little more subtle. Gross!

Oh my god, I think I’m starting to understand. It’s like they’re the main character in the story of their lives, and to them, what they do is just as interesting as what I do. Can you even believe the ego on these clowns? That is a serious lack of self awareness right there. So to them, and any other civilian reader, maybe turn some of this newfound awareness inwards and realize that if you wanna kick it with rock stars, you’re gonna have to pay the price of silence. Don’t worry, we definitely have a cooler story than you locking down the Johnson account or whatever it is you do.

Guy Secretly Living in Walls of Practice Space Accidentally Shouts Song Request

EASTHAMPTON, Mass. — A longtime inhabitant of the drywall space behind the practice area of indie garage band Oyster Boys audibly requested a song at the risk of revealing himself, sources confirmed while looking around as if to say “who said that?”

“Cover blown, folks. I repeat, cover blown! It was my own fault for getting to know their setlist too well, man. Not to brag, but I’ve been successfully camping out rent-free in the space between walls of where these dudes rehearse. I definitely risked the sweet set-up I got going by shouting out ‘The Codeine Creep,’” said squatter Gerard Roswell, at a hushed whisper. “But, c’mon, it’s my favorite song of theirs! I didn’t want them to skip it! But now I’m shaking in my boots that they’re going to call a building inspector on me just when I’ve gotten the hang of sleeping standing up with my left arm resting on a girder. Goodbye life of luxury, I guess!”

Band members report an agreed upon suspicion that the space has been haunted for years.

“I never wanted to believe the spooky rumors until now. I like to think I have a pretty airtight lock on reality, and don’t go in for any of that X-Files shit, but we all heard it clear as day. Even over the amp feedback,” said rhythm guitarist Mick “Puff” Daragon, as his eyes darted around the room at every creak or rustle. “Needless to say, we heeded the voice’s order and played ‘Creep’ the best we’d ever played it, even with, or perhaps because of, the shivers in our spine. Oh, and then we heeded his other order too. The one to bring it some protein-rich food and ‘fresh piss bottle’ the next time we got together.”

Federal paranormal investigators were called in, but reported a less-than-otherworldly phenomenon.

“Oh, these kids have a hider in their walls. Likely a fellow male twenty-something who doesn’t want to be a part of regular quote-unquote ‘society’ and is figuring life out while sleeping in the crawlspace of this building. Who are we to blow up his spot? Hell, we admire the guy,” said Special Agent Carol Clemons, FBI. “We’re gonna follow government protocol which states ‘blame it on poltergeists’ and we’ll just encourage the band to turn their amps up louder and ignore everything else. See, the government helps sometimes. We told you so!”

At press time, another, totally different hider living in the crawlspace under the first hider was afraid to comment on the developing story, lest he be found out.

Olympian Excited to Return Home With Gold Medal and Pawn It For Rent Money

BALTIMORE, Md. — 23-year-old Olympic champion Erica Webb’s triumphant return home was filled with fanfare and excitement as she can’t wait to pawn her newly-won gold medal to cover her overdue rent, according to sources close to the athlete.

“I’ve worked my whole life for this moment and have been paid about $1400 net for those decades of dedication to the sport of badminton,” Webb said while waiting at Nicholson Gold & Paw for her symbol of talent and hard work to be weighed and appraised. “And now, I finally get to use it for something truly practical, rent money. With bills piling up, this symbol of the apex of human athleticism is the perfect solution to my financial woes. It’s not every day you get a chance to make a real impact with your achievements.”

Brad Thorson, Henderson’s landlord, expressed understanding, albeit with a touch of irony.

“I mean, I think I have been pretty lenient all things considered. I let slide on some rent by stealing her TV as collateral,” Thorson said, waiting outside the pawn shop to collect his money. “It’s not everyday you can say you have an Olympic gold medalist living in your building. Actually–now that we do have an Olympic gold medal winner in the building, I can raise the rent. Everybody wins!”

Dr. Helen Reed, a sports psychologist, pointed out that Henderson’s decision reflects broader issues within the sports industry.

“For some athletes, the excitement of winning a gold medal is accompanied by the security of financial stability in the form of sponsors and endorsement deals,” Dr. Reed explained. “But the athletes in the, shall we say, less popular events, especially female athletes, often find themselves grappling with everyday financial struggles. Wheaties doesn’t necessarily sponsor archers and kayakers, and, unfortunately for Ms. Webb, badminton players.”

As of press time, Webb stated she hopes to take on a third part-time job to cover the crushing debt from having to pay her own way to Paris.

Every The Vines Album Ranked Worst To Best

It’s kind of perfect that Sydney, Australia’s The Vines formed in 1994 in the wake of grunge’s popularity, and then released their nostalgically fuzzily aggressive and hippy-ish garage-esque ‘60s inspired musically diverse debut LP “Highly Evolved” eight years later to happy ears and a more inferior music outlet’s magazine cover. Also, and we will not so happily die on this cross, the band had SOME fanfare, but not nearly enough to raise the band to the heights of two other “the” bands around that time known as The White Stripes and The Strokes, or overall sustainability, at least stateside. Anyway, we’re finding it harder to believe that we’re gentlemen at this point, or how hard it is to explain, and it truly offends us in every way. So read on, friends, and dive into the band’s six other full-length albums that you missed that aren’t called “Highly Evolved”.

7. Melodia (2008)

Rankings are a tough racket, one album had to be listed in the brown stinker spot in this piece, and The Vines’ fourth album “Melodia.” Maybe we’d dig this full-length studio release more, and we must mention on record that we still do enjoy every album from The Vines, if it went with its original title, “Braindead,” but that also possibly is as false as the night. An interesting thing to mention is that the record often sounds ADD in that only one song, “True as the Night” is longer than three minutes, and that twelve out of the album’s fourteen songs are under two minutes and thirty seconds, and four are even under two minutes.

Play it again: “He’s a Rocker”
Skip it: “A Girl I Knew”

6. Vision Valley (2006)

After two perfect by any stretch of your lack of imagination back to back LPs, The Vines found themselves in a difficult position for album number three, and released “Vision Valley,” which, again, like all The Vines records, is good, but unlike its predecessors, just isn’t great. A parable that we ascribe to is that good is the enemy of great, and even if you don’t agree. Also, a band in 2024 could NEVER have a song called “Futuretarded,” or they would be canceled and there would be online discussions about who can and can’t use that word. Today vocalist and chief songwriter Craig Nicholls is the only consistent member of The Vines, and “Vision Valley” started the leaving member trend with bassist Patrick Matthews exiting shortly before this one.

Play it again: “Don’t Listen to the Radio”
Skip it: “Futuretarded” for obvious reasons

5. In Miracle Land (2018)

The band’s newest and seventh full-length studio album, “In Miracle Land” is not only NOT The Vines’ lowest ranked LP here, but it is also not in the second lowest slot, proving that what is new isn’t necessarily that bad. Surprise surprise with a newly mended heart? Yessir and yesmadam! Basically, we just LOVE the sound, and hate is a strong word but we really, really, really don’t like you. Also, “In Miracle Land” is the first to be mentioned that is somewhere between good and great, proving that this band not only is capable of creating works with a lot of killer and little filler. Why the title track is the only single here plagues our brain, as the record should have had at least two others, but that’s just showbiz! In closing, this album cover would be delightful as framed wall art for your overpriced studio apartment.

Play it again: “Sky Gazer”
Skip it: “Annie Jane”

4. Future Primitive (2011)

Missing the medal position by just a smidge, “Future Primitive” is still a more than solid release front to back, and was expertly and pristinely recorded by The Bumblebeez’ Chris Calonna, whose band you may not have heard of, but is quite successful down unda. If you have, we apologize for said blunder and promise to do it again soon. Anyway, especially considering that this is the band’s fifth LP, “Future Primitive” showcased that the band’s past dictated their future, and said future is the antithesis of primitive, and quite, wait for it, wait for it, (highly) evolved. In a badass move, the band was unsigned prior to 2011, self funded this badass release, and ultimately signed with Sony Music Australia, who ultimately released “Future Primitive”. So read on for something wicked, winning, and evolved.

Play it again: “Gimme Love”
Skip it: “Outro”

3. Wicked Nature (2014)

You may not be able to recall any song from this record off the top of your metallic ladybug noggin, and anything you say proves it, but, like many songs in the modern age, you likely may have listened to some tracks passively on various hard/alt-rock DSP curated playlists. Well, still many Australians in fact do recall many tunes from this 2014 effort, and the Thunder Down Under Aussie fans likely account for the majority of the publicly viewed successful streams from “Wicked Nature,” and not Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game.” It is worth mentioning that shockingly to domestic diehards and casual fans, out of the top ten listed popular tracks from The Vines, FIVE, yes five, are from “Wicked Nature”. The band certainly had faith in this record as well, certainly their best since 2004, as it was released under their own label, the appropriately named Wicked Nature Music.

Play it again: “Green Utopia”
Skip it: “Good Enough”

2. Winning Days (2004)

One of the more underrated Capitol Records LPs, at least from this century, “Winning Days,” is a proper sequel in that it truly sounds more expensive and certainly huger than its incredible predecessor, whilst not reinventing the wheels in too many ways that it successfully rode towards success the first time. Sadly, another way that it is a sophomore record is that its sales waned in comparison to and respect to the band’s debut full-length album. Fun fact: This record’s catchy opening track and second single “Ride” was featured in an Apple commercial in the mid-aughts. Fun opinion: Maybe this tune should have been the first single, as the label opted for the album’s closer “F.T.W.” instead, which stands for what you think it does and couldn’t be a hit because of its moniker. In closing, this album and the next mention have no “skip it” tracks.

Play it again: Protein
Skip it: Vegetables

1. Highly Evolved (2002)

The word “the” was used in 2002 before a plural noun in a band name almost as many times as George W. Bush avoided doing anything presidential whilst he golfed eighteen holes or more with Dick Cheney. “Highly Evolved” is a perfect record and certainly one of the more underrated aughts rock efforts, that’s for sure! Despite going platinum in their native Australia and gold in the U S and A, we rarely hear this band or album name checked in the concrete jungle one-millionth as much as we should, and that doesn’t make us come in, come in, come in. Producer Rob Schnapf, whose last name likely gets mispronounced often, killed it here, much like he did for Saves the Day’s “In Reverie” and several Elliott Smith LPs.

Play it again: The whole megillah
Skip it: Yeah, don’t

Punk Dog Park All Opossums

CANTON, Conn. — A local canine owner was stunned to see that his neighborhood’s dog park was completely overrun by opossums owned by dedicated members of the punk community, nervous sources confirmed while Googling “rabies how get.”

“I mean, no exaggeration, there were like two dozen opossums just scurrying around this park, cheered on by their bizarre masters. It was unnerving. I had to keep my lab-mix Fletcher on a short leash just because I didn’t trust anything about my surroundings. And, I’m talking about the freaks hanging out who apparently owned these pests, as well,” said new-to-the-area Seth Cupertino. “I swear at least a few of them were rabid… Again, I mean the owners, not necessarily the opossums. Oh, and speaking of! Don’t call those things just ‘possums’ either. Hoo boy, the owners hate that. I guess those are only in Australia or something? Either way, creepy if you ask me. ”

Local installation artist and devout opossum owner Parveth “Pinner” Harkwell expressed his affinity for the non-traditional pet.

“They make great companions, especially if you don’t want lots of other humans around bothering you,” said a relaxed Harkwell, as one of his three blue-ribbon eating opossums nestled into his lap. “When some argue that me and my friends ‘took over’ the dog park with our pets, I simply extend a hand and say their dogs are welcome to play with my ‘Opie’ or his sister ‘Hiss America.’ Just don’t be put off if they start roughhousing a little bit. Snarling and skittering around and generally unsettling everyone around them to the point of disgust is just how they play. Isn’t it, boy? Isn’t it? Aw…”

Local PetCo employee Sheila Grebin states that the prevalence of the marsupial led to a complete store overhaul.

“Oh, corporate came in and added a whole wing dedicated to the opossum owners in the area. Yeah, got rid of all the bird stuff to make way for it, too, so my apologies to any parakeet owners in the Farmington Valley area,” said Grebin, as she dumped the morning shift trash can out into the opossum aisle. “I don’t mind stocking the products, I just wish more of our customers would purchase the grooming items. We’re backed up on opossum shampoo and conditioner, and when they bring in the little guys to sniff around, man, do they seem to need some help with hygiene. But, I guess, it’s like the old saying goes: ‘like owner, like pet,’ y’know?”

At press time, Cupertino was seen frantically searching for his dog, after witnessing five opossums dabbing the side of their mouths and belching.

Help! We Tried To Nab Some Easy Nineties Nostalgia Clicks by Interviewing Stephen Gammell and He Trapped Us Inside One of His Drawings

OK, so this one’s at least partially on us. We’ve admittedly been slacking off here at the Hard Times, and the deadlines have been creeping up. We needed clicks FAST, and we figured we’d just revert to some nineties nostalgia, which is always a surefire way to get the job done. So we contacted every goth millennial’s artistic hero Stephen Gammell for an interview, and he invited us out to his house. Piece of cake, right?

Wrong. We should’ve known something was up when we were making the three-day trek through the Minnesota forest to reach his home. Our compass kept spinning wildly out of control and we would awaken to strange little stick figures propped up outside our tents. Nevertheless, we finally reached his dilapidated shack and prepared to begin our interview.
We had been expecting him to be eccentric, but we certainly had not been anticipating him uttering an ancient incantation while lightly touching each of us on the forehead with his pencil. All of a sudden, we were enveloped in a cloud of suffocating, black smoke while a booming voice cackled in our ears. Once the smoke cleared, we found that we were no longer in Stephen’s shack, but inside the haunted graveyard drawing that had been displayed on the easel behind him!

Now here we are: trapped in this horrifically bleak and clearly haunted graveyard, presumably for eternity. Worse yet, the shrouded specter of a weeping woman is perpetually wandering amongst the headstones. We’re not sure if she’ll cause us any harm upon seeing us, but holy fucking shit we don’t want to find out.

The arch at the entrance of the graveyard bears an inscription describing the “amulet of desolation which slumbers everlasting within the folds of the dark sorcerer’s robes,” which we think might be our ticket out? The only problem is, the graves aren’t marked, so we have no idea which belongs to the sorcerer. We’ve been scrambling to dig up each grave (with our HANDS, no less, because of course that asshole Gammell couldn’t have been bothered to draw us a fucking shovel), only to be forced to stop and hide in the shadows every time the weeping woman circles through.

So if you’re reading this, we’d appreciate it if you called the police on Stephen Gammell, because we’re pretty sure whatever he did wasn’t legal. At the very least, could you contact our editors to let them know we need another deadline extension? Again, we fully admit that our laziness led to this predicament, but an eternity of confinement in this nightmarish hellscape because we were too lazy to write an article about Vampire Weekend seems like an inordinately harsh punishment.

Guy Fleeing From Pack of Escaped Gorillas Regrets Wearing Velvet Underground Shirt to Zoo Today

SAN DIEGO — A frenzied man was pursued by an entire cage of gorillas after they took too strong a liking to his shirt festooned with the recognizable banana-based cover art of “The Velvet Underground and Nico,” sources also hauling ass confirmed.

“You think you put on a Velvet Underground shirt and you’re not ruffling any feathers, y’know? But, I guess feathers isn’t the thing I’m worried about, it’s fur…and the skin of my own hide if I don’t run fast enough,” said Rupert Comers, while rounding a corner at a full sprint. “I’ll tell you something else, this particular Sunday morning isn’t like the ‘Sunday Morning’ on the album at all. Ol’ Lou forgot to put some lyrics in about running for your damn life to get away from the pack of hungry zoo animals who think you’re a giant piece of fruit. Buddy, it’s not the ‘world’ behind me, it’s potentially rabid gorillas! Oh, but he got the ‘restless feeling’ part dead on, I can confirm.”

Original Velvet Underground drummer Moe Tucker confirmed that the band had a long and tumultuous history when it came to primate aggression.

“A lot of writers over the years have used ‘primal’ to describe our sound, but it more described our merch table, what with all the apes and chimpanzees from surrounding exotic animal compounds who would flock to it,” said Tucker, whose sunglasses did nothing to hide the fear in her eyes. “It was probably why so few people initially bought our first album…because they didn’t want to get bitten by the orangutan trying to eat it. That old saying is true: every person that did buy that album went on to get attacked by a gorilla themselves. Uh, at least I think that’s how the saying goes. I’ll be honest, we hid it well, but we actually did an awful lot of drugs over the years.”

Noted primatologist Dr. Jane Goodall expounded on her experience with the Velvet Underground’s music during her time in Gombe.

“It took my 30 years of research to confirm it, but it’s true: primates love bananas. And some will do unspeakable things in order to get one. So, when I lived among the chimpanzees, we had to be sure to only listen to ‘White Light/White Heat’ or ‘Loaded.’ The self-titled, good as an album as it is, was out of the question for exactly those reasons,” said Goodall, flanked by her formidable record collection that no one knew she even had. “Oh, but we’d never listen to ‘Squeeze’…fuck that one, of course. I’m not committing that kind of animal abuse.”

At press time, matters were made even worse when Comers finally removed the shirt, revealing an entirely unhelpful tattoo of “a bunch of bamboo shoots with ants on them” on his back.

Band That Switches Instruments Accidentally All End Up on Same Bass After Wrong Turn

SPARKS, Nev. — Members of longtime garage-punk outfit The Gargantuans, known for switching instruments between songs, ruined a show by all landing on the same bass at the same time, a gawking gaggle of looky-loos confirmed.

“I guess we all must have looked at the setlist wrong, because once our opening song ended, we all took a wrong turn and ended up behind the bass. Now we’re in a big mangled mess under the same strap. It’s like, what’s the point of even going over the hand turn-signals at practice if we’re not going to use them in a potential collision like this?” asked Gargantuans member Trig Lippley while continually shoving another member’s elbow out of his mouth. “Hell, everyone laughed at me when I voted for us all to wear horns attached to our clothes to honk in case of emergencies like this one, but I’m looking pretty smart now. Plus, I’ve always believed that a good handful of our songs could use a good ‘ah-ooh-gah’ every now and then, anyhow. It’d be a win-win!”

Onlookers in the crowd couldn’t help but rubberneck towards the accident.

“It was actually pretty inspiring to see them all eventually come to terms with their mistake, and put aside their egos to make the situation work as a cohesive unit. One guy handled the frets, another plucked the strings,” mused newly minted Gargantuans fan Hedy Freidl. “And, as if by magic, the other two respectively took over the dazed look of a perpetually lost dullard and valid feeling of extreme imposter syndrome that every full-time bassist needs. They all knew their stuff, and used it to Frankenstein together the ultra-bassist.”

The venue traffic cop, Sargent Murray Hankland, decided to resign after failing to arrive at the scene in a timely manner.

“I’ve been the stage traffic official here at the Loving Cup for twelve years, and I can’t believe I was so asleep at the wheel, so to speak, for this infraction. This is the type of thing we venue traffic cops, which I feel I must mention is an actual job at all music venues, have nightmares about,” griped Hankland while handing in his gun and badge to an overwhelmingly confused bartender. “If only I hadn’t been too busy busting that tall guy in the audience for their illegal merge in front of a 4′ 11″ woman in the crowd, I could have prevented this whole thing. Well, I guess it’s back to the actual highway for me. ”

At press time, the mishap culminated in all four Gargantuans members reaching down to sip from the same beer and clonking their heads together with a humorous coconut-like sound.

Photo by Magna Vita. 

The Next Stephen King? I Got Really High and Don’t Remember Writing This Shit

Stephen King’s legacy as a horror visionary is as far-reaching as it is undeniable, but it should be fair to say that he, like all of us, harbors a bag of bones in the closet. There was a time in his career when his addictions got the better of him and he ended up creating works that he can’t recall putting to paper. Is it possible that there exists a dumber, yet equally attractive author out there ready to dethrone the King? I got zonked out of my gourd last week and typed up my own book, but I don’t remember writing a word of this nonsense.

I honestly don’t know how it happened. One minute my lard-ass was sitting in front of a bag of frozen tater tots that I figured I could just warm up in my mouth, and cradling a martini made with some uppers and stuff that I scored off a buddy of mine. The next minute I was lying face-down in front of the printer, splayed out like I’d been hit by a minivan on the shoulder of Route 5, gradually becoming buried under a sea of paper and ink that I sure as hell am way too unemployed to replenish.

I somehow wrote a horror story when I was high on that green mile, typing away at the cool ranch Doritos-stained Bluetooth keyboard connected to my phone. And honestly? Reading what came out of the labyrinthian hedge maze of my mind terrified me, but, you know, in like a manly way. Not because it was scary or anything, but because it’s frightening just how much it fucking sucks.

Seriously, this thing is an incomprehensible mess of names and timelines, and even though it’s over 1,000 pages long, the ending still feels rushed. Also, tell me the truth: how many characters would you say are allowed to be writers in one story? Because I’m counting 17, and even though nine of them are women, they’re written only to be sex objects–and not even hot ones.

I could only make it to the part where I introduced the villain 50 pages in before I had to give up entirely. Honestly, a cobbler whose shoes compel people to walk onto active railways? Please. No one’ll be quaking in their boots over that.

I wish I could tuck this all away into a mental lockbox, but unfortunately, that’s impossible. Apparently, I already posted this garbage to Reddit, and people are obsessed with it; I keep getting DMs asking me things like, “What’s the deal with the 17-author cage match?” or, “SEQUEL WHEN?!”

Shit, I guess we’ll never know now, because I’m sober for good.