Two years of my life I’ll never get back and what do I get for it? A bunch of people who’ve never accomplished shit calling me a liar, a whack job, or an attention seeker. That actually might not be the worst of it though, because the people who believe me - I mean REALLY believe me think I owe it to them to answer every single asinine question they have. And apparently since I’ve been gone there’s this thing called a “podcast” that’s gotten real big and if I went on everyone of em I was offered, I wouldn’t have time to eat or shit, let alone get a good night’s sleep. One that hopefully decides to switch up its dreams a little bit.

I swear to god, the next person who asks me about aliens, portals, or what all got stuck up my ass is gonna get my best left hook to their fuckin ear drum. You wanna know what it was like? Do you really? Well alright then, prepare to have your mind blown: I don’t have the slightest god damn clue. My plane went down, and then I washed up on an island where the coast guard informed me I’d been gone for two years. At first I thought it was a prank. But then I got home and saw my daughter. If she didn’t have a birth mark on her left cheek I wouldn’t have known her. The difference between one and three is remarkable when it comes to babies. As much as I lay awake screaming about the time with her I’ll never get back, she’s the only thing keeping this service pistol out of my fucking mouth.

So there. Satisfied? Piss off