The fists fly fast and hard, you hear the snap of a spoke being savagely torn off the wheel and prepared for your now exposed back side. This is bad. Second third of an 80’s teen movie bad. It’s time to muster up a super power. One you’ve been hiding all along, one you swore you’d never use….. the dangers….. oh well… there’s no choice now. You scrunch up your nose and wiggle your eye brows. A punch to your head sends your consciousness deeper inside itself like an endlessly wrinkled turtle neck sweater opening itself into the pink folds of the infinite beyond. Except no, that’s just a concussion you silly fool. You chose to take a Philosophy course instead of Reality Bending Mental Powers in third year uni.


If you choose to quote Sartre to explain the existential crisis of the current moment turn to page…. Ah fuck off, I won’t even waste the 5 minutes it would take to know what any of these assholes wrote about to properly flesh out this joke, let alone dive head first into debt in order to hear even bigger assholes explain their pathetic interpretations of what said dead assholes wrote about. So whatever: your existential crisis is over because you just died. I’m merciful like that.