A lot of these new era cult leaders have it all wrong. I share a few lessons learned from some of the larger cults. 

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This is a love letter the my car. The hunk of junk that refuses to get rid of me. My ride or die, even though I would prefer for it to die at this point. Shout out to the tiggy.

A short, meandering rant about how I accidentally became “the guy with an opinion” after weighing in on the placement of an office plant. From there it spirals into workplace silence, wine-fueled kitchen debates about economics, movie opinions I can’t defend, and the general social pressure to always have a take—even when you don’t fully know what you’re talking about. It’s observational, a little self-owning, and mostly about the exhaustion of being expected to land somewhere, all anchored by a plant that keeps surviving bad decisions long after everyone involved has moved on.

Weddings have the potential to be the most beautiful thing in the world. Until the performative people took over. 

The stakes are high, for the first time in a year we have an excuse to kiss a girl, and odds are they are actually also looking for a kiss.

Less face directly off with forced momentum and see if the object that moves everyone can move an immovable object.

What should have been a straightforward trip turns into a liminal, cocktail-fueled odyssey through the uniquely unhinged ecosystem of the airport. In Airport Odyssey, I unravel the disorientation of delayed timelines, forced small talk, and the strange authority figures who control your fate while insisting everything is “totally normal.”

A simple errand spirals into a full-blown moral standoff when I walk into the deli section expecting sustenance and walk out questioning power, pride, and who’s really in charge behind the counter.

What starts as a reluctant step into a fluorescent-lit gym quickly turns into an existential comedy about routine, self-image, and how we end up places we once swore we’d never be.