It's a comfortable existence for the most part. You go through a sanitized little belt-track, performing rote tasks and having various forms of nutrition placed in your mouth, caffeine applied, smooth music of your preference piped into your bubble, hearing nothing you don't want to hear, seeing nothing you don't want to see...
...until one fine day, the system breaks down, and you're thrown face first into a picture of a man with bear prints with the University of Tennessee logo tattooed on his corpsewhite flesh. And then you start praying to a god, any god, to make it just go away, whatever god will do the trick, just make...it...go...
The panic...the vomit...
(Don't thank us--thank Jamey.)
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