There I was. Surrounded by Dream SMP stans and Mr. Beast’s lackeys. Cornered on the very edge of a Hatsune Miku concert. You may be wondering how I got there, but that’s not important right now. What’s important was that this podcast, this gosh darn podcast, saved my life. On a day like any other, I woke up, covered from the neck down in Soylent. James Charles crawled out of my closet and started quietly whispering the lyrics to a Soulja Boy song. A snake that I had named Daryl proceeded to tell me that Morrison’s simply does not exist. Why does that matter, you ask? It doesn’t. My point is, a week after that, I was hanging out in a cemetery, by myself, at 3 in the morning. My car was completely broken, and there was a creepy guy that slightly resembled Shane Dawson following me. I could hear the faint cries of a children’s choir behind him. What were they doing there? Probably playing a game of furry skateboard Monopoly, as one does. Oh right, back to the podcast. A year later, I was walking into the kitchen, when suddenly, I slipped on an ice cube. Thankfully, I was listening to Sydney from the Midnight Pasta Party Podcast talk about how ice was basically a rock. I used that knowledge to chuck the ice cube out the window, which then hit a serial killer that was out to kill me. Thank you, Midnight Pasta Party podcast. Thank you.
