One Hot Mess: An Open Letter to Basic Dumbfucks Looking for That Bus From ‘Into the Wild’
Dear Basic Dumbfucks Looking for That Bus from “Into the Wild,” Just staaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhp. Seriously. I don’t want to sound mean, but by all objective measures, you are dumb AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF! Yes, that’s at least fifteen AFs, one for every two or three of you who has managed to get lost or die up here since your Wild Potato Jesus took his $100,000 philosophy degree from Emory, hitchhiked to the ‘Banks with nothing but a 6 oz. bag of Lays BBQ potato chips and a dream, tromped 28 miles into Denali in a pair of donated Wellingtons, shot a moose, let it rot because he didn’t know what the actual fuck he was doing on any level, crawled into his sleeping bag, and starved to death in an abandoned Fairbanks city bus. (Side note: Poison Berries Bro was born in El Segundo, where Q-Tip left his wallet, and where Chris McCandless apparently left his marbles). And for whatever reason, all y’all basic dumbfucks won’t stop trying to replicate this pilgrimage to the Mecca of Moron. I know. Chris McCandless was a Free Spirit and really Knew What Mattered in This Life. John Krakauer said so! He was the Henry David Fucking Thoreau of trust fund hippies, but with an even better beard. He Died Doing What He Loved. He was Free from the Material World. He was a Better Man Than Us All … aaaaaaaaand alsoooooooo as Meghan Trainor might say … blah blah blah, I be like nah to the ah to the NO NO NO.
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