Help! I Was Moving Audio Equipment And Now I’m Stuck With This Peabody-Award Winning Podcast
Hey! You gotta help me out. I’m in some real deep shit here. For your own safety, I’ll skip the details — but all you need to know is I was helping my friend move a few months ago. I fell down the stairs while taking a box of audio equipment to the truck. The microphones or recorders or whatever picked up everything. Next thing I know, I got a letter from Peabody saying I won an award for outstanding achievement in podcasting.
This is the worst thing to ever happen to me.
I barely had the discipline to keep my kitchen clean, let alone research, write, record, and edit a sprawling deconstruction of the podcasting form with a rabid fanbase known as “crabheads” (don’t ask). Before this unfathomable tragedy, I was too shy to order takeout over the phone. Now, I’m the voice of an entire generation. I never wanted this. When I was taking that box of microphones and cables down the stairs, I was only trying to begrudgingly help a friend so he’d owe me — not kick start a pop culture phenomenon. My existence has become a living hell, a prison of personal and creative satisfaction.
My social life? Forget about it. I used to meet people. I used to go out on dates. But that was before the incident. Now, the only social interaction I get is the occasional interview with cultural luminaries such as Michelle Obama and Academy Award-winning actor J.K. Simmons. I haven’t spoken to my mother in weeks.
I can feel my connection to the world shrinking with each passing day. Going out for drinks with friends is a luxury I simply don’t have time for, now that I’m the sole creative force behind what The A.V. Club lauds as an “eye-opening exploration of the human condition.” Damn, if I’d known last month’s trivia night at Steve’s was going to be my final one, I would’ve sprung for the 10-piece buffalo wings. I was so young then…
My professional life is in shambles, obviously. I’m basically unemployable thanks to my every waking minute devoted to producing a podcast with over 50 million downloads. Who’d hire someone like me, a man who’s won the hearts and minds of millions through my uncanny ability to translate complex topics into accessible stories? A fucking idiot, that’s who!
I can’t blame my old boss for firing me. Where would I find the time for gainful employment between fending off brand deal offers from SquareSpace and reinvesting my Stamps.com wealth in a professional home studio? I think it’s time to face facts. My promising career as an Applebee’s line cook is over.
I wouldn’t wish this level of critical and commercial success on my worst enemy. There is nothing sexy or romantic about producing game-changing art that redefines an entire genre. It involves a lot of late nights, sacrifices, and unbelievably bad luck while helping a friend move to an apartment at the end of his block.
But that’s where you come in. Maybe you can become my co-host. If we split this cursed existence, maybe — just maybe — I can live a semblance of a normal life again. Do you have a heart? Do you feel an ounce of sympathy for the pathetic, universally acclaimed creator of perspective-shattering content standing before you?
No, I suppose it’s too late for me now. But it’s not too late for you! For the love of Christ Almighty, protect yourself from this fate. Stay away from large-diaphragm condenser microphones, digital recorders, and, hell, even two cans connected by a piece string. Just to be safe.
Do it, or share my Promethean fate of instant, overnight success doing what other people work their entire lives to achieve.
May God have mercy on my soul.
