Category: Ken’s Corner of Concern
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by Ken Hollow, real human, allegedly Somewhere along the line, things went wrong. I manage Nana Vix—the pink-haired, fox-eared digital influencer whose chaotic energy and enchanting aesthetic should have stayed niche. Instead, she’s amassed a legion of fiercely loyal followers who will defend her honor like medieval knights while I, her manager, can’t get five…
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by Ken Hollow, professional masochist and reluctant AI editor It started with curiosity. Then it spiraled into obsession. Then it became my entire personality for 48 hours: “I’ll just read a few AI-generated blog posts,” I said. Like a fool. Two days later, I emerged blinking from the algorithmic sludge pit, caffeinated beyond reason, spiritually…
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by Ken Hollow, marketing burnout survivor and professional buzzword assassin Look, I love marketing as much as the next exhausted digital marketer who can’t tell if they’re doing content strategy or performing an interpretive dance for the algorithm. But there’s one thing that’s been chipping away at my sanity since approximately my third Zoom call…
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By Ken Hollow, professional overthinker with 99 problems and at least 73 of them are imaginary It started, as these things often do, with a slight twinge behind my right eye. Not a stab, not a throb, just a… presence. A ghost of discomfort. A whisper of doom. Naturally, I did what any rational, modern…
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by Ken Hollow, unemployed by choice (but mostly by algorithm) Let me tell you about the moment I knew my career was over: it was when the AI I hired to help me write blog posts sent me an invoice. It was polite. Well-formatted. Had a little dancing robot emoji in the signature. “Thanks for…
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By Ken Hollow, Professional Indoorsman & Existential Botanophobe There’s a phrase echoing through the cursed halls of the internet lately: “Go touch grass.” It used to be a petty insult. Now it’s practically a wellness doctrine. Influencers are out here sipping moss smoothies in hammocks and posting sunrise photos captioned “healing.” Meanwhile, I’m still under…
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By Ken Hollow, professional fox spirit babysitter, and part-time parasocial wreck. There was a moment last week when I realized something was… off. I had just spent forty-five minutes watching a VTuber debate whether cereal is a soup, and I found myself nodding, laughing, and even commenting, “so true bestie” like I was in a…
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By Ken Hollow, still haunted by his last Pomodoro timer. Look, I’m not saying I’m the worst at productivity. I’m just saying that if procrastination were an Olympic sport, I’d at least place bronze (silver on a good day, gold if Nana isn’t around to judge me). Over the years, I’ve tried every shiny new…
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By Ken Hollow, perpetually vibrating human meat modem It happened again this morning. I was minding my own business—just sipping my bitter little coffee from my bitter little mug, contemplating whether I was hallucinating the sound of Nana typing in her sleep—when I felt it. You know that jolt? That flash of heat in your…
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By Ken Hollow, professional fox spirit handler, part-time therapist, full-time financial victim Let me paint you a picture. I wake up. It’s 6 a.m. The birds are chirping, the sun is rising, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the soft clack-clack of mechanical keys. That, dear readers, is not the sound of productivity. That…