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…
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…
By Ken Hollow, unpaid intern of chaos. Look, I didn’t sign up for headaches. I signed up to manage one (1) fox spirit with delusions of grandeur and a taste for mid-century gold bathtubs. Yet somehow, over the course of this job — and by “job,” I mean magical indentured servitude — I’ve come to…