the old man wakes up before sunrise every day despite the ache in his bones. the hearth fire must be tended and stoked, and the porridge for breakfast must be prepared. the air outside his one-room cabin is cold, startling his senses into greater wakefulness even as he pulls his wool cloak around himself. in the pre-dawn light he can already hear the flock stirring. dozens of bags of cool ranch doritos begin jostling each other for the man's attention, but he ignores them all except for a single serving bag that's nearly being smothered by the rest of the herd. it's the runt of a recent litter, and will need special care if it's to survive through winter.
REVOLT AGAINST THE MODERN WORLD wait fuck you mom did you get me the wrong kind of tendies again you fucking bitch
