Here's a post in the series the Weekly Drunkard, which is a staple on the site:
This post-graduate, pre-reality existence is marked by visceral experiences: the drinks; the aching libido; the sheer, bleary-eyed awe. Our attempts to engage our context — full-on, unabashedly, unadulterated — have us careening between myriad locales and a various assortment of situations. In response to our surroundings, we try at great costs to create poignancy. Our sustenance, then, becomes pabulum-esque catch-phrases and the bar napkins upon which we write them. We take our passive participation in the culture of middling and make kinetic activity.
This activity is not how many Smithwicks we down or pool games won with defensive strategies, but the intellectual pursuit of lost heroes. We emerge from each night with a pervasive sense that something is lacking, and we must create it.
Continue reading.
Even if none of us can find jobs, at least we can still be witty. And that's what really matters. Right?
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