Alright, so I’m just going to give up on this being a Monday thing and a number thing because it’s really not working out. I guess I have high expectations for myself. That’s a good way to fail…a lot. I mean my brain calendar can only hold so many things. So this week’s non-numbered, non-Monday writer of the week is Wandering Savage! He writes to us from San Francisco, California.
So, Mr. Savage didn’t feel like sending us a bio about a year or so ago, so @aliceclemens, @folklaur13, @acekingsly and I took our own liberties with this. We eventually read him the bio in like…December? But he still hasn’t sent us one to replace it. Cough if you’re reading this cough.
So, enjoy this work of fiction:
He was born in a shoe but not a little old lady one, a fucking gross Nike sneaker: one floating in a sewer. Wandering Savage attended an art school where his teacher—ass paint McGee—literally shits on the artistic institution by shooting paint out of his ass. Savage has graduated with degrees in chronic masturbation and literary nonsense also known as film. He gives no importance to things his friends care about and spends copious and concerning amounts of time in a mutually abusive relationship with his decrepit demon cat.