Human brains are such strange things, and over three and a half decades of evidence have me convinced that mine is at least a noticeably bit more offbeat and inexplicable than the majority of any given dozen that a coroner removes and examines in an average week or so. I’m not saying that because I have a history of making comitragic decisions with such consistency you could set a wristwatch by them, or because I can remember all the lyrics to the 2004 non-hit Get Back by Ludacris ft. Sum 41, but not my eldest sibling’s middle name.
Ryan Ludwick haunts me, but not how you’d think
