Thanksgiving Fiction Special: The Thirty-Seven Marble Steps

will be a little bit different. We're going to do a short little bit of history, and then we're gonna do a little bit of fiction, because I think that's what I do when I don't have an entire episode, is I read you short stories because I write short stories, and so then I can read them because I've written them. Today. My guest is very excited to be on the show, has never been on the show before. Is Sophie Lichtman. Sophie, how are you? I'm good? I think you fiction because

they ask you too, because I like it? Oh right? Is something. It has nothing to do with you know, not having time or anything like that. It's that I'm like, hey, can you do this thing that you're really good at that I enjoy that listeners also enjoy. Thanks. Yeah, okay, that that's what I'm doing. Very thankful for that, because it's, you know, a week of thanking for things thanks by I mean, let's talk about this really awesome, awesome thing.

I can't even be serious about it. No, it's hard, and unfortunately I finally get to go back to my roots of how I earned the name Killjoy, which was not by telling people about cool people, but instead by complaining about things that people hold dear. I was so excited, Hooray, we're gonna talk about Thanksgiving. The story of Thanksgiving is a lie on almost every conceivable level. The idea didn't

originate in North America. The first American Thanksgiving feast wasn't the pilgrims on Plymouth Rock In The colonists weren't actually very good to the indigenous people, even the specific nation that they made the treaty with. That the whole Thanksgiving myth is built around, and the current incarnation of thanks you mean isn't even directly related to the feast that they had in Plymouth rock YEP. One of the first days of Thanksgiving was in sixteen thirty eight English settlers

on a ship named Margaret. I literally included this part in the script because the ship was named Margaret, I mean respectfully and understand. Yeah, they showed up in Virginia and declared December four, six nineteen a day of Thanksgiving, and it was part of this Puritan idea. The idea of Thanksgiving wasn't like something that they came up with

once they were in North America. Puritans um famously not fans of fun, and so they didn't or paganism, and they correctly assessed that all the Christian holidays were just pagan holidays rebranded, and so they only had two holidays that really mattered to them. Days of Humiliation and Days of Thanksgiving. I mean that sounds like, you know, an

average Wednesday for me. But okay, yeah, yeah, for some reason, the Puritans and well, I guess I would say, you know, Protestant culture in American in general has forgotten about the first one. Not as big on the Days of Humiliation should be you know, a weekly day, you know, for at least for like Congress in America or something. Yeah, it should be a day of humiliation each week. They just get to, you know, make fun of some horrendous politician. Yeah. I think I didn't look a ton into it. I

think it's like to humble ourselves to express humility. You know, I like my aversion better where you you take like Mitch McConnell from Senate and I'll let let you know, somebody from Congress throw things at them. Is either one it looks like a turtle. I can't remember. Yes, yes, yeah, Like I'm like, as a matter of fact, if we're being you know, factually accurate, he is, Yeah, okay, just just checking making sure I have the right one in

my head. The Thanksgiving in colonial America that we mythologized today, it is two years later from the set Margaret Once. You've probably heard this story before. Have you heard of these people, the Pilgrims, Sophie? I was fortunately for way too long every I mean just an unbelievable amount of time in class in school. Unbelievable. Maybe I wasn't paying attention, But did you know that they didn't actually set out from England? They set out from the Netherlands. No, I mean,

like they taught this in school. I realized it was not a real story. And then I was like, I will not fact check this because funck them Like yeah, no, ya, totally, many of them, many of the Puritans did set out from from England. But this other group, the separatist Puritans, who are the ones who get called the Pilgrims, set out from the Netherlands because they had already fled England and gone to and then Vilens, and then they continued

on their way and then they came over here. And so those plucky Puritans, the Pilgrims, who would fucking hate this is the best part about it all. The Puritans would hate that Thanksgiving Thanksgiving as a harvest feast, Like fundamentally it's a harvest feasts. It's a little bit weird. That's a harvest feast. Every other culture celebrates harvest feast around the time of the harvest, but we can't do anything right, so our harvest feast is at the end

of November. But anyway, the Puritans fucking hate all pagan holidays, so they would fucking hate that their day of Thanksgiving is a fucking pagan harvest feast. Cool. So they show up on the Mayflower and they found Plymouth and they had a hard winter. They were like, I guess we'll just die. I mean, honestly, here's I'm just going back for one second. If they had named that ship Margaret, maybe we would like them more. Maybe we like them more, that's true. Or maybe I would have had to pick

a different name out of that. Maybe maybe you would not be Margaret because you'd associated with that. Or May, Yeah, you'd be May, You'd be Mayflower Killjoy. Yeah, Okay, not not a bad name. I'm not gonna lie like it. Kind of is a bob, I know, I know what. It's too steeped in the afromathic. I know. Wow, life

could be different, I know, I know. Fortunately, according to this, this myth that we all hear, the heroic indigenous people of a nearby nation, the Wampanoag, plus a plucky fellow name to Squantum, whom history remembers by the nickname a white guy gave him Squanto, who was the last surviving member of the patux At people, who are a subsection of the Wampanoag. And they show up, especially this guy to Squantum, and he's like, hey, buds, here's some food

and here's some knowledge. It's all going to be okay. And he teaches them the basics of how not to die in North America, Like here's how to get maple sap, how to grow corn, how to catch eel. It's funny because like the first things you read are like taught them how to catch fish, and then you read a little bit more into it, it's like taught them how to catch eels. And I think people were like grossed out by the fact that people used to eat a ton of eels, and so like that Robert Evans, big

big eel guy, big guy. Don't they like not know how eels reproduce? Even still, I have not looked into this, but would not be surprised. There's a whole um historian. Sophie's good to continue with the story, so people pop

back in. Okay, great, And you should also google medieval eel historian and come up with this guy's name, because apparently people used to pay their taxes in medieval England with eels um and pay their rent with eels, and there was just this whole eel based system in medieval England that no one john why probably I don't know, I don't remember names. Well, everyone should look up medieval evil history and listen to podcasts about it because they're

very entertaining. But even despite all this help, half of the pilgrims died that winner, so critical support for winter for killing half the Pilgrims. If it had killed all of them, maybe the world would be a better place. I'm not a big This is going to come across a little bit. I actually the heroes of the story

are not the Pilgrims. I know, isn't that weird? So according to this story, next year, next harvest, the Pilgrims were like, yeah, let's have a day of Thanksgiving, which is definitely not a pagan holiday, and we'll invite the indigenous people with whom we will be great friends and totally not try to wipe out. Except they didn't actually call it a day of Thanksgiving back then. That just like randomly, even though they would have called it a

day of Thanksgiving, they probably didn't. The reason that to Squantum was the surviving member of his people is because he had been enslaved by an English guy about seven years earlier. Basically this English quote explorer. It's so fucked up, like all these things are like, oh, we're off to go explore. But if you read all these explorers were like, look, we're just we're here to capture people. That's what we're doing. And so this guy was like, hey, come on, board

my ship and we can trade. And twenty folks came onto the ship, and then he kidnapped them and he took them to Spain and never go on their ships, No, just went on. Once he was sold into slavery in Spain, he somehow escaped to London. He became a shipbuilder for a while, or maybe apprentice with a shipbuilder, and then eventually he was like, hey, I got an idea, we should go back to North America and I know a good spot. Specifically it was the spot he was from

because he wanted to get the funk home. And when he got home, literally everyone was dead from disease, and so and the Wampanoag. Within a generation of this whole like peace, love and happiness, Thanksgiving thing, the Pilgrims were breaking their treaties with them left and right. They were hanging the Wampanoag for bullshit crimes. They were stealing their food, they were demanding that they weren't allowed to go own guns. The whole history of gun control goes real far back

with racism in this country. And they try to force them all to become Christian, all this ship and they leave them with no choice but go to war. It's called King Philip's War, the First Indian War, And that's not what we have time to go into today because this is literally just a section of me talking it

on Thanksgiving. But but yeah, so these the people that they were like supposedly friendly with or whatever, within a generation those people were like, fuck, you're trying to kill us all and had to go to war against the colonists. It also wasn't the first American Thanksgiving by a long shot. Some Spanish conquerors had done one consciously in fifteen sixty five. The Virginia the Margaret people had done one a couple of years earlier. It's not the actual story, but in

the actual Thanksgiving we currently celebrate. Of course, a ton of indigenous people in North America had tons of harvest festivals, as did fucking everybody on the planet except the Puritans, who hated fun. So once again, the only joy I can squeeze out of the story is the fact that the Puritans would be really upset about all of this. Do you want to know how how eels reproduce? Oh? Is it known? How do eels reproduce? I know it was waiting. I was waiting to give you this information

when you were going through there's nothing good here. Well, this is how eels reproduce. For example, it is known that eels produce eggs. It is believed that eels reproduced through what is called external fertilization. This means that mating using sexual organs, females release eggs. Males then released sperm into the water, which then mixes with and fertilizes the eggs. So they don't actually like like, they reproduce, but they don't funk, is what I'm saying. I mean, you know,

I don't know. I met some male eels. That seems fair. Word. I've actually never met a mail that implies of whatever. Anyway, I guess who would be sponsoring this anti Thanksgiving episode today? Huh? The concept of a national day of mourning reflecting the fact that we're on stolen ground. Word, let's do it. I don't know why I've said words seven times this episode, but here we are all right, and then you know who else? Has some words from our sponsors, and we

are back. And the first federally recognized Thanksgiving holiday was made by Have you ever heard of this guy? He's mostly famous for being a slaver um George Washington, that the one with the with the wooden teeth guy. Well, we're going to talk about his teeth. Cool. Cool. He called for the you know, the American revolution all that ship. He called for the first federal official federal day of Thanksgiving.

There have been a couple that churches had been doing and stuff before then, and it was to give thanks for winning the Revolutionary War. If you want to hear my opinions about that war, you can listen to the episode about Public Universal Front. Except first I want to talk a little bit more about George Washington. Wait. Wait, I swear, I swear on everything. I did not read ahead and see that you had a whole thing about teeth. That's just the first thing that came to my mind. Yeah,

we're talking about George Washington's teeth. This is very exciting. George piece of ship Washington who statues should be treated exactly the same way as any Confederate statue. Have you heard about George Washington's teeth? Apparently? Oh man, so I was about to say that Mr one dollar Bill himself, And the next baragraph starts on the one dollar bill, ye, yep, on the one dollar bill. George Washington has a smug, little smile, and it's because his cheeks are a little

bit puffed up because he's wearing dentures. And in school they told us his dentures were made out of wood. That isn't true, of course it isn't. Why would they ever, why would they ever tell us anything true about these despicable fucking people that found it out? I know, because then we can have complicated conversations about them. I'm not gonna have a complicated conversation about him. I'm gonna have

a one sided conversation about him today. But it's like you could theoretically eventually have complicated conversations about some of these people if you started with the fucking truth. But we're gonna start with the truth, and we're gonna leave it there. He had a bunch of different dentures, but one of his sources for teeth was that he bought, and the word bought gets really heavy air quotes here.

He bought teeth from the people that he enslaved. He his estate had over three hundred enslaved people on it, more than a hundred personally owned by George w himself. And it was these people that he got his dentures from while they were still alive. Jesus fuck and yeah, and during the revel susan a whole grip of the people that he thought he owned, ran the funk away and got into a British warship and escaped the fucking

monster they lived with. Anyway, I feel like it's just hard to say the words George Washington a sentence without adding the guy who ripped teeth out of living people's faces. And in our in our country, he's the delightful, delightful foundery with the cute little wooden teeth. I know that we tell that story to, you know, preschool children. Yeah, he's a he's a horror villain's he's absolutely horrible, like

a yeah, Jesus Christ. Yeah uh. I mean like that should be talked about in the same like not obviously not at scale, but like King Leopold of Belgium taking people's hands like that like this, Yeah, and there's like there's some historical questions to be people work really hard to make George Washington seems like a chill guy. There's all of these articles you can find being like here's the daily life of someone that he enslaved and it like tries to be like in their free time, they

blah blah blah. No, they were fucking treated like ship. One of the people people well only he only personally owned a hundred and something of those people. The other people just lived on his estate as enslaved. Motherfucker. Yeah no, no, it's it's people work so fucking hard to try and and so like, we know that he bought teeth from people, and we know that he had all this ship with his teeth, but it's possible he bought people's teeth and

they went in someone else's. No, he fucking there's anyway. Whatever is a fucking horror villain. Then so he The first day of Thanksgiving was the one he suggested. But then it wasn't until the Civil War in eighteen sixty three when Abraham Lincoln declared the current in acarnation of Thanksgiving.

And I hadn't actually realized this. The current incarnation of Thanksgiving, the one that happened this week as you all are listening, was created quote with the intention to heal the wounds of the nation from the Civil War, and theoretically doesn't even have anything to like mayflower in any of that ship. But it's just not true. That's not what people are celebrating.

People are celebrating, um, the other ship. They're celebrating the Mayflower ship because no one's even fucking because that's not the story that we hear. We don't hear that. It is a dave Thanksgiving to sit down with the people who enslave people and break bread with them. And while I'm just on a tear about I'm not like a big fan of US presidents as like a general, I will say Abraham Lincoln not a slaver. Famously the opposite

of that, his vice president was a slaver. But you know, and no, what he gets marks off as great is that they oversaw the largest mass hanging in US history of thirty eight members of the Dakota Nation Minnesota. Not just was president during the hanging of but like personally provided the executioners with the list of names after like looking through the trial transcripts after these people have been on trial for like five ten minutes each or whatever.

That's where Thanksgiving comes from. And so yeah, happy thanks Giving. I felt weird coming from you. I f hate Thanksgiving. It's ship the idea of getting together with your family or friends or chosen family or whatever you're into, and like literally giving thanks That's cool, although it is worth knowing that the idea of Thanksgiving was literally this idea of erasing all of the other holidays that almost every

culture had naturally um set in front of them. Personally, I dislike that people post the same picture of their crusty, dusty, musty ass food all day. I don't want to see your plate. I've seen it. I know what you're eating. We're all forced to eat it or choose not to eat it because it's bad. We got it, all right, Yeah yeah, fucking sweet potatoes with mashed potatoes and your

fucking dry ass meat, like, we got it. And I say this as a vegan, but one of the cringest things is when vegans act as if the problem with Thanksgiving is um the meat that's being eaten, as compared to the colonization. Am it's a symptom? Yeah totally yeah. Yeah. Anyways, which brings us to what we're really going to talk about today, which is something unrelated to any of that, which is a short story. But first, do you know what else is a short story? Is it the story

of products? A show. Yeah, I like having a show, Sophie. Do you like having shows? I like you having this show. Well, then I guess it's a good thing that we are sponsored. Cool in a complicated way. Here's some ads, and we are back. And the story I'm going to read today is a retelling of a story that my father told

me when I was younger. Uh. It is the last story in the book that I've been hawking at the end of every single fucking episode as long as you've been listening to this podcast called we Won't be here Tomorrow. And so shout out to my dad for writing a story that I then stole and to my own words, and I'm now reading to you. It's called the thirty seven Marble Steps. I grew up near the foothills of Appalachia. And there's something to these forests. The trees themselves aren't old,

but the mountains are old. The mountains are old and battered and smoothed over. And what is a forest but the outbursting of life come up from the land. The trees themselves are not old, but the forests are old because these mountains are old. I grew up near the foothills of Appalachia, and I remember when the Blair Witch Project came out, set close to where I lived, and it it didn't surprise anyone, like, yeah, the movie is a work of fiction. But there's still something to these

mountains and these forests. There's still something there, something that that movie drew from. My father told me this story when I was a kid. He told me the story under the bows and the stars, and it's not something I'll ever forget. The next day, he took me to the place it happened. He took me to the marble steps. There are thirty seven marble steps in the middle of the forest, far from any road. The steps climbed steep and twisted up from a seasonal creek up to a

tiny concrete foundation peppered with stones. There's no house there anymore. There is, however, a crack in the foundation. The crack is narrow and long, and underneath there's nothing, not soil, not rock, just nothing. You shine your flashlight through that crack and you see nothing. You slide your skinny arm through that crack and you feel nothing. You drop a coin through that crack and you hear nothing. I tried

all those things. There was a house on that foundation, years ago, years before my father was born, probably before his mother was born, maybe before her mother came over from the Old Country fleeing persecution. I couldn't tell you when exactly there was a house on that foundation. It doesn't make sense, for there have ever been one, not out there's no road, not out where. Whoever built it had to carry marble and concrete on their back or on the backs of animals. I can't tell you why

there was a house. I can only tell you that there was one. I can tell you about the woman who lived there, too. I can tell you that she didn't have a name, that she didn't need a name. Names are not for yourself, there are for other people. You live alone in a house in the woods, the top of the marble steps, and you don't need a name, because no one calls you anything. The people from the nearby town, they just called her the woman who lived

in the woods. This woman lived alone, and she was ageless, like all women who live alone. Learning that one myself, it's been been nice. Bonus say, yeah, she lived only five miles or so from that nearby town. That town has gone now too. It probably had a name, though I don't know it. The woman lived close enough that people hiking or hunting in the forest saw the smoke from her chimney and saw the lights in her windows. Sometimes people even saw her herself wandering the four wrist.

They saw her hair pinned up in a bun in the summer and under hats and hoods in the winter. They saw her gaze, alternatively blank and fierce. Sometimes they heard her sing. It went like this. She walked paths through the woods, sometimes down even to the road alongside the town. She had a stick in one hand and a burlap sack and the other bad man, bad man, braise the bones, she sang as she beat bushes with

the stick, A good whack, a good thump against the branches. Bugbear, bugbear, boil the bra Animals, all kinds of animals would run out from the bushes and the brambles right into her sack. Rabbits, groundhogs, snakes, possums, raccoons, mice, birds and lizards. Every creature under the sun, and every creature that hides from the sun would run right towards

her and into that sack. Once it was good and full, she twists the end closed, lifted like it weighed nothing, and beat the bag with a stick until the squirming stopped and the crying stopped and everything inside was dead or willing to pretend. She'd throw that bag over her shoulder and walk away whistling. Now instead of singing that same tune. I know the tune. I could hum it to you, but I don't know how to write it. So maybe that tune will die out one day and

maybe we'll all be the safer when it does. Or I'll record an audiobook version and y'all are stuck knowing it. Well, it's a podcast, so you can sing it now. Ha ha, Why miss, we've been doing that's one okay. Anyway, It's just funny when you when you write stuff and you like write it for being written, you know. Anyway, dogs went missing sometimes around that town. Cats to lambs, and

calves and chickens, never children. One reason people in the town put up with that woman as long as they did is that whenever a kid went missing, they'd wind up back at home right in their crib, not crying the blood of berries, tinting their lips. One day, a little girl not yet seven years old got swept away by the river surely she drowned. The parents thought, the whole town thought. That night walked up to her own house wearing a burlap dress, her hair brushed, and braided,

her belly full. She didn't say a word about what happened, but everyone knew that the lady with the bag and the stick was watching out. It went like that for years, for generations. Was it the same woman? No one could tell Bruno. Bruno baked the bread, She sang, boatman, boatman, based the bear a good whack of good thump, and she had the animals, and off she went on her way,

never said a word to a soul. This was fine, and this was good, and no one in town thought too hard on it until one day it wasn't fine. It wasn't good. People mostly want to let each other alone, and that woman wasn't hurting anyone. A boy came up in that town, and he became a man while he was at school in a nearby city, And when he came back as a man, he decided he wasn't going to be the sort to just let people alone. John was his name, at least as I haven't Big John.

They called him because there were an awful lot of John's, and this John was the tallest. One day in early March, John was walking home from the mill. The sun was near to set, and the wind was something wild, and a little bit of snow was being thrown here and there. He saw the woman, and he heard the woman, and he saw a cat run into her bag, and he decided enough was enough. He waited until she was far enough distant, and then he followed her off through the

woods up to that seasonal creek. Most people they took one look at that house up on the top of those marble steps perched down over the gully, and they went right back the way they came. Big John, though, he waited until the woman went into the house. Then he climbed each of those steps himself. Smoke was pouring out the chimney, and lamp light flickered through the unshuttered windows, and Big John went up to one of those windows

and looked inside. The woman was there, and she had the sack over one shoulder, and she went up to the middle of the bare concrete floor, and she tapped her sticks seven times, tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. She tapped her stick seven times, and she stepped back and she waited, and a trap door was there where nothing had been, And she reached down and grabbed the iron rung and pulled it up, and Big John heard

a wailing, a keening from within. He couldn't describe it better than that in all the years he tried in human and animal demonic. The woman up ended the sack. Animals, including that cat, tumbled out down into the darkness. Soon after, far worse sounds came from that trap door, and the woman smiled and cooed like she was tending a pet, and she closed that trap door. She tapped on it seven times with her stick. Tap tap, tap, tap, tap tap tap. The trap door was gone. On the wall.

Hung up with the coats and the cloaks were animal collars and tags, dozens of them. Big John had seen enough, and he turned to go, but snuck in one last look and saw the woman at her stove, singing again, cooking what looked and smelled for all the world like vegetable soup. Big John snuck down those stairs as quietly and carefully as he could, but as soon as he reached the path by the creek, he ran all the way back to town. Five miles He ran and when

he showed a at the sheriff's house. He was panting and sweating and pale and just worn out, and his body was just about to give up on him. He knocked on that door, tap tap tap, The sheriff answered the woman. He said the cats, He said the dogs. He told the sheriff what he'd seen, And of course the sheriff didn't believe him about the trap door, and he didn't believe him about the vegetable soup, but he

believed him about the animal collars. Everyone in town knew that the woman stole pets and live stock, anything with fur feathers that was small enough to fit into her sack. Everyone knew it, but no one had admitted it, because if they'd admitted it, they would have had to do something. But here was Big John standing at the doorstep of authority, and that authority decided to finally admit to himself what

he already knew. It wasn't yet late, just past dinner, and the sheriff rounded up his posse and headed into the forest with guns and lanterns, ready to find the woman and bring her to justice. Big John, though he stayed at home. He'd used up all his nerve for that night, maybe for the rest of time. Now this is where you expect the story to go all wrong, and it will, but doesn't go wrong the way that it might have. The sheriff climbed the thirty seven steps,

his posse following. He showed up at the woman's door, banging with the handle of his revolver on the wood. Bang, bang, bang. The woman answered, and the sheriff arrested her, and the posse tore apart the cabin looking for contraband. They found the dog collars and the cat collars, and that was enough. But they found nothing else besides hot barley soup on the stove, flavored strong with garlic and wild onion. No bones, no midden, no trap door, no basement at all. Big

John had been seeing things. They marched the woman five miles back to the sheriff's office and locked her into the town's one holding cell. And by then it was the middle of the night, and the woman was steel faced and unbroken. You have to feed her, the woman said, feed who. The sheriff asked, someone has to feed her? The woman said, someone must go up there and feed

my daughter. You don't have a daughter. The sheriff said, and that was that, and the woman was sent to the city for trial, and no one thought much about her again, because what is a prison but a place to put those who wish to forget those who make

you uncomfortable? What is a prison but the bbolivion. A week later, Big John was walking home in the evening out along that road when he heard a terrible thing, a wrenching, a scream of wood and steel, and a scream of animal throats, and a scream of emptiness and horror. Then nothing, nothing happened except from then on children from that town. They weren't returned with berry juice on their lips when they went missing. When children went missing, they

stayed missing. And now there's a concrete foundation peppered with stones and a crack in it, and nothing on the other side. And people don't camp there much, and people don't build towns there no more. And that forest is old, and no one knows how those marble steps got there, and no one knows much of anything anymore. There's no moral to us, to be sure. I'm not here saying that you've got to let the little evils go on address so that you don't let out the big evil.

I'm not even saying what was in that basement was evil, not for sure. I'm not saying it was right what happened to that woman? And neither am I saying it's okay to steal cats and feed them to monsters. I'm just saying it happened. I'm just telling you about the thirty seven marble steps and that foundation and that crack that goes off to nowhere. That's what I got. I was like, I was waiting to see if you were

going to do more song. Yeah. I wonder if you get in trouble for accidentally singing things on podcasts but you're not supposed to. I'll just never sing again anywhere, honestly. Um yeah, suck you the man we work for. Like, I'm like, eat it, oh man, I love that story. You told that story at a book signing event that I went to of yours, and it's it's so cool and it's so cool that it got passed down from your dad too. It's, uh, it's cool people who did cool stuff in my in my book, and my dad

is definitely cool people. I'll go ahead and say that I got lucky in the dad lottery. He he made that story up because there are Okay, that the one thing about lying to kids one that story scared the hell out of me when I was little, right, but everything scared the hell out of me. But he called

them the marble steps, and they're not marble. There's there's real steps in the woods near where he grew up, where he had taken us to go camping, and but they're concrete steps with marbles in them, imbedded into them. And so for most of my young life I believed that marble as a construction material meant concrete with marbles in it, because the marble steps create with marbles. That makes absolute sense. Also, I feel it would be really cool to have, like like I actually think that'd be

a really cool design. I know. Yeah, there were cool steps, and I don't know what the hell they were doing there. They were far away from anything. There was no road, just some concrete steps with marbles in them in the middle of nowhere, up to a pad with a crack in it. Apparently, So, maybe my dad didn't write the story. Maybe he's big John your conspiracy theory, which means it must be time pressed to end this episode. Yeah, that's

that is a that is fair. There should be a big red button that actually all podcasts, someone should be able to press a red button as soon as they start talking about conspiracy theories. We do. We do have something to announce, though. What do we have to announce? Is it the fact that I'm going to be a

guest on a Behind the Bastard's live show. It is that we're doing a live stream virtual show thing like we did uh gosh, I don't know many months ago with prop for Behind the Bastards, and that will be happening on December eight, and you can purchase tickets at moment house dot co slash b t B if you

so desire, I'll also link that. But if you so desire, that is happening, and then that people can ask us questions even though you and I are just the uh the victims of that what you call guests of Behind the Bastards. Uh, I don't know. I was gonna say, I've been stockholmed a little too long. Well, I believe

that people in the audience can ask us questions. So when you purchase your ticket, there'll be like a prompt to submit a question that you can be for Robert, could be for Margaret, be for me, It could be for all of us, could be you know whatever, whatever your heart desires, and we may or may not choose your question. Um. Also, Robert is going to be writing a script behind the Bastard script for that event and

it should be a good all time. And if you can't make it at six pm on December, do not worry because this event is available on demand for one week past the time of livestream. Yeah, did I do the thing? You did the thing? We did the thing. We did it. We're so good at our jobs. Amazing, iconic, legendary. The episodes over Cool People Who Did Cool Stuff is

a production of cool Zone Media. For more podcasts and cool Zone Media, visit our website cool zone media dot com, or check us out on the I Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.