“EARS!” A VOICE SHOUTED from behind.

Ears turned around, assuming it was one of his varint friends. Molli was surprised at the noise. Despite her damaged, taped ribs, she crouched, ready to strike.

The woman calling to them put both hands outward in a gesture of friendship.

“I’m not here to scare you. We understand what y’all are going through,” she expressed with a refined southern accent, “and we’re clear on what you’re capable of.” She glanced intentionally at Molli.

“Who are you?” Molli demanded.

“Your next interview. You call him Control Freak. He’s that, to a degree. But the man’s my boss, and he needs to get this message to you now. I hate to ruin your day, but it’d be awfully generous if y’all could follow us to an undisclosed location.”

“Hold it. What’s your name?” Ears asked.

“Polly, Ears. We spoke on the phone.”

She held out her mobile and began to play a recording of one of their calls.

Molli was scoping the surroundings and noticed a large, black SUV near the exit. She was extremely uncomfortable.

“Hey,” she shouted, using her best command voice. “My people are up there. Cops and friends. They’re waiting for us. We can do this on a prearranged basis. Not here.”

Dressed in a fine gray business suit like a mannequin on Park Avenue, Polly folded her hands across her chest and grinned.

“Your Control Freak is a very important person, connected to people who pull big strings. We cleared doing this with the Cambridge PD, a command from on high. Molli, we’re familiar with your friends up there and appreciate their purpose, but we’d prefer they not join us. If you insist, they can follow, but my boss wants to avoid unnecessary disclosure of his location. Other forces are at play, so we must be careful. He is prepared to reward you, simply to get the chance to speak with you. We’re thinking a million, if that sounds right.”

The three were stunned.

“Did I hear that right? A third of a million apiece? Holy cripes!” Ears exclaimed.

“Each,” she confirmed, “for your troubles. To my boss, money is the least of our worries right now.”

Molli felt weak in the knees. “What of my friends up top?”

She smiled at her. “Great if you can go speak with them. Here. Take this.”

She reached into her purse which had been hidden from view and extracted two thick folios, handing them to Molli.

“Five hundred,” Polly noted.

“Five hundred bucks?” Molli asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Five hundred hundreds. Fifty thousand each. We’ll need you for less than three hours. You must convince them, however, to stay clear.”

Molli placed her arms around her friends. She was shaking. “Why money?”

“The oldest cure in the book, my boss says. He’s a Texan, so that’s how he speaks, often in terms of money. Now, I don’t want to pressure y’all.”

She turned her head to carefully watch two people exiting from the elevators and walking to their respective cars.

“He’s got his own reasons to get the interview done today and prefers that you hold-off your plans to run this week’s show with BioEthel. If possible, he’d like to be next on your podcast.”

Peter’s head was swimming at the idea of a million dollars in the bank.

“We’d be doing this interview anyway in a few days,” he acknowledged to his team. “I don’t see a problem with advancing it, and you can’t argue with the incentive, guys. What do you say?”

Molli glared at Polly. They were both similar in stature and body features, and Peter thought they could have been sisters in another life. Molli was taking a read, while Ears was unusually quiet.

“I’ll play along with it, but let’s review the facts. You followed us here,” Molli began.

“Right.”

“You know where we’re going next.”

“Right.”

“You pulled strings to remove our police protection. I know those guys personally, by the way.”

“And my boss knows their heads of state and then some.”

Molli sighed. “So, what’s next?”

“Come with us. It’s faster and easier that way.”

“You’re aware of what just happened to me?” Molli inquired, placing her hand over her right ribcage.

“Yes. We’re sorry to hear about that. My boss is old school. He hates it when any woman is subjected to violence. He despises the media for its continued misogynistic portrayals and the perennial glorification of violence against women. And don’t get him started on their aberrant management teams, grotesque incentives, and do-nothing boards of directors. He’s not a fan of violence or anarchy or even control, which brings up the question as to why you call him ‘Control Freak.’”

“It wasn’t him as the control freak, but it was what he was suggesting about others,” Ears interjected.

Polly looked to see if anyone was within earshot and lowered her voice. “That’s a conversation with my boss. I assume y’all will find it enlightening, and in this case, enriching. Here, log-in to your bank accounts if you’d like. You’ll find the funds are already credited.”

Ears grabbed her phone and logged-in to his bank account. His eyes grew wide.

“I had like twenty thousand, and now I see over one point four million. What?”

“Oh, sorry,” she giggled. “He wanted to gross y’all up for taxes. It should come out to a clean million after tax.”

Polly held her hands outward and made a gesture as if she were rubbing a basketball. “Three hours. A million smackers apiece. Sounds like a decent afternoon, in my opinion.”

Molli closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. She put her other hand in front of her for the folios.

“I’ll talk with my buds up there. They won’t like it, but they trust me and will do as I say. I’ll tell them to have a few beers with the money, but I’m guessing they won’t. They’ll go back to the studio and work off their anxiety. Which reminds me. After I inform them, I’ll need to speak with my master to acknowledge that I approved of this.”

“That’s covered already. Your master would accept no money, but we knew people in common. Very well-connected within interesting circles, did you know that? Wanted you to act on your instincts.”

“Christ,” Molli grumbled, “you folks got this figured out. Yes, my master is a great human being. And yes, I still need to call before we step in your vehicle.”

“You want to go with them or drive ourselves? Safer to drive,” Peter warned.

Molli nodded. “I’m in my space, Peter, evaluating the moment. I’ll tell my friends what she told me, that the master is okay with this. Then I’ll call to confirm, completing the circle. Let’s consider the bright side. We get a week off after this with no interviews. Besides, we need the rest, or at least I need the rest. Let’s do this.”

Polly slapped the two folios into her hand and Molli turned to walk up the exit ramp.

“We’re journalists of sorts, and journalists have to take occasional risks.”

* * *

As they approached the meeting location, Polly asked them to lower their eyes and avoid glancing out the SUV’s windows, which were effectively opaque. The three obliged and sensed they were dropping into a long underground driveway.

“A tunnel,” Ears whispered.

Polly responded, “Your mind can fool you, Ears. We’ll face an elevator when we exit, and I’d appreciate if you can keep your eyes forward. As I indicated a few minutes ago, your Control Freak has good reasons to stay incognito.”

The SUV halted in what appeared to be a long, dark garage illuminated only by a dim light from the elevator.

“Watch your step as you exit the vehicle. I’m right behind you.”

After the elevator doors closed, Molli remembered, “My purse! I left it in the SUV.”

“Don’t worry,” Polly reassured her. “That vehicle is going nowhere until we drive you out of here, alive, of course. Y’all are without electronics, correct?”

The elevator stopped, and Ears spoke. “The Sony is in my pocket from our meeting with BioEthel.”

“Do you mind if I take that for now?”

“How will we record the session?” Peter inquired.

“We prearranged for a quality recording in the room. You’ll be at a small table with embedded mics. It’s this way,” she indicated, holding her hand out for the Sony.

They walked together down a dark, nondescript hallway.

“Again, just confirming. No other electronics you’re aware of, and none of you are chippers or mechs in any way? We’ll pass through a scanner.”

They entered an anteroom through a rounded doorway used for metal detection. Ears confirmed that as he walked through.

“Ears,” Polly commented. “Your belt buckle is Texas-sized. Would you remind removing it and trying again?”

He handed Polly his belt, then walked through without alerting the system.

“I like that buckle,” she winked.

Ears smiled. “What a beautiful woman,” he thought. “She’d never; no, don’t even go there. Nobody wants to date a varint with six extra ears. Sometimes I wonder where my head was.”

They entered a darkened room and sat on three comfortable leather chairs that faced a large, burnished walnut table. The table appeared to be oval, though half of it was obscured from ceiling to floor by a dark cloth veil.

Ears checked out the surroundings. It reminded him of a private executive room beside a CEO’s office – no windows, soundproofing everywhere, and so quiet you could hear everyone breathe. He glanced at Peter, who was euphoric.

“Dude,” he whispered, “don’t let that money go to your head. You’re doing an interview, so just get the job done.”

Molli heard his comment and patted Peter on the shoulder. “This is yours, big guy. Peter-natural, preternatural. No prep, no questions from your helpers, just raw talent.”

Slightly nervous, Peter grinned and shrugged. “Both you guys are here. If you have questions, then you should ask. Agreed?”

She nodded, though Ears appeared more reluctant. He was accustomed to listening and assisting in the podcasts, not being a personality with any voice.

They heard a door open and close behind the veil. Ears was attuned to the man’s size, judging from the groan his chair made when he sat down.

“Somewhat heavy-set man,” he thought. “Cotton clothes and leather boots. His breathing is too fast; a chest-breather. Needs an exercise plan. I can sense his hypertension.”

Polly waved at them as she slipped behind the veil.

“Pleased to meet you folks,” emerged a booming, friendly voice. “Sorry about the stealth and not shaking y’all’s hands, mi amigos, but I prefer to stay inaccessible given what I plan on sharing with you.”

The three responded with hellos, and he continued.

“Double apologies for reworking your schedules impromptu. I wanted to do this face-to-face instead of over the phone since you never know who’s listening. Which reminds me, if I get loquacious, as I’m known to do, we’ll perform editing or cutting before we deliver you the final file.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

There was a moment of silence, as if he was waiting for a reaction.

“Ears, Polly tells me we’ll deliver the edited version to you by courier tomorrow morning at your location, if that’s acceptable.”

Ears was freaked by the mystery. “Sure, no problem,” he replied.

“Great. It’s a special thing to have you three here. I can’t say I was an avid listener to your podcast, though I do keep pods running constantly. Works better than canned music or what have you, and I can pick up something I didn’t understand before. You’d be surprised, but a guy like me has big things on his mind, so I place that old tablet next to my ear before going to bed. My wife’s not too fond of the arrangement, but the talking often lulls me to sleep when I’m horizontal.”

He laughed, as did they. The three were fidgety, casting nervous glances at each other.

“Polly tells me you had this Poison Paul guy and Eugenie Driver interviews, correct?”

“Right,” Peter confirmed.

“Let’s see. Oh, I forgot the Reverend and then AlexG. Now, I listened to that one and found it quite humorous, didn’t you? Like, ‘Let’s broadcast a giant SOS and hope we recruit an ally in an alien.’”

“Funny,” Peter chuckled.

“I assume Polly talked with y’all about putting me on next. I’d appreciate that for multiple reasons which may become apparent, as we can’t allow the world to continue down this ornery path it’s on. Every single day counts, at least to me and some others trying to wrangle this delicate situation. Oh, and Polly just checked and wanted me to let you know your last podcast is over the million mark on streams and downloads.”

Ears raised his eyebrows and wanted to ask how they knew, but Control Freak continued.

“You’re hitting your stride, kids. If you weren’t engaged in this business, I wouldn’t mind having you join my team. Any questions before we begin?”

Peter sat forward. “How do you want to proceed with the interview? We didn’t have time to develop the usual Q&A, so we may need to wing-it.”

“I don’t mind that. As I said, we’ll edit to work out the kinks. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with the result. So why don’t we get going?”

“Great. Are you okay if Molli and Ears engage as well?”

“It’d be a pleasure.”

Peter continued. “Then I’ll start first. We’ll stream this and play per our regular schedule. To do that, I’ll create a brief introduction covering the topic and our conversation background, then we’ll cut into the recorded session. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, it does. Very accustomed to that format. However, please avoid discussing aspects of our meeting, such as the logistical and timing factors encountered today. I prefer that comments on secrecy, like this damn veil between us, your drive here and back, and the bank funds, are kept out of conversation. By the way, can you call me something else? I don’t mind the Control Freak label for this show, I’m fine to use that. But let’s try right now doing something that rolls off the tongue easier when talking. How’s a good Texas name like Stu? Descriptive of the situation we find ourselves in; a boiling pot of stew.”

“Certainly, sir; I mean Stu. We called you Control Freak only because there was so little to go on regarding this conversation. Our presumption is that you will speak about the obelisk, intentions behind it, and the implications of reactions around the globe. Am I on target?”

“On target,” he confirmed.

“Oh, and by the way, we’re very grateful for the money.”

“No problem. It’s a convincer, for sure. I might suggest you use at least a tad of that cash to enhance your marketing. In fact, we are actively executing in the background to greatly expand your audience before this interview goes live. We’ll help get that message out, which can’t hurt your little podcast here.”

Peter looked at Molli and Ears and beamed broadly. “Wow, that’s unexpected but accepted graciously, Stu. Given that, we can start right in, so I’ll go ahead.”

Peter folded his hands on the table to help him focus on the introduction. “Stu, you contacted us, as I recall, requesting to discuss insights into the obelisk and what it might mean to us earthbound creatures. We didn’t get a robust picture of what it was you cared to share beyond the idea that what we’re hearing could be conspiratorial. Something about how we should put our personal antennas up to distinguish fact from fiction. Is that in-line with your thoughts?”

“Sure, son. I’ll tell your listeners a few things not generally known nor widely exposed for a variety of reasons. I assume your fans started out with folks only interested in the sciences. This new format you’re using has created a fair pickup in your numbers because it’s focusing a tad more on how science might extricate us from this predicament. What I’ll be suggesting to you and your listeners may be whispered in the darker corners of the media, which is pretty dark and destructive these days anyway. I’ll shine a different light for everyone to see with clarity.”

“Okay. Can you elaborate on your media point?”

“Now that’s raccoons in a dumpster, son. Raccoons in a dumpster. I’m not intending to denigrate the media. These are generally good people, at least most are in these parts. Around the world, though, that same media is often used to stir up nasty goings-on. Condemnable stuff. No different than in the last few decades, social media is mostly being used to get people to do crazy things they wouldn’t consider before that dad-blasted statue fell from the sky. And you know what? These media companies don’t care. Not a bit. They don’t take responsibility for what they report on or the crap they embrace or amplify in the name of free speech, fame, and power. They’re now in their third decade of throwing cow dung narratives at people via their money-hungry algorithms, and we poor suckers just keep lapping it up. Meanwhile, the bastards at the helm wash their dirty hands from any accusations. Worse yet, they’re often run by morons spewing out their selected brand of personal propaganda while putting forth a friendly, hyper-concerned public persona. Everything they preach must be painted in two colors, friend or foe. We humans never learned our history lesson about emotions. Never learned it.”

“Emotions means what, in this case?” Peter wondered.

“It’s the amygdala hijack, buddy. Understand? That’s what I call it, anyway. In fact, some guy a few years back wrote a book about it, that your amygdala gets hijacked by offending stimuli and your emotional response is way out of proportion to the threat. This bull-larkey stimuli they shovel out constantly to rile us up and get us to buy, whether a product or pseudo-theology. Every time I turn on the screen, someone just spit in my eye with a mouthful of acidic, masticated chew. What we should have comprehended by now is that getting upset causes us to open up and ingest more of that same cow dung. That’s the amygdala part of the equation.”

“Amygdala? The flight-or-fight part?” Molli asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Jacking up that brain part in your skull, making those cells churn out all manner of fear and paranoia. Then there’s the added effect of subtle, uncontrollable addiction. Certainly, your podcast listeners should understand the dynamics of endorphin release when you chomp a bite of media that fits your mindset, or the rage of anger hormones when it doesn’t. But the large rest of the world doesn’t notice or understand who or what’s tugging hard at their proverbial nose rings.”

“I assume you’re referring to how those emotions cause people to watch, consume the advertising, then buy the products, right?”

“Of course. I am very familiar with many of these people, and they always make the wrong choice between having a fatter wallet today to buy their next mansion versus ensuring their grandkids have a decent world come tomorrow. The instant and suboptimal far outguns the distant and optimal. We’re not planners or thinkers, kids; it’s not the human condition.”

To this point, the interview was only skimming the surface of their intentions for the new podcast format, and Peter got ‘the look’ from Molli to pick up the pace.

“Sure, Stu, we understand the control aspects of media, irrespective of which side you’re on. But that’s not new news to any degree. Yes, it’s ramped to a fever pitch lately and just when you believe it can’t get any worse, it does. That’s been around somewhat since the days of the first ads or the town criers. I can’t say it’s newsworthy for listeners.”

“Young man, I agree with you, though certain people or groups in the world are more cunning than you can perceive. When you combine their power and clandestine strategies and, I’ll say it, their evil and corrupt intentions, then you got a real pit of vipers we’ve fallen into. A deep, dark pit with no exit sign and no ladder.”

Peter was still uncomfortable talking into the veil. He wanted to take a read of the man to get a sense of his body language, which often helped him discern where to take the conversation.

“Understood, but I’d like to get back to the obelisk and how it ties together.”

“I was waiting for this question,” Stu continued. “What are the conclusions thus far? Words everyone else has said. Words the government and experts spoke or wrote. We see pictures near and far, electron microscope imaging, alloy testing. You name it, we’ve done it. Now, this testing is being performed with very careful consideration, under lots of watchful eyes, and they’re leaking out bits and pieces to the media so the media can do their capitalistic and hedonistic spin on it and make their money. Beyond this, however, can we be absolutely certain of what we got?”

Peter nodded, hoping Stu could see the verbal cue.

“I don’t know. It looks real, and the circumstances around it are compelling. The tantalum hafnium carbide shell is beyond our current tech. There’s the evidence of its entry through the atmosphere, and the intricacy of the carvings. And gee, it’s not an insignificant quantity of gold and platinum, built to perfection.”

“But are we positive this obelisk is from an alien race?” Stu queried.

“It would appear to be the case,” Molli added.

“Let me tell you this. A whole passel of hoaxes have been pulled on humanity over the years. After looking at this object, it’s clear to some that humans could create this with a bit of sweat and effort. If we made the not insignificant jump to do this, and if we had the financial backing to buy the metal and keep it quiet, we might be 3-D printing such objects to satisfy the gold lust of every sultan. What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t trust everything you’re told in the media. This one just smells wrong.”

Peter took him up on the suggestion. “Who gains an advantage if this is a hoax? We’ve seen the increase in global tensions, fear and anxiety, and anarchy, right? I’m not seeing one person coming out of this unscathed.”

“In a way, Peter, you’re both right and wrong in that statement. True, it’s not a single person that comes out unscathed. If you assume it’s a hoax, then the target suspects are many multiples.”

“Where are you leading?” Peter inquired. “Sounds a bit conspiratorial for this podcast.”

“The obelisk is the perfect foil, son, the perfect foil. Any two-bit history professor in this town will tell you the one-way road to being controlled is to hand your faith and fear to someone else. To hope and pray that somebody will soon resolve your troubles if you’d just give them your mind and treasure. I honestly can’t imagine a better way to do this. In fact, I’m somewhat perturbed that I didn’t conceive of the guise myself, then I could have gotten the word out beforehand to educate everyone that it might happen, and to avoid the upset.”

“People are inclined to believe anything except their own senses,” Molli interjected.

“Yep. What you see on the streets these days, the anarchy that’s bubbling up, we saw that in spades, or at least smaller spades, during those recent, corrosive populist times. You simply pour in a mixture of emotional upset and disenfranchisement, victimhood, greed, fear, bombast, entitlement. And I’ll double down on victimhood, since that old narrative works every time. Then you sprinkle in a minority group or country or religion you can poke your sword at to chastise and blame, such as our varint friends – and now you painted yourself a pretty picture for control. This is a well-honed model with proven success in shredding any human decency and progress. It’s the poisonous nectar of autocrats and tyrants, whether they veil their rhetoric behind a fascist flag of order and discipline or socialist flag of a righteous outcome for everyone.”

“But one person or country can’t be doing this, if it’s true. I mean, we don’t need to point out the obvious countries, but I can imagine only a few places whose leaders could successfully execute such a hoax,” Peter suggested.

“Son, I assume you understand the term ‘Social Darwinism?’”

“Sure,” he replied, “and most listeners should. It’s the thought that those who are at the social and economic pinnacle of life have an evolutionary right to be there.”

“Um-hum. And do you know how many trillionaires this world has now, setting aside the billionaires for a moment?”

“Over three hundred trillionaires. Some five thousand billionaires,” Molli added.

She was getting worked up and wanted more participation in the discussion now that it was mid-stream.

“Yes, Molli, thank you. I’ve been around enough of these folks in my day, and I will tell you this. Nearly all live in a different mental landscape than regular folk. With their resources, some of them could put their minds and talents together and create an obelisk like this in a jiffy.”

“But to what end?” Ears interjected, feeling more anxious the further they proceeded. “How do they profit from it?”

Stu paused for a minute. “This is not for profit, big guy. At least not the monetary kind. When you have a trillion banked, give or take a few, you’ve got what you need to suit your lusts for a good long while. I want to give you a possible scenario, got it? Say I’m one of them, and I am imbued with the sense that I own what I own because, well hell, I’m innately superior. And let’s say if I play my cards right, I can live forever because we’re well on the way to completely solving that riddle of nature. Let’s also assume you think you not only deserve to live that long, but you have an inborn right to keep everything currently in your possession and thusly enable that celestial, eternal life on Earth for which you’ve positioned yourself. How do you ensure that gets done?”

“Not certain,” Peter confided.

“You create a little disturbance. Naw, a big disturbance, a real big one. You take advantage of a world inebriated and drugged-up on radical changes in the ecosystem of environmental, social, and varint deviations. You stir up the pot, you twist the burner to max, and you let her explode.”

“You’re talking just one person, though?” Molli wondered.

“Oh no. These people aren’t what they are because they’re poor planners, Molli. I’m assuming you’d bring others, possibly many others, into your plans. Why? Well, y’all are of the same mind. Consider it this way. Governments and the people in them are corruptible, and you can’t count on them to help you live that golden, effulgent, and eternal life of pleasure and power. No, you need to shake those governments out by amplifying the anarchy dial to eleven. When the smoke finally clears, you and your handfuls of compadres, however many around the globe, are now in charge. King Charles, if you will, but now you’re one of a football team’s complement of King Charles Darwins scattered globally, pontificating their asses off about how and why everyone needs to serve and worship them. You become a god on Earth, kids. God on Earth.”

Peter was vexed at the audacity of the suggestion. “Stu, this is hard to accept. Governments would stop this – the NSA, CIA, Interpol, you name it.”

“Don’t be too sure. That little platinum-golden orb created quite a disturbance in the normal operations of those groups. You won’t go investigating a phantom conspiracy by the world’s trillionaires, who could, excuse the expression, kick your ass to the moon and back if they wanted to. Certainly not while you’re fighting voracious fires in every room of your house.”

“Whew!” Peter exclaimed. “Like I said, I can’t help but imagine conspiracy theories and those discussions of a secret society or deep state. It’s not a government state, though. It’s a private deep state, you’re saying. A few hundred private individuals controlling the world, using fear to scorch the path there.”

“Damn righteous, son, couldn’t have said it better. It is indeed using fear to burn the path forward, that path to almighty and everlasting wealth, power, glory, and progeny. The deep state is not governmental. Not here, anyway. It’s a private state, one in which they hold all the puppet strings. Damn good outcome for those lucky souls. Hey, we aren’t talking rocket science social theory, right?

“Right.”

“Lacking better judgement, we humans are innately inclined to either control or be controlled. Either of those arise from deep cowardice and lack of self-awareness. The last few hundred years should be proof of that. The advantage of today’s specific set of conflagrations is that our technology is so refined, so enhanced, that you can easily manufacture the outcome if you’re persistent, rich and smart enough. This becomes Big Brother re-imagined in a corporate or commercially regal state. Some might call that technocracy. I call it a bunch of wealthy wimps afraid to die and give up what they own, as if they really own anything in their pitiful, tiny mental constructs of self. In the end, however, it’s an unnatural state, and unnatural systems always degrade into an ugly outcome.”

He paused. “I’m sorry to say, but I just got nudged and need to wrap it up. Again, my apologies with the circumstances, but I appreciate you letting me say my piece and allow your listeners to consider my warning, assuming they get my drift.”

The interview concluded abruptly. They thanked Stu for his time and boarded the SUV home, without Polly this time. At her request, they did not to speak about the interview on the way back to Cambridge.

The trio checked their bank accounts when they arrived at Ears’ condo and could access their screens once again. Each of them had the same balance credited.

“I feel conned,” Molli confessed, believing this too good to be true, “as if we just did a paid promotional. However, if what Stu’s suggesting is the case, then what a mess we’re in, fellas.”

Peter’s face was pained. “I see a message from the Cambridge PD asking to come to the station at my convenience today, and they want both of you. I’m literally fried with all that’s happened today.”

Molli peered at her phone. “I see it, too. Look, I have a dozen people to call tonight starting with my kung fu master and that impertinent boyfriend of mine. Can you call and request tomorrow morning? It’s close to five, and whoever wants to speak with us is likely on their way home by now.”

“Impertinent?” Ears uttered. “Todd sounds more like a child.”

“He is indeed at times. He’s gotten on the nuts-end of conservative, a result of overconsumption of the media kind. He has good qualities but is easily aroused by conniving, talking heads. Guess you could say he fits into Stu’s suggestion of being too easily influenced and angered. That Amygdala Hijack. He also doesn’t understand why I’m taking these risks on behalf of our podcast.”

“And he doesn’t listen to the podcast, right?” Peter chided.

Molli clicked her tongue as she walked through her bedroom door.