You’ve gotten into a fist fight over a throw pillow. You’ve quoted David Foster Wallace while making love. You’ve dated three hundred and twelve vegans. You were born before the Eisenhower administration. Your review of a Cinnabon was more dramatic than Hamlet. You don’t really use the internet that much. Your parents don’t understand you. Nobody does. You’ve screamed at Alexa to order a 12-pack of cherry Chap Stick. You’ve canceled a minor surgery to finish a Carlos Fuentes novel. Your favorite food is the sandwich. You own a cat named Winston. Winston owns six monocles. No matter what’s written here, you will gripe about it endlessly. If the internet went down for a day, you’d get Ebola symptoms. If the internet went down for two hours, you’d drive off the nearest bridge — while hitting refresh. You cook asparagus in your four-slot toaster oven. You have a yearly budget for attending noise rock festivals in Bratislava. You’ve headlined a noise rock festival in Bratislava. You’ve wolf-whistled at a Samsung Galaxy. You’ve read the entire label of a Dr. Bronner’s soap bottle. You’ve smuggled butternut squash across the Libyan border. You’ve purchased a firearm with Bitcoin, or vice versa. You can turn any social gathering into a debate about tax policy. You can deadlift three Vox readers. You think RoboCop depicts a utopian society. You have achieved climax while converting an IRA into a Roth-IRA. You once lectured a futon about global warming. You think having a favorite dinosaur is a waste of time. Your home water filtration system is safe against radioactive fallout. You unwind by reading 10,000-word essays about drone bombings. You invented a cryptocurrency. You’re funemployed. You died in 2005, at age twenty. Your teenage daughter is a sexually-active Juggalo. You listen to Slayer’s Reign In Blood when you do Pilates. You’ve been moved to tears by your own slam poetry. You know that GNU’s not Unix. Your favorite tree is the Binary Search Tree. Your virtual assistant is reading this article for you. You keep a running list of think piece ideas in Evernote. You own Evernote. You could survive for two years on credit card points. You’ve incited a riot over a shortage of Moleskine notebooks. You enjoy it when the last item in a list is a pattern break, or meta, in some fashion