Welcome to Tales from the Pit. This week my guest is Soren Bowie. This is your content warning.

Although this is a lighter episode than most, I do feel compelled to warn you that you may be triggered by Soren's pleasant charm and easy manner.

We don't discuss too much that's troubling, but I think you'll really enjoy it.

It's certainly not as dark as most as our topic is the fact that Soren himself has

never been depressed in his whole life so if you're ready to hear about that and

get really jealous let's start the show. You're going to do.

Do you. The Oh, I'm going to Oh, let me tell a tall tale about old sore and buoy, not Bowie, although he hails from mighty Colorado, as tall as a timber, white, handsome and

limber with the charm of a Clooney and a cogniz bravado.

The sun shone bright when he tramped into the forest, a land of desolation

where the grief-stricken go, and he went slacklining from a big weep and willow, a whistle in his way from those woods to Mexico.

Well he got to the waters of the Russian Rio Grande.

He lent a helping hand to save a sad and drowning man, a grinning and a winnen as he laid him on the sand,

Soren did a standing backflip and surveyed the lonely land.

Said the man he saved a sputter and well my name is Michael Swaim and though I'm lost in the blue of your perfect Aryan eyes I'm afraid you made this drowning into a future hanging because I came to this place to architect my own

demise. Soren chuckled and he muttered and got into a good college, just a privileged

and as happy as a beaver in a dam.

And he said, why ever would you want to end the movie early?

The world's a big and bright one and he ate himself a ham.

But he didn't gain a pound because he had a great metabolism, perfect teeth

and vision, and he usually smelled nice.

Michael said, well, Mr. Surely you've been followed by that blue shadow of a storm cloud that ain't no paradise.

Surely there's been times when your smile don't come easy,

...