The scene opens.

There's a tumbleweed blowing across a barren landscape.

There's toxic filth dripping from the limbs of the trees.

The sky is burnt, orange, black, and red.

You are there with what I can only imagine are implements of death.

It is a wasteland.

And you approach a ramshackle set of nailed together sheet metal, and you see above three men

and emblazoned in painted blood-red letters says classical stuff you should know.

That's good.

Welcome to our tribe, ladies and gentlemen, but you're going to have to prove yourself.

It's really easy.

You just listen.

There's three people in charge here, Arthur Jan Hannanburg, the Lord. That's me. Graham Donaldson,

he's from Canada. Hi. And Thomas Fletcher Magby. Yeah. Yeah. So welcome to classical stuff you should know.

Things are really nice here. We have ice cream. It's better than the rest of the wasteland. You know that the wasteland is not like Mad Max. In my head it is. It's a lot better that way.

It would be improved if it had been. Well, yeah, if you can bring in like shoulder pads with spikes on them in some sort of shotgun situation, I'll be a lot happier.

Welcome to Thunderdome, boys.

All right.

Okay.

So what we're talking about today is a poem by T.S. Eliot called The Wasteland.

We're also talking about the art of literary allusions.

Now, not illusions, Michael.

...