It's night time on the internet, a lighthouse keeper reluctantly joins Pandora, a werewolf

composes a negative review of silver on the Yelp, a firefly can't generate enough

light to read its Kindle. It's time for the Pod F. Tompcast.

Welcome to the Pod F. Tompcast. When night descends on the internet, Paul F. Tompkins keeps

watch over all there is, fueled by the music of Eben Schletters piano forte. Together,

these two centuries sail unseen towards the shores of day, passing the time with comedy-type

ramblings and bitlits. The Pod F. Tompcast. Episode 14 Hello. Hello. Hi, everybody. Hello,

everyone out there. It is night time on the internet. Hello, my internats. Hello, Tompcast

are ways. Hmm, yes, no. We'll see. It's not bad. It's not. It's not the greatest thing

in the world. It's not the worst thing in the world either. Look, I've got to call you

something. I have to. I need, I need to give you a name. Oh, you faceless, voiceless people.

You great mass of blackness, shifting shapes that I could neither see nor hear. Why you might

be a crumb of mustard, a blob of mustard, a crumb of cheese. Forget, try and remember all

the descriptive food terms from Christmas Carol. Let's see. Mustard comes and blots. Everyone

knows that. Cheese. Is it made up of a bunch of crumbs? A case could be made. Undejusted beef.

Of course, you eat that by the bit. A lot has changed since Charles Dickens times. Now

we sell beef by the hunk. Hunk of beef. You aren't here then in restaurants much, do you?

Oh, what's so care? How would sir like his hunk of beef prepared? Awesome? Very well, sir.

Who had the hunk of beef? Awesome. Oh, I might have known. You're wearing a tuxedo.

Very classy gentleman.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is the Powdev Tomcast. Goodbye first time listeners.

It took you longer to download than did to quit. Good riddance. Good riddance to you, I say.

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