The Adventurer: Hungry for Adventure by @sageboggs


Dearest readers,

I’m afraid this may be my last entry. Mobutu has led me into a strange habitat known as “Whole Foods.” He tells me it is where local deviants and spinsters hunt for fake meat and overpriced banana bread.

The natives are snooty, sickly, and for lack of a better term, tattooey. One native woman we observed seemed to have punctured her earlobes all the while sporting dreadlocks the size of Pringle cans. When we asked her her name, she said, in her bizarre Whole Foods creole language: “Debra.” Mobutu feared Debra may be a witch doctor of some sort, so we skedaddled to observe elsewhere.

He took me to their watering hole. Unlike the traditional wells of East Africa or ancient Roman aqueduct system, the Whole Foods watering system was comprised of five rows of different types of the same water. Like, it was all water, don’t get me wrong, but there were different types of it. One bottle was square, while one was bubbly and round. Another was egregiously tall and claimed to me smart. One had blue font and promised it was plucked straight from an Alaskan river, while another swore its proceeds would go directly to poor children in Chad. Why Chad ate those kids, I do not know. I hope they are ok.

I ended up buying a quinoa and carrot smoothie, which tasted like the inside of a snake. Hear no jest in my voice when I say I would have rather eaten my own big turd. It cost 36 dollars.

But to the present, more dire situation: Mobutu escorted me to a free sample station midway through our journey. I obliged and reached for a gluten-free vegan pumpkin kale celery wafer cookie. I put the local delicacy to my lips and almost instantly purged. Not because it tasted bad or even smelled bad, but because in that instant, while placing the dry delicacy to my lips, while understanding I found it to be quite appetizing, I realized…I was a bitch. A big, hipster, trend-driven beyotch.

And as such, I can no longer write these super cool adventurer entries. I’m no longer that person. I’m hip now. Goodbye, readers.

Mobuto sends his love. We are grabbing an Uber with Debra to go see an unreleased Wes Anderson film. It’s called The Siamese Farquard Outpost or Sailaway Conundrum or something whimsical like that.


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