The Masque of the Red Death, Edgar Allan Poe

This story is brought to you by a very nice man named Jake, who requested it a while ago, and when I read Philip K Dick instead last week, expressed some disappointment.

People of the internet and listeners of these stories, please know that I don’t handle disappointment well. If you ever want to bully me into giving you my lunch money, just tell me how disappointed in me you are.

Now that I think about it, given that it’s a big travel week in the land of the Great Grope, tonight’s story is all kinds of topical. While it’s widely understood as an allegory on the inevitability of the touch of death, I think instead one should think of the inevitability of, you know, the touching of, erm, junk.

Jake, my friend, you’re a genius.

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