The Warlord Without a Weed Whacker
When Fantasy Collides With Overgrowth and Incompletion There’s a certain tragic comedy in watching a man spend two thousand words telling you how busy he is—while producing nothing but more two thousand-word blog posts. The Kurgan’s latest lament, titled simply “Busy,” reads like a dispatch from a parallel universe where half-finished projects are medals of honor and unchecked brambles are proof that he was meant to lead a militia, not mow the lawn. His olive trees, he tells us, thrive. Everything else, from book drafts to children’s RPGs to the literal property he bought to play at rural nobility, lies in some state of abandonment or entropy. And why? Not because he failed. No, never that. But because he was destined for higher things. You see, he’s not a failed farmer. He’s a baron waiting for the apocalypse. “If only the damn weak pedovores would get to the apocalypse part already, I could fill in my nature role of warlord, protect my peasants, and they would be happy tilling ...