Citation Needed - Obsolete Occupations

Episode Date: May 1, 2024

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Obsolete_occupations  

Hello and welcome to Citation needed. A podcast where we choose a subject, read a single article about it on Wikipedia and pretend we're experts. Because this is the internet and that's how it works now. I'm Eli Bosnick and I'll be driving this horse and buggy, but I'll need some fellow fading craftsmen. First up, two men making sure that carving station at Old Country Buffet never goes out of style, Heath and Tom.

Yeah, you see, the trick is to get a job at the carving station. You can do a little for you, a little more for me kind of a thing. There we go. I like to take that guy right away. So he's like on my team, you know what I'm saying? Yeah. That's smart.

Exactly. Walk in. He actually Venmos him from outside in the parking lot. And also joining us tonight, two men way past their expiration date Cecil and Noah Pass your stupid expiration It's not it's just it just says best if used by I don't think anybody ever thought either of us were at our best Yeah, right. We're not expiring. Before we begin tonight. I'd like to take a moment to thank our patrons

Patrons enjoyed before-show shenanigans that you, the non-paying listener, did not. But for as little as a dollar, you can find out what a rock, Madame Web, and an AI clone of Noah's voice have to do with our podcast this week. If you'd like to learn how to join their ranks, be sure to stick around till the end of the show. And with that out of the way, tell us, Tom, what person, place, thing, concept, phenomenon, or event will you be talking about today? Today we'll be talking about obsolete occupations. Okay, I don't want to ascribe labels like hard and long to the look you took in the

mirror, but are you ready to tell us what stared back at you? My pain is your pain, gentlemen. Yeah, so tell us about some obsolete occupations. As we all prepare to enter into a future defined by our own obsolescence, as we gleefully sprint into the abyss of an AI-driven hellscape, I think we can all comfort ourselves by remembering that technology has always resulted in changes and shifts in the kinds of jobs that people do. This is brighter than normal.

That's the start. Yeah, sure, sure. Right? Sure. Yeah. Right? The pace of change has always been a defining factor in how painful the adaptation of these shifts are for people trying to survive the middle of them. And of course, nothing has ever moved at anything even remotely approaching the geometrical scaling pace of AI.

But none of that is important. Muskets are machine guns and scale doesn't matter. And I am a boomer luddite. The sky is in fact quite secure. Nonetheless, as I ponder a future where my meager skill set is eclipsed by an indifferent machine owned by billionaire technocratic oligarchs, I thought it'd be fun to spend some time looking back at some of history's now obsolete occupations and to begin stockpiling my canned goods.

Begin, Tom. Come goods. Begin Tom. Come on. Table held up by the empty ones. Come on. Also, I don't want to question the opening monologue, but I feel like the first guy to get passed on his horse by a car felt a little more outpaced by technology than you do by chat. Cheapy tea. I feel pretty outpaced.

I don't know. All right, let's begin with one that I think we can all agree just sounds like a lot of fun. Priest Hunter. In the 16th century, in an effort to uphold the religious and political establishment, the Church of England passed a series of penal laws. These laws decreed that the Church of England

was the only true church, and they were so secure in this that they made it illegal to be Catholic or any other form of nonconforming Protestant. Catholics and nonconforming Protestants were subject to property forfeitures, civil penalties, and were sentenced to mandatory attendance at weekly Anglican services. That's cruel and unusual punishment right there. Let me tell you. Agreed. The time when these laws were in effect were known as the penal times, which sounds way more fun than it is. And during the penal times, if you were so inclined, you could become a priest hunter, which is pretty much exactly what it sounded like.

There was a time when you could spy on and then capture priests and then turn them in for a fee like a bounty hunter capturing Latin babbling incense swirling celibate liars. The elimination of the penal times, sad face, rendered priest hunting, unfortunately, irrelevant. Just a little kid in a tilted box with a stick under one side and a long string that lays into the bushes. Chris Hansen in the bushes with a headset on. Have a seat. Now, of course, not everyone can handle the rigor and excitement of priest hunting. And if that's you, and you happen to be operating in Western England in the 19th century, you had the option of choosing to become a toad doctor.

A toad doctor is not a doctor that specializes in the medical care of toads, nor is it a toad who makes house calls. Though now you're all imagining the tiny little stethoscope in the lab coat. I know that that's adorable. No, a toad doctor is a form of medicinal folk magic, which was aimed at healing something then called the King's Evil, which is now known as Scrofula or Mycobacterial Cervical Lymphendentitis,

which I nailed that pronunciation. Man, wow, you started strong. Lymphendentitis, Lymphendentitis. You can say King's Evil. Scrofula. We can say King's Evil. Lymphendentitis. Lymphendentitis.

He's referring, folks. He's got, make him stop trying. Make him stop trying. It's going to end on a slur. I know it. Oh, this is basically where the cervical lymph nodes get a nasty infection. It's often associated with tuberculosis and the side of the

neck gets these huge, like lumpy bumpy deformities. And it looks kind of like a toad skin naturally. Then we have the advent of the Toad Doctor, who treats that infection by placing a live toad in a muslin bag and then just hanging it on the neck of the afflicted. Toad Doctors, in case you were wondering, have fallen somewhat away from popularity

once people figured out literally one thing, even by accident, about how the body works. Whatever you do Oliver, do not show the doctor the marks on your backside that look like tiger stripes, okay? Do you think toad doctors ever had to give people stern talking to's about not trying this at home? Like, we need a professional. You want to grab the wrong toad, that would be. What is that, cheesecloth?

They're worse. Idiot. It's muslin. All right. Let's move on now to the coffee sniffers. Okay. Is anybody else pictured Heath cutting up lines of coffee on a mirror? Between 1781 and 1787, Prussia imposed a horrifying, brutal inhuman luxury tax on coffee. Unconscionable. And since people hate paying taxes on essential goods, the tax created an enormous incentive to smuggle sweet,

delicious, ambrosial coffee without paying a bunch of stupid taxes. Frederick the Great had other ideas, and he wanted to collect his due on this nectar of the gods, and so he happened upon a clever plan. Invalids, Wikipedia's word, not mine, may not be particularly mobile, but their noses still nosed just fine. So the king hired 400 or so of them to literally sniff out smuggled coffee that was being roasted or consumed. Coffee sniffers, otherwise known as traders to humanity,

were employed elsewhere in the world a couple other times by regimes of evil dictators who hate joy. Okay, I'm genuinely conflicted. Like I'm mad at the coffee narcs, obviously, but also Tom said invalid. But in 1781, that could just be like left-handed. I don't know how it worked. I don't know how guilty I should be about what I imagined doing to the invalid coffee narc in my head. I was picturing like a tiny Tim sniffing around like a secret coffee roaster. I kick out his cane. Like is that? But it could just be like a left-handed guy.

I remember too that most of all of human history fucking stank. It stank real bad. People just fucking reeked and frankly I have no idea how anyone managed to fuck enough to perpetuate the species until showers became a staple of regular human hygiene. And if you think I'm exaggerating, I'm not. In the 17th century, the wafting stench that defined most of human existence was so pervasive that there was a job, an actual fucking job called the Herbstrewer. The Herbstrewer's job, their all day, all week job, was just to go around distributing herbs and flowers and shit that smelled nice around the

royal apartments in the United Kingdom to mask the unrelenting funk of pretty much every goddamn thing at the time. Yeah in the US we call this job being the axe of body sprays. Well see, that herb string, that's exactly what I told the cop I was doing and then he's all like you have the right to remain silent. Bunch of bullshit. Some old timey obsolete jobs perhaps should not have become obsolete. I'm talking here about the knocker up. This is not, alas, the job of impregnating your cuck neighbor's wife. Instead, the knocker up's job was to take a stick and bang on the doors or windows of the homes of their customers.

That is the whole job. They just walk around with a baton, or sometimes like a huge long pole, they need to get to like the second story, and they just whack on the side of your house until you wake up. Oh, alarm clock guy. It's alarm clock guy.

It's alarm clock guy. And how does this work if all your customers, like if everybody just kind of like, yeah, we all need to be up at nine o'clock, just around the same time. No idea, that's not in there. I don't know what you do. How do you spend your whole day doing this job? Also, no idea if you could snooze these guys or not maybe tap them on the head Don't come back in nine minutes

This job was a super real thing in the Netherlands Ireland and Britain and lasted in some pockets until the 1970s. Wow. The guys with multiple clients in the same courtyard had to wear like a one-man band-like contraption to get them all at the same time. 50 people yelling at that guy out their windows, Siri, stop, Siri, stop, Alexa, stop, Google, stop,

I'll fucking kill you, whatever that is. All right, I'm gonna go ahead and bet Thomas the only man alive that read about that and thought the problem was that the knocker up's pole wasn't electrified. Yeah, it would work otherwise. Greg, you gotta start hitting me harder, man. I don't know how to better communicate this to you. Your heart's not in it.

I'm not awake unless I'm concussed. In Europe in the 19th century, doctors believe that many ailments were caused by too much blood or bad blood or just whatever shit meant you should get rid of your blood. This meant that the world needed leeches and it needed quite a lot of them, but leeches don't grow on trees. No, they swim parasitically in the water. And so someone needed to fetch them. Enter here, the leech collector, just like it sounds, the leech collector's job was to gather leeches and sell them to the charlatans masquerading as doctors at the time.

Leech collectors generally used one of two methods. at the time. Leech collectors generally used one of two methods. If you happen to be a more well-off leech collector, something of an oxymoron since it's decidedly not a lucrative profession, you might use an old horse that you would wade into the water for the leeches to attach to. More often, however, leech collectors used their own legs for the task, wading into leech-infested water and then just standing there until they were covered

in fucking parasites to sell. That's tough deciding when to stop, right? Like do I have enough? Waiting for the conditioner to work? I feel like deciding to stop would be real easy. How hungry are my kids today? I don't know. Leech collectors frequently suffered from bloodborne infections and blood loss because of the leeches. Okay. I feel like how not to use your own legs is the first thing you figure out as a leech collector, right? Like day one, I'm standing there in the lake. I'm problem solving. I'm like a big ham. One of those Spanish hams, maybe?

Now, if you're at a red state, your representatives are probably working right now to roll back child labor laws. And so maybe we'll see the return of some modern equivalents of the Link Boy. The Link Boy was a young boy whose job was to go to school get a good education and play with his friends after a nice afternoon snack. No this is citation needed the link boy was a job wherein a very young boy carried a flaming torch of burning pitch to light the way in the dark for pedestrians in London in the mid 19th century. The fee per torch walk was typically a farthing, which was always pretty much nothing, and kids shouldn't have jobs, much less flaming ones, but that is the invisible hand at work for you.

Speaking of flame-related jobs, there used to be a job, an actual job, a from all accounts I skimmed, a skilled job of lamp trimming. For a long time, ships at sea were pretty much the worst. Disease, fall weather, starvation, contaminated water, and darkness below the decks to find centuries of life at sea. You say this like Carnival Cruise Lines isn't still a thing. Crewmen used oil lamps below decks to see, and keeping the lights on took more planning and maintenance than just flicking a switch.

The wick on an oil lamp had to be kept at just the right length to draw up just the right amount of oil to keep the flame burning clean and bright. A properly trimmed wick would burn for a long time without needing to be maintained, and a poorly trimmed wick had burned all shitty and smoky. And the bigger the ships, the more the lamps. So the more the lamp trimmers just running around below decks tending to these wicks. The job was such a skill and so integral to sailing that even after light bulbs replaced oil lamps, electricians on ships were referred to still as lamp trimmers for years until people realized that that was fucking stupid and they

stopped doing that. Yeah, but it's an easy lamp trimmer transition to moil though. Right? Totally easy. Basically the same job you already have, just floating on a bunch of babies. Sorry, what? I said basically the same job. You already. In the 18th century in British churches was perhaps the best job on this list today. This sluggard waker, the sluggard wakers job was to make sure that parishioners at church didn't fall asleep during the sermon. They accomplished this by gently shaking the shoulder of the dozing faithful.

No, no they did not. They had a big ass pole and they caught you nodding off. They whacked you on the head with a big wooden stick. Okay, in a Zen monastery that's called the Jikijitsu and they made me do that and you have to hit the big leader guy when he fucking falls asleep too and you always get it wrong. You always don't hit him hard enough.

He's whatever. It's always wrong. The goal here as well, Heath, you'll be happy to know is not to be subtle or nice. The pole that they use was often tipped with a brass knob or a fork. A what? A fork. Like to stab you. But if that's the one that they used if you were a guy.

If women fell asleep, they used a pole tipped with a fox's tail, which sounds less painful but would still be an absolutely insane way to be roasted from slumber. Honey, wake up from your recurring nightmare getting visited by the fox doctor. Come on. Yeah. Leave it to religion to think the solution to people falling asleep is a giant weapon and not our thing should be. All right. This one is for Heath. There once was a job, no shit called donkey

punching. What? This was a soup. Not boring. He what? This is, I think this one's for Heath. Yeah. No, it is a stupid boring job related to some boring logging shit, but I couldn't write this essay and not tell everyone that donkey punching was an honest to God, actual line item on a resume in the 19 twenties. And let's also not forget while we're here, the pound master Caliente whose job is some stupid shit to do with cattle, but he's called the goddamn Pound Master. Alright. Well, while I direct Tom to the websites that keep those professions alive and well, we'll

take a quick break for a little apropos of nothing. I'm up. I'm up. I'm up. Yeah, thanks, Frank. Yep, no problem. See you tomorrow. Right, yeah, about that, Frank, quick thing. Mm-hmm. I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna...

I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna...

I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... I don't think we're gonna... No problem. See you tomorrow. Right. Yeah. About that, Frank, quick thing. Mm hmm. I don't think we're going to. Yeah, I don't think we're going to need you coming around tomorrow.

Well, I sleep in area. All right. Well, I'll see you Thursday. No, no, not sleeping in. You see, the wife, she got this thing. She bought an alarm clock it's called oh no not one of them new feigled things yeah yeah so I'm not gonna need you to wake us up like any more ever sorry. Well come on there's some old clocks they don't allow them to work. They do though they even got a snooze button. Oh it could be better snooze button.

If I'd known all these years that the craftsmanship of a knocker up would be replaced by that damn laziness enabling snooze button. Why? Yeah it's just really convenient. You know what I'm saying? Oh I bet it is. Yeah? Oh but when the power goes out don't come crying to me to wake you up in the morning.

Really really sorry about this. Damn right to be sorry. So, I hear you have an opening in your schedule now. Tom, I'm not sucking you awake. I'll pay you double. For the last time, no! And we're back. When we left off, most products required constant upkeep and maintenance, which in turn created the labor they were meant to save.

When do we break it to the folks at Home About Tech Support, Tom? We're going to stop over. Living in England was, and this may be hard to believe, almost unbelievably worse than it is now, even since Brexit. And if you don't believe me, just ask the gong farmer. What? Now, if you're envisioning a farmer planting tiny brass seeds and then after a long season, harvesting a field of summer yellow gongs, gently reverberating in the breeze, you'd be really, really far off.

Now I am. That is still a way rosier mental image than the truth. So I'm just going to let you kind of hang on to it for a minute. Thank you. Thank you. Now also called night men, the gong farmer's job is basically the same job as being a human septic truck. Okay, let's go back to the other one. Yeah. The cesspits full of human excrement would of course eventually fill up.

And when they did, the gong farmer was there to help. Forced to work at night because no one wants to see how the sausage is made or where it goes when we're done with it, the gong farmer basically shoveled and bucketed away all the shit from the cesspit and removed it to the official dumps for their dumps Okay, that sounds terrible as a job

But I feel like the move is to also get a job as there as the herb strewer guy Yeah, no, I feel like this job lives on in the form of Trump's PR team, right Man I wish this was in a Victorian bucket of chips that I was just up to my knees in. That would be so nice. All right. If Gong Farmer doesn't strike your fancy, there's always the Tosher during the Victorian era in London, Toshers were sewer hunters. The Tosher during this time scavenged through the sewer for whatever valuables

could be salvaged and then presumably were somehow still valuable even after having been covered in shit. We are taking this couch. The word Tosher used to refer to thieves who prowled the Thames stripping copper from moored ships. If you're wondering just how much copper was available to steal from moored ships, I have no answers for you.

Finally, there were also the Mudlarks, who were London Riverbank scavengers, but who, I guess, left the copper boats alone? Okay. Again, it seems like you want to just have both of those jobs, right? Right. Like synergy is winery. But apparently, if you started like touching a single piece of copper, somebody is like, we are mudlarks.

Get the fuck out. Are you kidding me right now? Yeah, Tom, I don't want to be a pest, but a lot of these don't seem like jobs so much as they seem like things the poor did to barely survive. Right. Like today, we have the decency to call these side hustles. Side hustles. Uh, London also hosted the charming searchers of the dead were the plague searchers. Uh, these were workers, mostly women hired by local parishes to examine

corpses and determine the cause of death. Now, when I say determine, what I mean really is they just guessed. This was a job that was first created in 1568. So these women weren't performing like forensic autopsies, but they could figure out the basics if they were really, really obvious. And this work would actually turn out to be really important. The documents that they created became some of the best records linking sickness to fatality. and historians have used these records to

estimate living conditions and the influence of diseases and plagues. And this work really paved the way for the modern coroner, which is basically some guy elected in modern times to do exactly this job with pretty much the same qualifications. Ari. Hey guys, let's be careful. Those people have a lot of podcast time and let's not bite the hand. Feeds us. You know what I'm saying? I know we respect all of our listeners, of course, but we respect the ones with

scalpels the most, you know, knowledge of anatomy and whatnot. Yeah. England also at one point hosted a job called the thief taker. The job of the thief taker was to capture criminals prior to the establishment of a professional police force, which wasn't established until the 19th century. The system already had bounty hunters whose job was to capture fugitives, but the Thief Taker filled a different role. Thief Takers were hired not by the state, but by the victims of the crime to hunt down the perpetrator and deliver them up to the authorities.

Now if you're thinking, Tom, that really sounds like a system where money buys justice. You have not missed the memo and the memo has not really changed. And then there was also the job of working in the field of baby farming. Yep. Gen Xers here will immediately think of Cabbage Patch Kids. And I want to again give you a minute to hold that image before we move on. They're playing the little gongs in my hat. They're going to be garbage pail kids, aren't they?

They're going to be garbage pail kids. You're closer to the truth, Cecil. Is the actual baby farming was common in late Victorian England? It was the practice of accepting custody of babies in exchange for a fee. The Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834 denied poor people the right to subsistence of any kind, which drove many single mothers into workhouses. And these mothers sometimes turned to baby farms to care for their children, though the baby farms were notorious for taking in the baby, taking in the money, and skipping the

caring for part. The idea of foster homes was reserved mostly for middle class parents, while baby farms were the norm for the poor. And of course the workers were referred to as baby farmers. I mean, I never thought I'd say this, Tom, but that's actually less horrific than what I was picturing. So, all right. All right.

Also, this is a this job is not obsolete. They just changed the name to church operated daycare. That's very, very true. Yeah, yeah. In royal courts for centuries and across many cultures, there is also some version of the cup bearer. Just like any woman who's ever been in a bar or club, there was throughout history a valid and constant fear

of having your drink tampered with. And if you were a royal bigwig, you were always on the lookout for poisoners. The cup bearer's job was to basically guard the beverages and he would occasionally be required to drink first from the royal's cup to demonstrate the safety of its contents, which meant that if you were having a bit of a spacey day at work, you might drink poison and die as part of the evening's dinner theater. Okay, that's a tricky job because you're just constantly explaining to that first air in line that like, no, I can't call in sick that day that you're going to do the poison.

They would know you can't call in from this job. Plus, I can't take your bribe because then you would be the king and know that I take bribes. Then I'm fucked. All right, here's a real job with its own Wikipedia page. The groom of the stool, whose job was to be responsible for assisting the king with their excretion and hygiene. You might think this was a shitty job,

but this was actually a weirdly powerful job. The intimacy of the work meant that the groom of the stool was often privy to all kinds of secret shit and that meant he could wipe away any competition. If I was a boy, the whole sentence got it all. I bet being my groom of stool would be like being a firefighter. Right. Like it's already, but like those guys, that guy. And to be clear, like, there's not technically a groom of the stool anymore,

but King Prince Charles does have a guy who squeezes out his toothpaste for him. Jesus Christ. Yeah, I feel like this is just another renaming situation. Toothpaste guys doing some wiping for sure. Yeah, yes. And that guy has a cell phone Fucking buck wild to be like there's your toothpaste and here's all the energy In ancient Greece there was an official job called the beamedist whose job was to be just

Really consistent at walking. The Bematist specialized in measuring distances by pacing. So they just, they just counted and walked. Also in Greece was the wonderful sounding job of being a rhapsodist who was a professional performer of poetry. And as someone who has performed poetry, I can confirm that this is in fact very much obsolete. Two-Hand Snappin' Guy and the Unemployment Line with him just...

You think I'll get double the benefits? Snap. Snap. I was doing the... I by far, my favorite obsolete job though, and the real reason I want to write this essay is to tell you guys about garden hermits. In the 16th through the 18th century it was periodically considered fashionable for the wealthy in France to keep a hermit in a hermitage living permanently on your property or estate. As industrialization swept across Europe, contemplation and reflection were increasingly seen as an extravagance. And anything that is an extravagance becomes for the wealthy, a status symbol. And eventually, men were hired to live in small homes on the property

to represent the idea of contemplation. They were literally living lawn ornaments or dioramas functioning as a display of your wealth. Like a thinkiness gnome? It's amazing. Amazing. If you had a garden hermit, you had enough money, not for, you know, sober personal self-reflection of your own, but to hire someone to live in your yard, to look like they are there to think about stuff. And generally that really was the whole job.

Their job was just to be there and then to be looked at in exchange for living like a zoo animal for the wealthy. These men were provided with a stipend as well as room and board. Okay. Honestly, it feels like they were just fucking a shed guy and they added like, oh, pensive tea. It's pensive. Right?

So do you get a tax write off for still having one of these? Cause like until he's married, I feel like we could make a pretty good argument that Heath should count. Ooh, yeah. Damn pensive. His little bags of trash at the top of the stairs.

And finally, there is the job of the sandal bearer, whose job is to carry the sandals of his employer. And since I am constantly tripping over my wife's shoes and then moving them around, I am now fairly certain that I have revived this role. And if you had to summarize what you learned in one sentence, what would it be? Not a whole lot, but I am having AI rewrite my resume. Interesting. As a large language model, are you ready for the quiz?

I am. Alright, Tom. Who's the most famous unemployed poet? A. Maya Angelou. B. Walt Whitman. C. Zach Kierowak. Or. Sack Kerouac. Or D. Edgar Allan Poe. Oh, Edgar Allan Poe. I'm still going to go with B though.

Walt Whitman, he started the whole thing. Yes, you're correct. Walt Whitman. All right, Tom, which of the following is the best TV show or movie about these obsolete occupations? A, for the outhouse cleaner guy, clogged the bounty hunter. B, for the priest hunter,

didliest cat. Diddliest cat! Diddliest cat! Diddliest cat! That's so good. That's so good. Oh, it's good. So good and wrong, but good.

C, for the herb strewer stool magnolias or D for that royal shit butler guy. White men can't dump. These are all great, but it's diddliest. This is amazing. So good. All right. I got one question for you here, Tom.

Your fears of our inevitable obsolescence at the hands of automation are forgetting what? A, saving labor was the whole point of labor saving devices. B, we don't actually have to eat that many billionaires to make our point. Or C, at most. But if we do have to eat more, C, C will be able to automate the process using all these great labor-saving devices. Okay, alright, I see what you're... Well, it's not C, because that takes the fun out of B. So I'm going to go with B.

Oh, I'm sorry, it's D, none of the above. We actually are fucked. The sky's falling. I thought you'd get that one. I thought you would get that one. Oh, yeah. All right, well, Noah, you win. All right, well, I am dying, like I'm sure most of the audience is,

for a Heath essay next week. All right, well, for Tom, Noah, Cecil, and Heath, I'm Eli Bosnik, thanking you for hanging out with us today. We'll be back next week. And by then, Heath will be an expert on something else, but between now and then, you can keep our jobs relevant for just a hair longer by listening to our other shows. And if you'd like to help keep this show going and get pre-episode shenanigans, you

can make a per episode donation at patreon.com slash citationpod or leave us a five star review everywhere you can. And if you'd like to get in touch with us, check out past episodes, connect with us on social media, or check the show notes, be sure to check out citationpod.com. And then boom, 10 pointer to win the match. Amazing. It was totally epic, Tom, totally epic. Thanks guys. I guess throwing stones is pretty fun after all. Hell yeah it is. And he's like, thanks for going all that trouble to clone Noah's voice just for this sketch.

Oh yeah, that is why I have that. Is it? Mmhmm. Okay. No, this is citation needed. The Link Boy was a job wherein a very young boy carried a flaming torch of burning pitch to light the way in the dark for pedestrians in London in the mid 19th century. The fee per torch walk was typically a farthing, which was always pretty much nothing and kids

shouldn't have jobs, much less flaming ones. But that is the invisible hand at work. Yeah. Plus if the kid had ADHD, then you ended up with a hyper link. Oh, Jesus Christ. If you drop the torch, he ended up as you ended up with a hot link. Three beat that please. I don't want it to end like that.

Wood Lincoln log Lincoln. Adventures of like. I don't believe it. Just... Wood, Lincoln Log, Lincoln Log. Adventures of... Fuck. The Warman Army or Chain Link. Okay, forget it. There you go. Cecil brings it home. I'm cutting it all, it doesn't matter.

Don't you dare cut hybrid. You can't make me keep it in. It's my best work.