Ryan Sarver and The World: An Abbreviated Chronicle

My name is Ryan Sarver. For a very long time I’ve believed that I was born in an airplane flying over the Pacific to Hawaii, where my mom decided she didn’t actually want a child and tossed me out the cargo chute (also known as “the toilet”). After floating around the entirety of Latin, South, and most of North America (choosing to forgo the Panama Canal as being “for wusses”), I crawled to a hardware store in Western West Virginia where I decided to take a nap and was abducted. The store, which had opened only the day before, would close that very afternoon and be replaced by an ill-fated, underage bar which would change names 15 times before finally settling on “Tomato Jack’s” or something equally as stupid years later.

As you can see, I was the most ambitious baby ever born. Over the years, ambition died down to mere indefatigability, which slowed to an overwhelming desire to cook pastries and meet beautiful women I would fall in love with then forget about one week later. My biggest crime has always been loving too much, and there seems too many intriguing people in the world to stay preoccupied with only one. This will probably change as I get older. Everything does.

In many ways I am like Frankenstein’s Monster, but only Boris Karloff’s and not Mary Shelley’s. You might be able to tell this by simply looking at me, but this is no superficial resemblance. Frankenstein is really just an epic metaphor for awkward men. I also feel a very strong connection with Benjamin Braddock from The Graduate.

My friends and I spend our time coming up with evil Halloween President names. So far we have

Sabraham Lincoln!
George Squashington!
Franklin Delano Frozenpelt!
Flames Madison
Ronald Ray-Gun
Benjamin Tanklin (Technically an assistant)
Richard Nixon
Bearald Ford (possibly Double-Barreled Ford)

The exclamation points denote leadership.

Yes, we are that productive in West Virginia.

I’ll soon be moving to New York, but not before teaching Chinese people English, licking up the delicious candy-buildings of Moscow, checking out the surreal natural surroundings of Socotra, and getting eaten by sharks in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean/Gulf of Mexico while excavating a sunken ship. It will be a very decadent funeral and you’re all invited. My only request is that someone play Huey Lewis and the News’s “Natural”.

Right now my mom thinks I’m living “some crazy hippie lifestyle”, and that means I’m doing something right.

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