You know, Herman, there is something poetic about Daniel sitting on a bench with pigeons, watching his battery bleed down to nine percent while he records a prompt. It is the ultimate digital deadline. It is like the modern version of a sand timer, but instead of sand, it is just lithium-ion chemistry failing him in real-time.
It really is a ticking clock, Corn. And it is the perfect backdrop for what he is asking about today. Today's prompt from Daniel is about the psychology of data hoarding and that thin, blurry line between a responsible backup strategy and a full-blown compulsive need to archive every digital crumb we leave behind. By the way, before we dive into the abyss of hard drives and anxiety, today's episode is powered by Google Gemini 3 Flash.
Google Gemini 3 Flash is writing the script, but I am the one bringing the existential dread. Or at least, I am reflecting Daniel's dread. He is worried about losing the very prompt he is recording. He is worried about the pipeline. He is worried about the episodes. And he admitted something that I think a lot of us feel but rarely say out loud: he might be on the wrong side of the line when it comes to digital hoarding.
Herman Poppleberry here, and I have to say, I am a bit of a skeptic when it comes to the "data apocalypse" people seem to fear. Everyone acts like a lost file is a lost limb. But Daniel raises a great point about the "trigger." He mentioned losing a video of his son, Ezra, or footage of Portadown. Those are the little stings that stay with you. You hit "delete" or a drive clicks its last click, and suddenly a tiny window into the past is shuttered forever.
It is that "bad feeling" he described. That hollow pit in your stomach when you realize the bits and bytes are just gone. But let's look at the history he gave us. He mentioned his WordPress site being hacked when he was eighteen. Not even a cool, cinematic hack with green text scrolling down a black screen, but a boring, automated Russian bot trying to mine crypto on his server.
That is the reality of most data loss, isn't it? It is rarely a mastermind thief. It is usually a script kiddie's bot or, more likely, our own thick fingers hitting the wrong key. Daniel mentioned he is worried he will be the one to delete the Cloudflare bucket, not that Cloudflare will fail. That is a very self-aware form of anxiety. He knows the "threat vector" is himself.
I love that he calls it a "threat vector." It makes being clumsy sound so much more professional. "I didn't drop my phone in the toilet, I simply encountered a high-moisture threat vector." But Herman, where does this start? We have the three-two-one rule, which is the gold standard, right? Three copies, two different media, one offsite. That sounds reasonable. That sounds like something a sane person does.
It is the baseline. It comes from the photography world, actually. Peter Krogh popularized it. The idea is that you have your working copy, a local backup, and then something far away so a single house fire doesn't wipe out your digital life. But in twenty-twenty-six, the "offsite" part is usually just "the cloud," which people treat as this magical, indestructible ether.
But wait, how does "the cloud" actually function as an offsite backup if you’re syncing in real-time? If I accidentally delete a file on my laptop, doesn’t the cloud just say, "Oh, Corn wants this gone," and instantly delete it from the server too?
That is the "Sync vs. Backup" trap! Most people use Dropbox or iCloud and think they are backed up. But sync is a mirror. If you break the mirror on one side, it’s broken on the other. A true backup has "versioning"—it keeps the file from yesterday even if you ruined it today. Without versioning, you aren’t backing up; you’re just duplicating your mistakes in real-time across the globe.
That sounds even more stressful. Now I have to worry about my mistakes being propagated at the speed of light. And then there is the access issue. Daniel mentioned that too. You have the data, the data exists on a server in Virginia, but you can't get to it because you lost a recovery key or your phone number changed. At that point, is the data even yours?
This is where the hoarding begins. If you don't trust the gatekeepers, you start building your own gate. You start seeing people on the Data Hoarders subreddit—which has over two hundred thousand members now—who aren't just backing up their wedding photos. They are mirroring the entire Internet Archive. They are saving every YouTube video from a specific niche. They are hoarding Linux ISOs by the petabyte.
A petabyte. I can't even wrap my head around how much data that is. That is like having a library where the books are stacked to the moon, and you are just one guy with a flashlight trying to make sure none of the pages are yellowing. Why do we do this? Is it a "healthy concern" or is it a mental health issue? Daniel mentioned his brain feels like it has a "backup folder" that he just wants to delete so he can have better things to think about.
It is a spectrum, Corn. On one end, you have the "Digital Minimalist" who deletes everything and lives in the moment. On the other, you have the "Digital Hoarder" who feels a physical sense of distress at the thought of a single Reddit post being deleted. And the mechanics of it are fascinating. In the physical world, hoarding is limited by the square footage of your house. Your neighbors see the stacks of newspapers through the window. But digital hoarding is invisible. You can have a hundred terabytes of data in a box the size of a toaster.
So nobody knows you have a problem until you are complaining on a podcast about nine percent battery life. But is there a "fun fact" about the physical scale of this? If we actually printed out a petabyte of data, what are we looking at?
If you printed a petabyte of data onto standard paper, the stack would reach about eighty thousand miles high. That’s a third of the way to the moon. Imagine Daniel trying to fit that on his park bench. He’d be crushed under the weight of his own "just in case" documents.
That is a terrifying image. I want to dig into this "pipeline anxiety" Daniel mentioned. He sends a prompt, then he checks if the pipeline worked. It is a feedback loop. It is a ritual. If the ritual fails, the data is "lost irretrievably." But what is actually lost? A few minutes of audio? A thought?
To the hoarder, it is not just audio. It is a piece of their timeline. It is the record of their existence. There was a study in twenty-twenty-four that found sixty-seven percent of people who suffered a major data loss—like a hard drive crash with no backup—reported lasting anxiety. Not just "oh that sucks," but actual, clinical anxiety about their storage systems. They start over-engineering. They buy more drives. They check the logs every hour.
But does more hardware actually solve the anxiety? Or does it just create a bigger surface area for things to go wrong?
It’s the latter. It’s called the "Complexity Penalty." Every time you add a redundant drive or a new cloud provider, you add a new interface you have to learn, a new password to remember, and a new subscription to pay for. You aren't buying safety; you're buying a more complicated set of chores.
And that is the paradox, right? You would think more backups would lead to less anxiety. You have ten copies, you should sleep like a baby. But instead, you now have ten things to manage. You have ten points of failure. You have to check if the sync worked on all ten. You have basically given yourself a part-time job as a sysadmin for your own life, and you aren't even getting paid for it.
You are paying for it! You are paying for the electricity, the drives, the cloud subscriptions. It is a "sunk cost" in every sense of the word. And Daniel's story about the WordPress hack is a great example of the "impersonal" nature of loss. He didn't lose his site to a rival; he lost it to a bot that didn't even care about his content. It just wanted his CPU cycles. That makes the loss feel even more meaningless, which I think drives the desire to protect it even more fiercely.
It is like being mugged by a mannequin. There is no one to be mad at. But let's talk about the "irreplaceable" myth. Daniel mentioned photos of Ezra. Now, as a father, I get that. You want those milestones. But he also said he has taken hundreds of videos of the Portadown. Hundreds. At what point does the volume of the data actually degrade the value of the memory? If you have ten thousand videos of your kid eating cereal, do you actually have any videos of your kid eating cereal? Or do you just have a data management nightmare?
That is the "Curation Crisis." In the old days, with physical film, you had twenty-four exposures. You picked the best moments. The friction of the medium forced you to be an editor. Now, the friction is zero. So we record everything, and then we feel this crushing responsibility to keep everything. We have turned ourselves from photographers into archivists. And most of us are terrible archivists.
But how does this work in practice for someone like Daniel? If he has thousands of clips, how does he ever find the "one" he actually wants to see?
He probably doesn't! That’s the irony. We spend all this energy saving things we will never look at because we are too busy saving the next thing. It’s like a squirrel that buries ten thousand nuts but only remembers where ten of them are. The act of burying is the ritual that provides the comfort, not the actual prospect of eating the nut later.
I am a sloth, Herman. I am built for low-energy consumption. The idea of managing a petabyte of data makes me want to take a nap for three years. But I see this in the tech world all the time. People who won't use a service unless there is a "Download All Data" button. They won't put their notes in a cloud app unless it has a local markdown export. They are terrified of "vendor lock-in," which is really just a fancy way of saying they are scared the company will go bust and take their thoughts with them.
Which happens! Look at the history of the web. GeoCities, which Daniel mentioned, is the classic example. Thousands of personal pages, neighborhoods, weird MIDI music—all gone in a blink when Yahoo pulled the plug. If the "Archive Team" hadn't stepped in to mirror it, that whole era of human expression would be a digital black hole. So, in a way, the hoarders are the heroes of history. They are the ones saving the "Dark Archive."
Heroes or just people with too much closet space for server racks? I think there is a difference between saving "History" with a capital H and saving your own digital exhaust. Daniel mentioned he feels he might be on the wrong side of the line. That self-awareness is key. He knows it is taking up "too much of his brain." When does the concern for data loss become a mental health issue? When does it become "Digital Hoarding Disorder"?
It is actually being studied. Researchers are looking at whether the same neural pathways involved in physical hoarding are active in digital hoarding. It is about "Attachment." You aren't attached to the bits; you are attached to the meaning you have assigned to them. Losing a file feels like losing a memory, even though your brain still has the memory. We have outsourced our biological storage to silicon, and now we are terrified of a system crash.
But what about the physical brain? If Daniel deletes the "backup folder" in his mind, does he actually become more productive, or does he just find something else to obsess over?
Psychology suggests that if you don't address the underlying "Anxiety Loop," you’ll just swap data hoarding for something else—like checking the front door lock five times or obsessing over your step count. The data is just the "flavor" of the anxiety. The real issue is the inability to sit with the possibility of loss.
And the AI makes it worse, doesn't it? We are generating more content than ever. Scripts, images, emails, prompts. If I am using an AI to help me think, then the record of that interaction is part of my thought process. If I lose the chat history, have I lost part of my mind? That is a scary thought for someone who is already prone to anxiety.
It creates a "Pipeline Anxiety" loop. Daniel checks if the prompts were received. He is verifying the handoff. It is like checking the stove over and over again. "Did the bits make it? Are they safe? Is the backup running?" If you are spending more time verifying the backup than you spent creating the content, you have moved into the compulsive zone.
So what is the failure mode here? We have talked about the accidental deletion, the account lockout, the service provider going under. But what about the "Second-Order Effects"? I think there is something called "Backup Paralysis." You are so worried about how you will store and protect the data that you actually stop creating it. You don't want the burden of another "precious" thing to manage.
I have seen that. People who stop taking photos at weddings because they don't want to deal with the import process later. They have reached "Data Saturation." Their systems are full, their brains are full, and the joy of the moment is replaced by the logistics of the archive. It is the ultimate irony: you save the data to remember the life, but the saving of the data prevents you from living the life.
That is deep, Herman. Too deep for a donkey. But you are right. Daniel said he wishes he could just "delete the backup folder" in his brain. That he has better things to think about. That is the "Digital Minimalist" urge fighting the "Data Hoarder" instinct. It is a civil war happening at nine percent battery life.
Let's talk about the "Data Hoarders" subreddit for a second. It is not all just anxiety. There is a real community there. They share scripts for scraping sites, they discuss the best way to shuck external hard drives to save twenty dollars, and they track "bit rot"—the literal physical decay of data on a drive. They are fighting entropy. They see themselves as the last line of defense against a "Digital Dark Age."
"Bit rot" sounds like a disease a robot gets in a bad sci-fi movie. But it is real, isn't it? The magnetic charges on a platter eventually flip. The trapped electrons in a flash drive leak out. Nothing digital is actually permanent. So the hoarders aren't just saving data; they are constantly "refreshing" it. Moving it from one dying drive to a new one. It is like a digital version of the Sisyphus myth.
You are pushing the boulder of your data up the hill of time, and the hill is made of failing hardware. If you stop for a year, the boulder rolls back and crushes your archives. It requires constant, vigilant energy. This is why I am a bit of a skeptic. I think we need to learn how to let go. Most of what we "hoard" is noise. It is the "Russian bot" level of data. It doesn't have a soul, but we treat it like it does.
But Herman, how do we distinguish between "soulful" data and "noise"? Is there a practical test Daniel can use while he’s sitting there with his pigeons?
I call it the "One-Year Amnesia Test." Look at a folder. If you haven't opened it in a year, and you didn't even remember it existed until you saw it in the directory, it’s noise. If you delete it and don't feel a pang of regret within forty-eight hours, it was never part of your soul to begin with.
I think the "trigger" Daniel mentioned is the most relatable part. Losing something "irreplaceable." Even if it is just a ten-second clip of Ezra. That one loss justifies a thousand hours of backup work in the hoarder's mind. "I will never feel that gut-punch again," they say. And then they build a fortress. But no fortress is impenetrable. You can have a RAID-6 array with offsite replication and still lose data if you type "rm -rf" in the wrong directory.
The "fat-finger incident." It is the leading cause of data death. More common than fire, flood, or hackers. We are our own worst enemies. And that leads to a very specific kind of guilt. If a hurricane takes your server, you can blame God. If you delete your own database, you have to look in the mirror. That guilt fuels the next round of hoarding. It is a cycle of trauma and over-compensation.
So, how do we break the cycle? Daniel is asking for a way to not worry about it. He wants to leave the pigeons and the bench and just... exist. Without the "pipeline" in the back of his mind. Is there a "Data Triage" system we can use? A way to categorize what actually matters?
I think we have to be honest about "Replaceability." Most data is replaceable with effort. You can re-download a movie. You can rewrite an email if you really have to. There is a very small sliver of "Irreplaceable" data—the family photos, the unique creative works, the personal journals. If we treated the ninety-nine percent as "Disposable," the one percent would be much easier to manage.
But the hoarder says, "What if that random Reddit post I made in twenty-twelve becomes important later? What if I need to prove I was right about a specific movie theory?" It is the "Just In Case" mentality. It is the same thing that makes people keep old jars and tangled cables in their garage. "I might need this one day."
And in the digital world, "one day" never comes because the volume is too high to ever search through. We are creating "Dark Data." Data that is saved but never looked at. It just sits there, consuming watts and occupy space on a spinning disk. It is a ghost in the machine.
I like that. "Dark Data." It sounds like something we should be investigating on a different kind of podcast. But for us, it is about the "Mental Bandwidth." Daniel is a smart guy, he works in tech, he knows automation. He has built a whole production pipeline for this show. And yet, he is sitting there worried about the bits. If he is feeling the strain, imagine what it is like for someone who doesn't understand the tech.
It is worse for them because it feels like magic. When the magic fails, they have no way to fix it. At least Daniel can look at the logs. But even the "experts" get caught in the trap. I know people with home labs that look like small data centers, and they spend every weekend replacing failed drives and updating firmware. They have turned their hobby into a second job.
Is it a "Multi-gender hobby," like Daniel said?
Oh, absolutely. The drive to preserve and protect isn't tied to a chromosome. You see it across the board. The manifestation might be different—maybe one person is hoarding high-res concert footage while another is saving every recipe and craft idea they have ever seen—but the underlying anxiety is the same. The fear of "Loss." The fear that if the record is gone, the experience didn't happen.
That is the philosophical core, isn't it? "If a tree falls in the forest and no one backs up the audio, did it make a sound?" We have become so reliant on the external record that we don't trust our own internal hardware—our brains. We think our memories are faulty, so we rely on the phone. But then we don't trust the phone, so we rely on the cloud. It is a chain of distrust.
And the cloud providers know this. They sell us "Peace of Mind" for ten dollars a month. But it is a false peace because they can change the Terms of Service tomorrow. They can decide your content violates a new policy and wipe your account. They can have a glitch in their 2FA system and lock you out forever. You are renting your memories.
"Renting your memories." Man, Herman, you are really bringing the sunshine today. This is why I prefer being a sloth. I don't have enough energy to worry about renting my memories. I just forget things the old-fashioned way. But I want to go back to the mental health aspect. Daniel asked if this can become a "serious issue affecting welfare."
It can. When it interferes with your "Activities of Daily Living." If you are staying up until three in the morning to fix a backup script for data you haven't looked at in five years, that is an issue. If you are spending money on hard drives that should be going toward your retirement or your kid's education, that is an issue. It is a form of OCD, really. The "Checking" ritual.
But what about the physical physical space? You mentioned it’s invisible, but at some point, doesn't a data hoarder run out of desk space for all those external drives?
You’d be surprised. With modern density, you can fit twenty terabytes on a single three-and-a-half-inch drive. A small bookshelf can hold a petabyte. The "Hoarding" doesn't manifest as a messy room; it manifests as a room that is constantly humming. The sound of fans spinning is the soundtrack of the digital hoarder’s life. It’s a literal white noise of anxiety.
And it is so easy to justify! "I am being responsible! I am protecting my family's legacy!" It is the most "virtuous" vice you can have. You aren't gambling or drinking; you are just... being very, very careful with your files. It is hard for friends or family to stage an intervention for a guy who has a very organized NAS.
Because they benefit from it! Until the NAS fails and the guy has a breakdown. Then they see the cost. I think we need a "Backup Budget." Not just a money budget, but a "Mental Energy Budget." You are allowed to spend five percent of your brain on backups. If you hit six percent, you have to delete something.
I love that. A "Mental Energy Cap." Daniel, if you are listening, you have reached your cap for the day. Put the phone down, watch the pigeons, and don't worry about the nine percent. If the prompt is lost, you can just record it again. Or don't! Maybe some thoughts are meant to be ephemeral.
That is a radical idea in twenty-twenty-six. "Ephemeral thoughts." We have been trained to think that everything must be captured. But some of the best moments in life are the ones that aren't recorded. They just live in the "RAM" of our minds for a while and then fade away. And that is okay. That is part of the human experience.
It is the "Digital Palimpsest." We should be allowed to write over our old selves without keeping a version-controlled history of every mistake we ever made. Daniel mentioned his eighteen-year-old self and the WordPress site. Maybe it is a good thing that site is gone. Maybe eighteen-year-old Daniel's thoughts don't need to be preserved in amber forever.
There is a freedom in "Deletion." It is a "Cleansing" act. It is saying, "I am not defined by my past data. I am defined by what I am doing right now." But the hoarder can't do that. The hoarder is weighed down by the "Digital Ghost" of everything they have ever been.
Let's look at the "Practical Implications" for a second. If you are a developer or a service provider, how do you handle this? Daniel says he loves "My Weird Prompts" but feels he needs to back it up. That is a compliment to us, but also a sign of a "Dependency Issue." If we want to be "Anxiety-Reducing," we should make it easy to leave. Give people a one-click export. Tell them exactly how we store the data. Transparency is the antidote to hoarding-induced panic.
But how does transparency actually help the guy who’s already panicking? If I tell him exactly how the sausage is made, doesn't he just find more things to worry about in the recipe?
Not necessarily. Uncertainty is the fuel for anxiety. If you know the "Failure Modes," you can prepare for them. It’s the "unknown unknowns" that keep Daniel up at night. If we tell him, "Hey, we keep your audio for thirty days and then it’s purged," he can make a conscious choice to save it or let it go. It’s the ambiguity that creates the hoarding urge.
And we do that! We have the RSS feed, the website, the whole nine yards. But for the individual, the takeaway has to be "Self-Regulation." You have to ask yourself: "If I lost everything on this drive tomorrow, would my life actually be worse, or would I just feel a temporary sting of ego?" For ninety percent of our data, the answer is just ego.
"The Ego in the Machine." That is another good one. We are building digital monuments to ourselves. And like all monuments, they eventually crumble. Whether it is bit rot or a Russian bot, the end is the same. So the question is: how much of your current life are you willing to sacrifice to maintain the monument?
Daniel's insight is the best one: "I have just like better things to think about." That should be the mantra. When the backup anxiety kicks in, just repeat: "I have better things to think about." Like the pigeons. Or Ezra. Or the fact that it is a beautiful day and you are sitting on a bench.
Or the fact that your phone is about to die and you are finally free from the "Pipeline." There is a certain bliss in a dead battery. It is a forced "Digital Sabbath." You can't record, you can't check, you can't verify. You just have to sit there and be a person.
A person without a backup. The horror! But seriously, the "Data Triage" framework is a real tool. List your data. Categorize it. "Irreplaceable"—the 3-2-1 rule applies. "Replaceable but annoying"—maybe just one cloud backup. "Disposable"—let it go. If people did that, the Data Hoarders subreddit would lose half its members and everyone would sleep better.
I think the "One-Click Export" test is a good one too. If you are signing up for a new service—a note-taking app, a social network, a podcast platform—and you can't find the "Export My Data" button in under five minutes, don't use it. It is an "Anxiety Trap." It is designed to keep you locked in by the fear of loss.
It is "Hostage-Taking" as a business model. And we have to be smarter than that. We have to demand "Data Portability." But even with portability, you still have the "Hoarding" problem of where to put it once you take it out. It is a never-ending cycle of "Storage and Stress."
I wonder what the future holds. As AI makes it easier to create content, will we reach a point where we just give up? Where the sheer volume of "Precious" data is so high that we stop caring? Like being in a room full of gold coins—eventually, it just becomes a pile of metal you have to shovel.
I think we are already there. We are "Drowning in Gold." We have so many "Best Days Ever" recorded on our phones that we can't find any of them. The AI might actually be the solution here. Not to generate more content, but to "Curation." An AI that looks at your ten thousand cereal-eating videos and says, "Here are the three where he actually did something funny. Delete the rest."
An AI that is an "Interventionist." I like that. "Corn, I noticed you haven't looked at this folder of memes since twenty-twenty-two. I have deleted them to save your soul. You are welcome." I would pay for that service.
Most people would pay to have them back! That is the problem. We are addicts. We are "Data Addicts." And the first step is admitting we have a problem. Daniel has done that. He has stood up in the digital AA meeting and said, "My name is Daniel, and I am worried about my pipeline."
But Herman, is there a "fun fact" about the history of physical hoarding that mirrors this? Did people do this with clay tablets?
Actually, yes! In ancient Mesopotamia, archaeologists found massive "dead archives"—thousands of tax receipts and mundane trade records that were kept for centuries after the people involved were dead. Humans have always had a hard time throwing away "records," even when the records are just about how many goats someone traded for a rug in four thousand BC.
So Daniel is just carrying on a four-thousand-year-old tradition of being stressed about receipts. That makes me feel a bit better. We aren't broken; we're just ancient hardware trying to run modern software.
And we are here to say, "It's okay, Daniel. The pigeons don't care about the pipeline. And neither do we, as long as we get to talk to you." The connection is what matters, not the archive of the connection. The "Prompt" is just the "Trigger" for the conversation. Once the conversation happens, the prompt has done its job. It can go to the great bit-bucket in the sky.
That is a very "Sloth-like" philosophy, Corn. Very Zen. I think I am coming around to it. Maybe I will go home and delete my "Temporary" folder that has been sitting there for three years.
Do it, Herman! Be brave! Hit shift-delete! Feel the rush of the electrons being released back into the wild!
I don't know if I am that brave. But I will think about it. I will definitely think about it while I check my RAID status one last time.
You are hopeless. But that is why I love you. You are the donkey with the data, and I am the sloth with the... well, I have a sandwich. And that is enough for me.
A sandwich is "Disposable" data. You consume it, it provides value, and then it is gone. Maybe that is the ultimate model for the digital world. "Data as Nutrition." Use it, let it fuel you, and then let it pass through the system.
If you turn this into a "Digestive System" analogy, I am leaving. You know the rules. One analogy per episode, and you are pushing it.
Fair enough. No more analogies. Just cold, hard bits. And the cold, hard truth that we are all just monkeys—or donkeys—trying to hold onto smoke.
Smoke that we have backed up in three different locations. Well, this has been a deep dive into the "Data Hole." I think we have covered the psychology, the technical failure modes, and the "Russian bot" of it all. Any final thoughts before we let Daniel get back to his pigeons?
Just a "Mental Health Checkpoint." If you are listening to this and you feel that tightness in your chest at the thought of losing your "Downloads" folder, take a breath. Ask yourself: "Would I still use this service if I knew I could lose everything tomorrow?" If the answer is "No," then the service owns you. You don't own the data.
And if the answer is "Yes," then you are free. You are using the tool, not the other way around. Daniel, I think you are in the "Yes" category. You love the show, you love the process, and the "Backup Anxiety" is just a side effect of being a conscientious guy. But don't let it steal your peace on the bench.
The pigeons are the "Offsite Backup" for your soul, Daniel. They don't need electricity, and they don't have a 2FA system. They just want bread. There is a lesson in that.
"Be like the pigeon." That's the takeaway. Though, maybe don't poop on the bench. That is a different kind of data loss.
And on that note, I think we are done. Big thanks as always to our producer, Hilbert Flumingtop, for making sure the pipeline actually works so Daniel doesn't have a heart attack.
And a massive thank you to Modal for providing the GPU credits that let us explore these "Weird Prompts" every week. They are the "High-Performance Compute" behind our "Low-Performance Brains."
This has been My Weird Prompts. If you are feeling the "Digital Clutter," search for My Weird Prompts on Telegram. We will notify you when new episodes drop, so you don't have to keep checking the "Pipeline" yourself.
Save your mental energy for something better. Like a nap. Or a sandwich. Goodbye, Herman.
Goodbye, Corn.
This has been episode seventeen hundred and thirteen. See you in the next one. If we don't delete it first.
