This isn't a self-help book. It's a mental junk drawer — full of quotes, chaos, forklift wisdom, and a guy just trying to make sense of the noise.
No chapters. No index. No roadmap. You'll find meaning, then lose it again. And maybe that's the point.
It's part philosophy, part humor, part existential napkin scribble.
If you've ever argued with God in a break room or felt like socks next to the couch might symbolize existential dread... you're in the right place.