One night I was drunk on the quarter-bottle of red wine my wife allows me to drink every other month, and it got the creative juices flowing. Ideas were coming in waves like the salmon of Capestrano. I was thinking of shows and blogs and podcasts and everything under the sun. And I realized that I'm only one man. BFW enterprises officially needed help.

So I turned to the stoolies. I decided to, from the comfort of my basement, interview stoolies to fill my vacant intern position to help me get through quarantine. Seven stoolies answered the call. Shit got weird. This is what happened.