What makes a rando? Is this a question of etymology, simple definition? Or a deeper philosophical query? Well: that depends on how much time you have, and how much bullshit you can tolerate. (The field of philosophy is almost entirely predicated on a high level of bullshit tolerance.)
The short version is simple: do I recognize you on sight? If not, then you are a rando.
But, of course, there is more to it. If you take a selfie, or sit for a portrait, or have your mug shot taken, then you are not a rando. Nor does rando status apply to group shots of people at weddings, or parties, or mass suicides. All of these scenarios lack the key ingredient in randofication:
If there’s no famous person in the picture, then there are also no randos in the picture.
Here’s the analogy: ever see an NBA game and think, “They’re not all that big?” And you would be right, comparatively. When everyone’s a giant, then no one looks tall. But when you see NBA players with normal human beings, they’re revealed as the enormous monsters that they actually are. Only through the presence of a non-rando does the randiness of the rando shine through.
We all have the mark of the rando written ‘pon our breasts, but it’s written in organic fluids, and famous people are the blacklight that reveals our shame.
What the fuck are you even talking about?
Is this because the lovely and polite gentleman that runs the great Instagram feed From The Lot commented?
Little bit. Also just killing time until I had an idea or just gave up on writing and watched Deadwood.
Should we be openly admitting we’ve got nothing?
I don’t want the nice people to think I’m not aware I’m treading water.
Ah, self-awareness: the lazy man’s alternative to actually doing something.
There ya go.
That’s a kick-ass shirt.
Ringer tee. Only thing better is a three-quarter.
The three-quarter sleeved tee is the king of shirts, yeah.