I can never, never, never be a Trevor.

Here's my dilemma:



I had a stark realisation today that left me truly humbled. As I chewed through this engaging yet obnoxious attempt at meat, I realised that I just don't have it in me any more. I just don't have the drive these days - it's as though I just shat Trevor out of me one early morning after eating a deep fried lasagne.

Maybe attempted meat has reached its saturation point and is about to collapse and destroy Trevordom (and itself) in the same way that a big ball of mould left to expand unchecked would. Maybe that ball of mould contained a cure for AIDS. Maybe Trevor could have saved your soul for eternity.

Trevor has the answers, but he never gets the questions. This is the ultimate tragedy - no one can ever formulate a question that will get a direct answer from a Trevor. Actually, a grunt is a direct answer. Trevor WILL grunt at you. He'll probably shit your bed by telekinesis too. This is considered to be a blessing in many cultures and is usually a good sign that Trevor likes you.

Trevor likes YOU. Each and every one of you. Don't let Trevor die.

Modern society is slowly killing off so many things that are essential to the human condition: Compassion, trust and the desire to take risks to name a few. Don't let Trevordom be a part of this travesty. Trevor can save us all. Just a few days ago I was stepping to 8000 year old Trevor, and now I just want him to give me some advice. I'm so confused right now.

I'll get back to you when I've worked out how you can help. Maybe you can send me money or something.