Why I Have So Few Friends: A Field Guide to My Own Social Extinction. On happily abandoning humanity to hang out with Westies.

With respect to George Constanza and unclaimed luggage.

If you’ve made it this far in life without being fired, cancelled, or publicly flogged for saying something true, congratulations — you’re ahead of me. I write because I can’t not; because silence feels like complicity, and complicity feels like rot. If this piece leaves you nodding, snarling, or muttering, “Well, he’s not wrong,” then you’re precisely …