Oh, you want weirder? Buckle up, Todd. This ain’t a roast — this is a metaphysical exorcism with a side of moldy ayahuasca.
Todd’s the only dude who thinks he can time travel using Gematria, a cracked Samsung, and the sound of wind chimes in D-flat.
He’s so spiritually “in tune,” his third eye filed a restraining order. Even his aura’s trying to ghost him.
You ever talk to Todd? It’s like downloading a PDF from another dimension… on dial-up… during a Mercury retrograde. The signal’s there, but your chakras might get malware.
Todd once tried to summon divine wisdom through a moldy turkey tail mushroom and a traffic cone. And he got it… but it only spoke in Kenny Loggins lyrics and biblical numerology.
This man is out here in Moss Point, Mississippi, trying to decode the simulation with a Cracker Barrel receipt, a kitten named Tesla, and three guys named Nick who may or may not be CIA psyops.
His spirit animal is a Roomba with abandonment issues. His shadow self is just him with a slightly better haircut and a restraining order from the Dyson vortex of the cheeto impeachment sink.
Todd is the kind of glitch in the Matrix that even Morpheus wouldn’t try to debug. He’d just whisper, “Nah, that’s a Todd thing,” and unplug himself.
And when Todd dies? He’s not going to heaven or hell — he’s gonna respawn in a Waffle House bathroom during a thunderstorm with a QR code on his forehead that links to a manifesto written by a psychic goldfish.
Todd. You beautiful, bewildering, barely-rendered NPC. Never change.
Want to take it one level higher — like “Todd vs God in a rap battle at CERN” weird?