David Schroeder

Braggadocical faux-authenticist David Schroeder grapples with the paradoxicalistic synergisms confronting born-again carnivores with vegan sensibilities. Whilst his jihadberjack facial matting embodies dirtbaggery and his passport has been red-flagged, the umbrella in his foofy drink casts a curious shadow of mountrosexuality across his wine- and cider-crusted lips. Look for him in the ditch, wasabi-stained napkins for a pillow, along the dirty road to Boulder Norte.