As a younger man I did missionary work. Loved it. I still love the idea of it. But a sad part of growing up is sometimes good men have to know better. I broke my soles in on Guatemalan soil doing missionary work. Yes, it’s true. Three tours. Three weeks. Not much to give, but it was enough. On my first tour I was young, unenlightened. On my second, I was wrestling with what we used to call the Awakening Process. Pre TRS relics will know what this is, for the young and younger it’s a nicer way of saying “red pill.” My third trip was one of the last nails in the coffin and the permission slip I gave myself.
A word of warning; memes do not do the Third-World justice, and in this writeup I shall be honest. What you do with that honesty is in the purview of your own prerogative.