
Sign up to save your podcasts
Or


If grief had its own voicemail, this would be it. Three minutes of chaos, comedy, and catharsis for anyone one missed payment away from a meltdown. Maile turns her exhaustion into performance art, telling capitalism to hold please—God’s still buffering.
Short. Savage. Spiritually delinquent.
By Maile NavarroIf grief had its own voicemail, this would be it. Three minutes of chaos, comedy, and catharsis for anyone one missed payment away from a meltdown. Maile turns her exhaustion into performance art, telling capitalism to hold please—God’s still buffering.
Short. Savage. Spiritually delinquent.