I’m Locked in My Neighbor’s Basement and Can’t Leave Till You Subscribe to This Kid’s Substack

Admittedly, it was a fairly decent plan: If you can’t get the subscriber base you want, forcibly pawn the responsibility onto an able-bodied, well-followed adult. And, this kind of planning should really be put into consideration when you think about subscribing to my neighbors’ kid’s Substack. He’s a planner, a thinker, a modern revolutionary.

Sure, his plan somewhat hinged on getting the Mom next door, with lots of followers, to come over and use said following to earn new subscribers to his Substack that is, regrettably, mostly reviews for Jack in the Box secret menu items, and rants about some girl named Zella. Unfortunately, my wife was busy, so here we are.

Here I am.

Asking you to subscribe to his Substack so that I may be set free from his dank, dark basement.

You’re probably wondering, “Why’d you go down there?” or “Why’d you let the kid push you down the stairs?” or even, “Why’d you let him throw his laptop at you like a groveling caged baboon while yelling about unrequited love and a lack of subscription volume.” All valid questions, and truthfully, I can’t say why I ended up down here. Partly, I didn’t have a choice — the whole door slamming, stair pushing, light’s turned off, airborne laptop to the forehead, thing. That, and I’d heard Dave, my neighbor and this kid’s dad, had an original 70mm of Goodfellas down here, and I just had to see it.

But let me ask you this in return: Is $4.99 really too much to spend on freedom (of speech)? Hasn’t your literary tastes been missing an essential frame in the proverbial (and non-existent) Goodfellas film reel that is your Substack subscriptions? That void could be filled by posts like Why she doesn’t deserve love, and Loneliness is an all consuming virus, or, of course, Taco Bell’s Nacho Cheese Fries are doin things to me! Imagine it as a small badge of honor — a symbol of hope — knowing you were one of the 2,000 paid subscribing heroes that extricated me from this cul-de-sac-ean prison.

Sure, the content is uninspired. And, yes, there’s a case to be made that most of the posts made after November of last year could be labeled as slander against this Zella person. But instead of focusing on that, focus on the joy you’ll feel, as you enrich your senses with new content! Something akin to creating life or freeing those caged chimps at the zoo. Something like subscribing to Hunter’s Hellscape Substack! Go ahead, hit this subscribe button. I’ll leave you to it.

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Did you hit it? I hope so, because Dave just got home, and that hasn’t progressed the way I’d hoped. I thought the kid would tell Dave what he’d done, and Dave, being the cocky bitch that he is, would open that basement door, his broad shoulders and expensive shoes backlit by the Restoration Hardware fixture at the top of the stairs. He’d stride down, taking each rung at half speed, maybe doing that slow clap thing b-rate villains do in c-rate comedies. I’d be wearing one of those burlap sacks over ripped burlap pants, chained to the radiator with those prison cuffs from Pirate of the Caribbean, for effect (and subscription sympathy). Dave would crouch down in front of me, see the full beard I’d grown in just four hours, and say, “Let’s get you home… neighbor”. It’s demeaning, but Dave would totally say it, I assure you.

That’s not what happened, though.  So, due to the lack of time and Lenovo battery that I have, let me also tell you about how great Hunter’s weekly Newsletters are. Who could resist the opportunity to get an intellectually challenging and enthralling weekly blend of Hunter’s favorite journalistic interests, including (but not limited to) reviews of the latest Marvel movies, a fun salmon recipe that Dave made last week (classic Dave), and, of course, Hunter’s attempts at creating cartoon character erotica.

Now, while that may not all be of interest to you, let me ask this: is my freedom of interest to you? Couldn’t the modern MCU be used as a metaphor for my ability to leave the past in the past, forgive this kid, post-subscription freedom, and move on. Maybe Dave’s delicious boiled gochujang salmon masterpiece is much like your eyes, darting towards the orange Subscribe button, gluttonous for something new and exotic. Maybe you too have wondered, ‘What would it be like for the Charmin and Care Bears to have an orgy?’

I can hear you hitting that button from here, in the darkness of this concrete-floored basement. Have I mentioned that it’s quite musky down here? There’s a drain on the floor that clearly needs to be snaked, and the pleather couches and piles of required middle school reading all smell of 2000’s era mildew. Anyway, smash that button for those incredible updates you’ve so desired, and, you know, for my chance at seeing my wife again.

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I’m going to assume you did it this time, because as previously mentioned, when Dave found out about what his kid was up to, he only laughed. He didn’t come to open the door and release me from my human bonds. He didn’t reprimand the kid. He didn’t yell down to me, saying “ain’t kids funny these days!” I think I may have heard him congratulate the kid? For what?! Follow-through? Hostage success?

Listen, I get it, you don’t follow my Substack for this kind of cross-collaboration. You probably opened this in hopes that you’d find another weekly review of the Criterion’s top 100, or my thoughts on this year’s Oscars. But, if there’s enough space for us cinephiles to enjoy peak cinema, then there’s room in the budget for one more monthly subscription that you’ll inevitably forget to cancel. That and I think I heard Dave say he’s going next door to “chat” with my wife, so clock’s tickin’ here.

At this point, I think I’ve laid out a pretty good case for why you should subscribe. But, if you needed one last push over the metaphorical edge of the basement stairs, I’ll leave you with this.

You, my reader, follow so many creators on this platform. Inspiring authors, working through story ideas and cultivating an audience of like-minded thinkers. Filmmakers creating conceptual documentaries about the wars in the Ukraine and Palestine, posting weekly updates and taking you inside their dangerous yet important process. Chefs sending out new recipes or working moms, building a community and giving helpful tips. Why can’t Hunter’s breakup stories, fast food reviews, and works of erotic Charlie Brown art be a part of that? Shouldn’t we be championing the next generation of creators, thinkers, and artists? Shouldn’t we be asking ourselves, who deserves a chance to have their voice heard? This kid, who locked me down here, that’s who!

So, I ask you reader, if you had only one vote to cast with your $4.99 Substack subscriptions, make it Hunter’s Hellscape Substack: an intersection of food, culture, thought pieces on relationships, and tasteful renderings of Porky Pig giving it to Peppa Pig’s Mom.

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