Shit was real back then

After doing a lot of historical research, I wrote a anthropological poem for Hobart. It starts out:

When my friend is upset because someone posted
about them on the internet in a way they aren’t
sure is ironic, it makes me wish I wish I lived in
olden times. Shit was real back then.
If you were stressed out it was because one of your
limbs had been gnawed off by forest beasts
or your crops had been blighted to dry twigs
by the pond god. You know what I mean, man?

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