Once, cowgod was entrusted with the sacrosanct vocation of curating cinema at some obscure, ill-fated non-profit; a fiefdom of filmic esoterica where he believed himself a gatekeeper of high art. But even this anemic sinecure, this shadow of relevance, slipped through his fingers as sand through a sieve. Today, he vegetates, nursing his only remaining passion—his puerile obsession with the obsolete Sega 32x, a totem of obsolescence, much like himself. Day after day, he wallows in reverie, replaying the same defunct cartridges with the fervor of a high priest conducting a mass in an abandoned cathedral.

And then there’s his abortive flirtation with capitalism: an MBA! One imagines his fantasies of becoming some Sephardic Buffett or Soros, perched in his trailer, surrounded by empty cans of beans, scrolling through job listings he’ll never attain. The tragedy of it! Three years since his academic dalliance, three years marooned in inertia, flinging his resume into the void with the same desperation a drowning man flails his limbs in a storm-tossed sea.

His sisters—carnivalesque parodies of hybridity—gravitate towards men of African-American ancestry, seemingly as an unconscious counterpoint to Cowgod’s pallid failures. It is as though they are engaged in a defiant rite of self-assertion against their brother’s milksop inertia, merging bloodlines with vigor and energy where Cowgod can only produce entropy.

Oh, what a spectacle! A Sephardic castaway, shunned even by Fortune’s most indifferent graces, clutching to his Sega console as if it were some forlorn Ark of the Covenant—one that will, of course, never bestow the succor he seeks. Even the trailer seems to mock him, a corrugated iron sarcophagus, sealing him away from a world he long ago lost the ability to influence.

Cowgod: a revenant wandering the liminal wastes of the 32x, a moribund ruin of potential, a jest too obscene for even the most savage satirist to capture fully. Would that his resume were an incantation capable of conjuring even the merest whiff of gainful employment! Would that his days spent in Sega’s pixelated labyrinths could translate into a reality less sordid! But alas, there he sits, a forlorn relic amidst the refuse, waiting for a redemption that will never come.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5604092&forum_id=2).#48148258)