How Thoreau Might Have Behaved on ChatRoulette

Reading your own work as writer is like masturbating, though for him it was a little less messy, a little less fulfilling, a little more obvious. He wondered if this was how the greats might have felt, if there was some sort of singularity between the writing experiences of all writers. Then, he drifted through them, inhabiting their flesh, reading their words, metaphysical sticking his hands down their (and his) metaphysical pants and underpants.

It was all very odd, strange indeed.