Citation Needed - Matthew Buchinger

Episode Date: August 26, 2026

Matthias Buchinger (German: [maˈtiːas ˈbʊxɪŋɐ]; June 2, 1674 – January 17, 1740), sometimes called Matthew Buckinger in English, was a German artist, magician, calligrapher, and performer who was born without hands or feet and was 2 ft 5 in (74 cm) tall.[1] Buchinger was especially noted for his micrography, in which illustrations consist of very small text.[2][3]

Hello and welcome the citation needed, the podcast where we choose a subject, read a single article about on Wikipedia and pretend we're experts because this is the internet and that's how it works now. I'm Noah and I'm going to be hosting this week, but I take no responsibility for the subject matter whatsoever. I want to take a very hands-off approach to this episode. So don't worry, my co-host, Heath, Eli, and Cecil are ready to wait on your hand and foot. Okay, no substitutions. The menu is a list of things we have. Just name them. nobody else is saying anything yeah right now I noticed I noticed I know I always yeah all right so before I we get started I want to remind everybody that based on that introduction alone it's clearly only more a matter of time before I get canceled I see I

originally wrote we get his yeah it's you nobody else volunteered but if you'd like to help fund my early force retirement be sure to stick around to the end of the show and with that out of the way tell us Cecil what person plays thing, concept phenomenon, or event are we going to be talking about today? I'm only guessing out how to say the name, Matthew Bushinger. That's right. Okay. And Eli, you fingered through the article.

Are you ready to tell us what's a foot? Indeed, I am, Noah. All right. So, unless we get up on the wrong foot, I'm going to hand things off to you, who is Matthew Bushinger. Get them all out at the top. I know I really didn't, Eli. It's nothing but that the whole way.

I have a bit of a reputation. Sorry, I see so. If it's all you give him, he can't edit it. There's nothing I could do about it. His hands are tied. Don't worry, I'll tow the line, I promise. I have a bit of a reputation on our radio program for exaggeration, for allowing the facts to slip through the cracks.

Well, today, I have the story of a man so extraordinary that I fear once again I shall be accused of pants of flame. But if a flame they are, do not look to blame me, for I'll be telling the tale of Matthew Bushinger be the words of magician and historian Ricky Jay, as today's essay is a selection from his incredible book, Lernid Pigs and Fireproof Women. Boo, Eli, read a book, and licensed author, boo.

To be fair, I didn't read the book. I just found this. In the early 18th century, Matthew Bersinger, sometimes Buckinger, was one of the best known performers in the world. He played more than half a dozen musical instruments, some of his own invention,

and danced the hornpipe. He amazed audiences with his skills at conjuring. He was a marksman with a pistol and demonstrated trick shots at nine pins. He was a fine penman. He drew portraits, landscapes, and coats of arms, and displayed remarkable, Calligraphic skills.

Oh, Andy was a calligrapher. This just keeps getting more exciting. Surely he could be considered one of the most versatile of all entertainers. His accomplishments seem even more impressive when we realize he never grew taller than 29 inches, that he displayed these and many additional skills, though lacking feet, size, or arms, surely makes him one of the most remarkable men who ever lived. Pretty badass. Bookinger was, according to Coughfield's portraits, memoirs, and characters of remarkable persons, quote,

little more than the trunk of a man saving two fin-like excretions growing from his shoulder blades, resembling more the fins of a fish than the arms of a man. He could, however, combine his fins to grasp the objects which he so ably manipulated. Okay, so like lots of showing up in people's houses being like, yeah, I'm Matt, asshole, moving on. What are you, ate? Jesus Christ, that he possessed one fully operative appendage is verified by a prodigious supply of offspring. I wasn't thinking about his dick. What? I was.

Bouchinger proudly listed in the short autobiographical sketches that often accompany in his artworks, four wives who bore respectively one, three, six, and one children. Although Calfield listed the year of Bouchinger's death is 1722, he probably survived until at least 1740 and fathered three additional children bringing the total to 14. Might have just been easier to learn to draw with that, you know what I mean?

The marksmanship is even more impressive now, right? Trigger one. Born Matthias, he used in a Matthew. Born Matthias, he used the name Matthew in Great Britain on June 2nd or 3rd in 1674.

Original drawings in his own hand give him both dates. His own hand, really, man. In Germany at Ansbach, he was the last of nine children, and then they fucking stopped having children. Proud that as a youngster, he was not exhibited as an attraction,

Bouganger was allowed instead to enjoy the benefits of an education and the time necessary to practice his unusual skills. When his parents died, he began his career as a performer. The first accounts of his shows were recorded in 1709 in Nuremberg, Ausberg, Strugeert, and Zurich. A calligraphic document requesting permission to obtain a booth at the Nuremberg New Year's Festival was drawn by Bukinger on December 19th of 1708.

A contemporary account of the quote, Wonderful Little Man of Nuremberg can be found in a fascinating manuscript, a short history of human prodigies and monstrous births of dwarfs, of dwarfs, sleepers, giants, strongmen, hermaphrodites, numerous births and extreme old age, etc. I bet he did roll his eyes a little bit at a short history, though. Its author was James Paris de Plecet, a servant of Samuel Pepys. For many years, Paris Witness described and sketched the peculiar characters he encountered.

The result was a book of more than 300 pages, which included 54 hand-colored drawings of strongmen, giants, dwarfs, fire eaters, Siamese, twins, frog, face children and horned women. Particularly fascinating was a two-part before and after series of sketches of a hermaphrodite, which detailed the showperson's method of exhibition via a trapdoor

in its clothing, which lifted to allow viewers scrutiny. The Paris manuscript was apparently the source of an oft-coded story about Bukinger. Quote, he had a great deal of money, but his last wife, Paris lists but two, was a very perverse woman who would spend all his money very

prodigily and luxuriously in eating, drinking, and clothes, and would not permit him to eat or drink, as she did, and beat him cruelly, which he had borne patiently. But one day, she having beat him before company, that so provoked him, that he flew at her with such force that he threw her down, and getting upon her belly and breast, and did so beat her with his stumps, that he almost killed her, threatening to beat her in the same manner if she ever did so anymore. And she became after a very dutiful and loving wife. end quote. Couples therapy was so different back then guys.

Really different. Just spinning a pistol around his dick. Oh, yeah, no, sorry, Dr. Glober. I feel like I want a side tackle. Because she's a bitch. Yeah, I was just thinking, though, that this story needed a little bit of spousal abuse to really complete that comedy poison trifecta.

I appreciate it there. You've got to picture it. No. If you picture it and you still don't think it's funny, then I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. Paris drew Bookinger in a gaudy Raymond with a fashionable wig,

quote, which he combed, oiled, and powdered very well. And a plummet hat of the kind we are accustomed to see on a pirate captain. This unique manuscript was sold by the author, then destitute in old age, to Sir Hans Sloan,

doctor, collector, and founder of the British Museum for one guinea. Possibly the least problematic piece in that museum. at least in terms of providence for sure. Also, in Sloan's collection at the museum

is a handbill for a performance of Bukinger's at the quote, corner house of Great Suffolk Street near Charing Cross. There, the little man, exhibited his skills at 5 and 7 o'clock for the fees of one shilling for the four seats and sixpence in the back.

Dude, you got to do platinum night. The keys in 1728, Bukinger showed at a room next door at the two Blackmore's heads in Holburn near Southampton, exactly at the hours of 10, 12, 2, 4, 6, and 8, which will be punctually observed that no person may lose any time. This schedule was too exhausting, for even so remarkable a fellow who never seems to have exhibited

with such alarming frequency ever again. Okay, shooting guns with his dick, I get. I see how that's entertaining, but what the fuck else does he do it? He's drawn calligraphy while people look from the fucking take bets on on what he's going for from the back row? Jesus. It's like a Trump rally in that lady drawing Trump Jesus. Yeah, right.

Bukinger pleased the royalty and nobility. And end of the year advertisement in the Daily Post announced appearances before three emperors and most of the kings and princesses of Europe, including Leopold the First, Joseph the First, and Carl the 6th. He was particularly proud to have obtained the favor of King George I, England on several occasions. Robert Harley, the Earl of Oxford, was also a patron, and a number of Bouginger's pieces are preserved in the Harleian collection at the British Library. According to a biographical dictionary of actors, actresses, and musicians, dancers, managers, and other stage personnel in London, 60 to 1800, Edward Joffrey observed Bougangers finishing a self-portrait six by four inches,

in which, quote, instead of shades for the curls of his hair, are psalms written in different characters, which at some distance looked like shades done with a hair pencil. The size, as well as the style and execution of Bukinger's work, are worthy of approbation. In many examples, the text cannot be read even by those of keenest eyesight without scientific aid. One such drawing, now in the author's collection, done in brown ink on vellum at Bath in 1717, is probably the same piece mentioned by Edward Wood in giants and dwarfs, London 1868. Quote,

In Mr. Philhamham's collection was a beautiful specimen of Bouchinger's calligraphy, being the Lord's Prayer, the Ten Commandments, Creed, and many other things in very minute writing, within an architectural design, end quote. The survival of such ephemeral sheets over nearly

300 years is further testimony to Bouginger's prowess. Samples exist in many museums and private collections in England, Scotland, Germany, and the United States. Examples of minute writing have the long been recorded. Cicero claims to have seen the Iliad in a

nutshell and Peter Biales a celebrated Elizabethan a celebrated Elizabethan a calligrapher lettered the entire Bible quote, in a walnut shell no bigger than a hen's egg. Oh, okay. So not like a gigantic walnut shell the size of an elephant.

It's like a walnut sized walnut shell. If anybody gets adding that it's you, Heath, right? Like, you would be the one guy who would find this elephant-sized walnut shell and go, you know what? Anything that contains a walnut is a walnut. These scribes, of course, had the benefit of conventional digits, hands and arms with which to produce their Lilliputian work. Yeah, I see why this show was only getting six pence for the balcony, though, yeah. Although Bukinger for a time supported his family comfortably via his exhibitions and a sale of

his wide variety of artworks. He produced ornate fans, coats of arms, and perhaps one of the earliest known Valentine's as a gift for one of his daughters. He was later, he faced financial troubles. The problems for Bouginger were the same as for many contemporary showmen. In petitioning

for money, he explained, quote, his wonderful arts no longer a novelty, having shewed them throughout all the kingdom. But your petitioner's expenses and great changes in traveling and keeping servants, who must support the entertainment with music and other employees, eats out, washes, and consumes much the greater part of the profit.

So that now your petitioner despairs of getting any more, end quote. All right. Well, I'm as curious as the next guy. What's going to happen when his creditors show up with the intention of cutting him off at the knees? But first, a quick break for a little apropos of nothing. Hi, Matithew. It's Matthew. Matthew.

Matthew. So fun. Anyways, I'm Karen. I'll be your employment placement representation ally here at Tampa Stop. Why don't we begin with you telling me about your current employment gap? Oh, I was like a performer, I guess, but it seems like people are less interested these days with the performance. Hampton, can I interrupt? Yeah, yeah, sure.

Do you see this ceramic hat on my desk? Yeah. He's holding a little sign. You see how little sign? Do you see what it says? Yeah. Yeah, it says it's all about attitude. That's exactly right, Santhu.

It's not people are less interested these days. We just need to reassess what you're representing to your market. Right. It's just that people are literally buying less tickets to a show. Can I interrupt you while you talk? Is that okay? You can just talk. I think the biggest difference maker for you in this process is going to be

Catitude is a cat's exactly right Now, how about a job at a massage parlor? I don't have arms. And? And I can't massage people because of that. Okay, well, this is going to be a lot harder than I thought, Karshu. Matthew. And we're back when we last left off.

Our hero needed a new direction, but he was a bit stumped. So, Eli, where does he go next? Jesus Christ. Perhaps hoping to attract new audiences, Bukinger constantly varied his repertoire. His act constituted of playing musical instruments, not in the matter of general amateurs, but said Cawfield in the style of a finished master. He performed on a Bavarian folk instrument called the Hakebret, the dulcimer, trumpet, bagpipe, guitar, drum, kettle drum, flute,

and strange flute, thought to be the German transverse flute, which he tried to combine mechanically with the violin as a separate instrument. I have so many questions, right? He shaved himself. That's why they're called an epholes, right? Right? He shaved himself. He shaved himself, threaded a needle, ground corn into flour, and carve figures in wood.

Okay. See, that's why you don't ask the audience for ideas. Sorry, you want me to grind corn into flat? Is that what somebody said? All right. This is going to be a while. Hey. Does anybody have corn?

Do you have corn with you? Do you have a grinding implement with you? Is there a brinder? All right. Some kind? Paris witnessed the quote, little man cut paper in several curious shapes, forms and figures.

Load and discharge a pistol and never did fail of hitting the mark. He darted a sword at a mark at a great distance. Puginger was also an expert gamesman and was proficient at shuffleboard and Rony Pony. No one's biting on that one, Eli. You can just keep going. Come on.

Just keep reading. No. Well, most experienced gamester or juggler obtained the least advantage of any tricks or games with cards or dice, end quote.

Okay. All right. I'm not trying to be a dick. I would have obtained an advantage. Like, for sure. Like, there's all different ways I would have obtained an advantage. I'm just saying.

Are jugglers supposed to be good at card games? Because I saw it. Yeah, apparently. It was at, Skittles or nine pins, a popular precursor to bowling that we have the most complete account of his exhibition. On February 20th of 1730, the artist Peter Tileman's sent an account of Bukingard's performance to Reverend Cox Marco. Quote, Sir, in obedience with your commands, I went last night in the company with my friend, Mr. Ram, to see the wonderful little man. And in closed, I send you

a specimen of his performance, and the pen he wrote with. While we were there, he plays on a guitar and hot boy, both of his own working, as well as his invention, sounds the trumpet and would have danced but for a violent cold. He gave us a touch of cup and balls and tipped nine pins all sorts of ways. He has a piece of writing that contains the decalogue, about eight inches long and four broad, with a glass and frame, which I think very curious. The purchase is but half a guinea. You didn't say he was Italian. And I am sure you will be very much pleased with the surprising neatness of it. If you approve of it, I will send it down. And a quote. Tillman's made sketches during the exhibition. These showed the settings for the little man's

instruments. The way he held pen for writing, the diagrams of his trick, Skittle shots. Long thought lost these drawings are in the manuscript collections of the British Library. Four Skittle shots were sketched and described hitting specific pins while avoiding others, striking designated pins while passing the ball through a maze of lit candles, two variations, and knocking down pins which a glass of liquor was balanced on without spilling a drop. Bouginger's own rather modest assessment of these accomplishments was that he, quote,

plays skittles or nine pins to a great nicety, end quote. All right, but if it's just him rolling down the alley, that doesn't count. I just want to be clear. Okay, I got to be honest, I would go to this guy's show. Like, except for the, like, corn into flour or the, like, churning butter out of cream or whatever.

But a bunch of his other stuff is pretty cool. You do like trick shot? I need you to pick up. Before you say such a stupid fucking thing, I need to picture this guy coming out he's 29 inches tall and he's like, now I'm gonna ground

turn on the fire. You're not watching? You're not watching? Oh, okay, you're objecting to like my exception. Yeah, no, I would, I'd stay for the flower thing too. I'm watching. I'm watching whatever he fucking does. How's he gonna do it? How's he gonna fucking do it? I wouldn't stay if it's the encore, but I would stay if it's the regular show.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Perhaps even more impressive were his attainments as a conjurer. Yeah, no, he excelled at the nothing up this sleep bet, for example. And all his skills, practice, and dedication were important. In magic, he was required not only to learn the techniques of sleight of hand, but to master the physical and psychological principles of deception. His handicap would seem to make this impossible. For example, the skill necessary to make small cork balls appear, vanish, and multiply

under various cups is considerable. As Bukinger needed both of his small appendages to move, each cup, he could hardly misdirect the attention of the audience to one cup while surreptitiously introducing the ball under another. Consequently, he was first trick words. I know, right? Fucking Roo-Jing him in all over here. Fucking ruined it for me. Consequently, he was forced to invent techniques, which would accomplish his goals. The whole art of ledgerment, to which are added several tricks of cups and balls, etc. As performed by the little man without hands or feet. A rare pamphlet, most likely first published in the 1730s, described Bukinger's methods.

An ingenious mechanical device which enabled him to produce or vanish balls without the use of digital manipulation. Oh, he outsourced it. That doesn't count. Yeah. Additionally, by switching the three cups using the routine for three others kept in his bag, Bukinger managed to produce a startling finale, the appearance of ears of corn, a large orange, and even a live bird from the supposedly empty cups. Okay. So, Eli, when you first read about this guy, how did it make you feel as, you know, like an appendaged magician who does mostly Facebook stalking based tricks? Lucky. You felt like lucky. I felt lucky.

This guy's like an innovator. Yeah. Ironically, Livinger survives even today in one of the strangest terms ever recorded in a slang dictionary. In Richard and Spears' slang and euphemism, New York, 1981, appears the entry, Buckinger's Boot, the female genitals. From a tale about a man named Matthew Buckinger, British 1700s to 1800s, the first appearance of this peculiar phrase seems to be the second edition of Frederick Gross's classical dictionary of the Volgaert Tong, published in London of 1788, which reads, quote, Buckingard's Boot, the monosyllable. Matthew Buckinger was born without hands and legs, notwithstanding which he drew coats of arms very neatly

and could write the Lord's Prayer within the compass of a shilling. He was married to a tall, handsome woman, and transverts the country, shoeing himself for money. Monosyllable, he elsewhere defines rather politely and delicately as a, quote, woman's commodity. In researching this book, there were many surprising discoveries, revelations, and unearthings. Perhaps none was as satisfying as solving the riddle of the oranges of Buckinger's boot, a riddle which is puzzled the foremost linguists and entomologists. Not entomologists. Oh, well, maybe insect people were puzzled. Exactly. Seck people are...

How did Matthew Buckinger become forever linked with that certain part of the female anatomy as he had no arms and legs? The only appendage on which he could put a boot was his appendage. Well, okay, so I feel like this was a slang term made up by people who couldn't find the clit, right? It's as hard as to find as the boot

of a man with no feet, right? Sure, yeah. That's my guess. It's like a Zen co-op. Yeah, right, right. Not willing to leave this marvelous little man on such a conspicuous note, I feel duty-bound to say for well by reproducing a wonderful

broadside from 1726. Concupicent? What the fuck does that mean? Like, poem Sex-related, right? Don't look it up now. He's literally... He's got it. Googling it right now.

Fuck, yeah. Tell me. Poem on Matthew. I think I got it right. Lustful, sensual, or eagerly desirous. Yeah. There you go. It describes a state of intense, powerful yearning

or an ardent longing for something or someone. Kind of cupiscent. What a great fucking word. Yeah. There you go. Poem on Matthew Buckinger, the greatest German living. See, gallants, wonder, and behold,

this German of imperfect mold. No feet, no legs, no thighs, no hands. Yet all that art can do commands. First thing he does, he makes a pen. Is that a wonder? Well, what then? Well, something more impressive than making a fucking pan.

Make cornflower. Why, then he writes and strikes a letter. No Elzevarian type is better. Told you I could work Elzevarian into my poem. Fixed. I get cut to concupiscent or whatever the fuck that was. What was just concupiscent, guys? Fixed.

in his stumps directs the quill with wondrous gravity and skill. Upward, downward, backward, forward, eastward, westward, southward, northward. Feels like you're really overselling how far this guy moves. Right, is he spelling out ye oldy Konami code here? In short, to every compass point. In short, really? Though shortened at the elbow joint, the foliage round it, he displays, does more our admiration rays.

For hair strokes to the eye, they turn that. for hairstrokes to the eye they pass and yet their letters through a glass thus he with double art can write at once to please and cheat the sight with his wife at cards he plays the trumps already played conveys into his stumps the stander's spy confess them quicker than the eye his wife exclaims but all in vain he plays them o'er and over again nay what is more when all is done they own the game is fairly won. No, I'm pretty sure they're just cheating at Bridge there. He says cheating. Clearly. Clearly, yeah. Also, hey, if the fifth stanza of your poem about my

greatness has to settle for, he's also really good at Jen Rummy. Don't write to fucking put, leave it to someone else that knows me better. Oh, man. He throws the dice as a careless down as any gamester in the town, and though the number cast

be three, two sixes you shall ever see, thus raffling with his wife he wins and every pleased spectator grins. Okay, well, if he's particularly good at rolling sixes, that's also cheating. This guy's a fucking cheat. Well, cheating.

All cross-legged he is at play, a compliment he can repay. His dulcimer he next attacks with nimble and melodious, wax. I don't think that's how you play that instrument. It's hard to reconcile the adjectives

nimble and melodious with the verb thwax. Wax. Nice. What are you cutting down a tree? What are you doing? You nimbly swacked that tree. You're not picturing it. The strings like birds with warbling throats send forth 10,000 blended notes,

though great the number all agree in well-concerted harmony. No sound can please the ear so much, no hand can have so sweet a touch, and yet you'd think twould be more become his thumps to thump a kettle drum. Again, okay, I'm not trying to be dick. Kettle drum is the least impressive instrument if you're putting on a no arms, no legs musical show. Like you can hit a drum with whatever.

Nobody cares. Your? Not. Xring. Oh, gosh. You're like the Simon Cowell of the panel. You're just throwing this guy off the stage. Get him out of here.

That ain't impressive. It's a note from me, Doug. I'm Randy also, too, apparently. The tricks he plays at Cups and Balls is wrong in any man who calls them slight of hand as he gives out. They're slight of stumps and are no doubt. No, it's slight, sly-g-h-t of hand.

Slight of hand. That makes sense. The nine pins quite surpass my muse. In vain his art, she there pursues, the wondrous wisdom of his bow, for surely it must have a soul. When one direction makes it go to this, to that, and to and fro,

trips up these pins and let those stand, observing Buckinger's command. Thus Homer made his javelins, fly and chose the men that were to die. Great sir. This is a long poem. Who are you casting as Homer? Great sir.

Of three foot high to raise to thee a monument of praise requires a lofty German strain, a noble and exalted vein. Wow, was not expecting a pro-ugenic stanza in a middle of this poem.

I kind of was if I'm being honest. No, she's not worthy, my poor muse. I cannot say to wipe your shoes, but had you shoes to wipe, I swear. It should be thine great buckingare. Come on. I know this woes too long, but I

couldn't cut. I literally sat here going, can I cut that? No. I can't. All stays. Great trunk of man, be not ashamed that nature has thy body maimed, in thee just emblem she would try the mighty force of Indistrii.

Indistri doesn't work. I'm sorry. What if Sartre to thy mind denied by art and care may be supplied, observe the moon, the stars, the sun, how constant throw their work they run. Among them all we cannot spy a hand or foot, a leg or thigh. You know who else doesn't have hands? The sun, exactly. Do you say the sun?

Do you hate the sun? Is that what you're saying? the oak could not the trophy bear till that the branches croppet wear nor would thy fame have been so greet that nature formed thee quite complete

you couldn't get a real rhyme for the last two lines right all right so Eli so sweet fame so sweet complete complete there you go that works and if you had to summarize what you learned in one

epic poem, what would it be? Keith wasn't picturing it. If he was picturing it, she would have been all the way. Some impressive stuff in there. But you're ruining dinner before. Except for the drums, because like, whatever, you know, drums, everybody can be that. Sure. The corn thing actually is

pretty cool now that you like describe it. I don't think that was in the show. Spin around it. And are you ready for the quiz? Like, Reck and Ball? Yeah. I like that he eventually learned to produce ears of corn as a magic trick. of that because he got forced to deal with it.

All right. Here's my question. What was the most popular song performed by Matthew Bukinger? A. Taco Bell's canon in D. Just a beautiful song. And you're a bigot for whatever you were thinking just now. All right.

I've got one for you, Eli. It's A. Yeah. Yeah. Yep. Yep. Of the following, which is a way that you have not pronounced this gentleman's last name?

today. I'm kidding. No, here's my real question. Why, Eli, have you now highlighted something like 14 different magicians on this show? A, you picked the cornerstone of your personality when you were eight years old and never looked back. B, we recently

asked you to start writing the same number of essays as everybody else and making us know about magicians as your revenge. C, you hope that you'll start a trend where each new generation of magicians will scrape the internet for obscure magicians to talk about in a sad bid for secular

immortality. Or D. It's like all the humanities. Right. Yeah. To rub in the fact that there are no remotely interesting jugglers to talk about anywhere in the vast expanse of history. Got to go with all of the above.

It is all of the above. I thought I thought I had you. Okay, Eli, what's the best brand of vaginal footwear? A. Merck and stock. Nice. Poon boot. C.

Tommy Hillfinger or D the J.J. Crew. The J.J. crew. I like a reach. I like a reach. There you go. That's the one. Or it isn't. Does it matter? Cecil wins anyway because his jokes were way better. It's Merck and stock. I'm sorry. You're our winner. Okay. I will choose Heath then.

All right. Well, for Heath, Cecil, Eli, and usually Tom, I'm Noah. Thank you for hanging out with us today. We're going to be back next week. And by then, Heath will be an expert on something. else. Between then and now you can pick a random podcast and I bet one of us is going to be on it. At least one and four chance. And if you like to help keep this show going, you can make a per episode donation to patreon.com

or leave a five-star review everywhere you can. And if you'd like to get in touch with us, check out past episodes. Connect with us on social media or check the show notes. Be sure to check out citation pod. Dot com. Piano teacher. No. No. That's cradle. Not even a job. Have fingers.

Okay.