Here's the thing about being a mad bastard: you can always recognize another one. On some instinctual, primordial, reptilian, old-brain level, you can spot someone else who's mad as a March Hare. Justin Karcher is out of his mind. In a good way. The best kind of way. In the poetic sense of someone who's veins are on fire with passion and prose. The words are exploding out of this man and we're all lucky enough to be on the other end of it.
