Speaking of Australatina, we've seen how Phil thinks of it as an anonymous place of almost cultureless people.
What really matters to him are the road signs. And bike routes.
I think that's one of the great tragedies of Phil's life.
Looking at Australatina, you can't help but imagine what Phil's life could have been like, had he not discovered anime, porn, and communism, and went on a lifelong downward spiral of angry teenage edginess and self-destructive behavior.
Phil loved road signs and bike routes. Absolutely
loved them. There aren't many people like that. Traffic autists are few and far between.
But the thing is, traffic autists
can have fulfilling personal and professional lives! The designing, making, and placement of roadways and traffic signs is a service that everyone on Earth
needs, but hardly anyone
actually wants to do. It's boring and tedious busiwork, and sane, neurotypical people won't do it if they have any other prospects at all. That means it's a perfect market niche for autists!
Phil could have gone to school, studied hard, and become some mild-mannered, Italian-American traffic sign functionary,
and there would have been nothing in the way to stop him. He'd still be fat and bald, but he might have a kid, drive a Honda, own a house or at least a condo, and have some nice office in Camden, NJ, where he gets to spend all day long deciding which road signs go where, and whether or not this particular stretch of rolling country hillside is suitable for a bike path.
He'd be happy.
Instead, his dreams of white picket fences and endless paperwork detailing speed limit proposals in the Greater Camden Area, died somewhere along the way; somewhere early, somewhere dark. Now instead of Town Council meetings on the weekday and church bake sales on the weekend, all Phil's got to show for his life is a missing dick, some cheese in his fridge, and a rapidly-dwindling supply of smelly Portlanders who haven't tried to beat him up yet.
It's a fucking tragedy, is what it is.
