The origins of The Unemployed Philosophers Guild are shrouded in mystery… or maybe those are wine stains.
Early in the 4th century BCE, Socrates drank from one of our vessels. Although the UPG almost never endorses drinking poisonous hemlock, we made it look good.
Millennia passed. The Roman Empire. Attila the Hun. The Plague. Gingivitis. A couple witch hunts were in there. Kon-Tiki.
Finally, in the 1990s, two brothers in New York City’s Lower East Side inherited the mantle of the UPG at a time when a mantle was a difficult thing to pawn.
The Unemployed Philosophers Guild was reborn when these champions turned their advanced degrees, creativity, and love of paying rent toward noble ends: meeting the needs of the people for finger puppets of the great philosophers, transforming coffee mugs, and cracking up at stuff.
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