As you probably know, Burtman is about getting out of the rat race and becoming self-sufficient. It's about sticking one to crusty billionaires whose time really should have come, and clawing back personal freedom and joy. And more than that, it's about talking bollocks on the internet.

As a creative type lad, I'm always trying and designing new things, and I recently started sharing a lot of that, which I thought was nice.
It wasn't nice, though; it was confusing. And people told me so.
What was the actual purpose of the website?
What was I trying to achieve?
I couldn't answer those questions clearly.

Now, I've figured it out.
And it's not what I thought.

It's supposed to be a place where my experiences come together, and people get inspired to design and build.
But with stories.
Stories that show you the fun you can have once you've done all the work, and you're out on the road, in your new camper.

But the internet was mean to me.

For all the work I put in, nobody gave a gnat's ballsack about any of it.
They just comment on my humor. Funny stories. Funny articles. Funny poems.

So I decided to rethink it.

The Real Burtman Is A Sarky Bastard

With that in mind, I've tucked away all my sentimental, artistic and self-development shite, where only people who actually want to read it can find it, and the rest of my 2.7 trillion visitors will now only see the van articles and a meager scattering of travel-related content, and the sarky side of the pillow, it will be. Sure, sure, I'll still be making epic articles and sharing true stories from my adventures on the road, but you'll have to cover gran's ears, lest she start casual-cunting in front of the kids. I'm a sarky bastard, and from now on, I'm owning it.

And just so you know, this was all Burtmanwoman's idea.