The old man who chews food for me
Nightly.
I’ve tried everything to fall asleep over the years. Mindfulness. Prescription pills. Solo sexy time. But I’m a lifelong, chronic shit-snoozer with a certificate from the sleep clinic to prove it.
This time, though, I might have found a solution.
He goes by the name Morpheus ASMR, but most of his YouTube followers have christened him the ASMR Grandpa. They heap love and gush gratitude into his comment sections, many attributing their mended hearts and better lives to his healing powers. For real.
To the untrained ear, the man simply rambles about the weather and makes eating sounds. But to me, he’s my mesmerising Mr. Sandman, and the dreamiest old man I’ve ever invited into my bed.
Morpheus has been eating food into a microphone for just over four years. Be it supersized burger meals, takeout chicken ‘n ribs, or his homemade meatloaf—every dramatic bag crinkle, every divine crunch, every moving mastication, and every climatic swallow has me head-to-toe in heavenly ASMR tingles.
And I’m only one of 1.2 million subscribers who swoon at every YouTube video he posts (there are over 600). Check out Morpheus here, eating Chinese takeaway while telling us about his hot water heater. It’s glorious:
Like the genetic love-hate taste for cilantro, only some of us are affected by Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. Very simply, ASMR is the tingling feeling that flows through our bodies when we hear certain sounds. I had it at a young age—my eyelids drooped and my hair itched every time a kid near me chewed gum. I just didn’t have a name for it at the time.
Everyone differs in what stimuli set their tingles in motion; just ride the rabbit-hole down YouTube and you’ll find hundreds of weirdos dubbing themselves “ASMR Artists” whispering, tapping objects, and stroking microphones. My high-rotation viewing includes people role-playing barbers (snip buzz), makeup artists (click, brush), and hospital staff (no words).
But nothing gives me goosebumps like that older dude eating stuff.
Sometimes his art form is simply called “ASMR Eating”. Sometimes it’s known as “Mukbang”. I call it my sleepy-time meditation.
The sensory overload that washes over me when Morpheus bites, say, a Filet-O-Fish, is like a warm electric massage blanket, if that even exists. My scalp quivers, my eyes close, and I momentarily go to another place. If this sounds like some sort of strange sexual continence, it’s not. I’m hardly describing an alternative to orgasms here, although my partner gets creeped out watching me in bed, grinning and exhaling soft ohhhh yeahs to myself.
Morpheus might be a master at his craft. Or maybe he’s just a guy who talks about Boston traffic while shoving things in his cakehole. You be the judge. Here is his most popular video, in which he eats mochi ice cream for the first time (spoiler alert: he can’t pronounce the word mochi, and it’s the greatest):
I recently took a whole day trying to dig up more info on this guy. I found a couple of things, taking clues from his banter and mapping out the restaurants he frequents.
His name is Tom Clery, and he lives alone in Melrose, Massachusetts. His apartment location is a decent driving distance to his food favourites; state-specific places I’ve never heard of, but am dying to try, like Kelly’s Roast Beef and Dom’s Sausage (the official supplier of “Steak Tips” to the New England Patriots).
I even tracked down his landline and called and called it, only to leave a series of messages on a mechanical answering machine: Tom I’m a big fan…Tom I just want to ask you a question…Tom I’m doing an article for a newspaper…nothing.
Then, one day when the phone bill arrived with long distance charges to only one number…I was questioned by my better-half. I knew I’d gone too far. Suddenly it was like Moonstruck Cher just slapped me to snap out of it.
Today, I’m just happy to have Morpheus on my laptop when I need relaxation. I sit in bed pretending to read until my partner drifts asleep, softly girl-snoring away. I put on my headphones, nestle into my pillow, and listen to the sounds of ice rattling in his glass, styrofoam containers groan, and the first, moist, dripping bite of beef dip enter his maw.
And wait for the tingles to arrive.
I need to try this