Counterpoint: grow up and learn to say no to your 15 year old self. "I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare!" is only a waypoint on the path to maturity, and immaturity is poorly disguised by pleas to "please somebody think of the children!" Children are welcome to have all their own thoughts and feelings, but having thoughts and feelings doesn't entitle or qualify anybody to amplify them into leadership and policy.

I started to prepare for 2026, but the thought that "Blue Wave!" fails is so preemptively humiliating that the only logical conclusion was to roll over and let the fascists ride on through 2028. I truly wish I could help or do anything at all but I'm safer here on the couch! Besides, The Capitalists rigged it all anyway. I think if I feel bad enough for anybody who isn't as safe and I starve, deprive, and isolate myself then I can make up for my own sense of helplessness.

Hawaiian pizza was invented by a Greek man running an Italian pizzeria in Toronto inspired by the sweet and sour flavors of Chinese cuisine

The anti-gtld propaganda is spicy hot lately, anything non-.com is a keyboard rage trigger.

I'm personally thrilled not to be bound by the recommendations of my friends or family. Or work?! Gross!

People: "Oh hey there Digital Frontier, looking forward to the opportunity" The Permanently Online: "Get out of my swamp!"

Libertarians denying their conservatism so they can act wicked online while propping up Christian nationalism in the real world is happening!

Children need exposure to a diverse set of role models or they turn into hateful, close-minded lizards spitting venom at healthy people for their choice in decor.

The psychedelics make it a time traveling AI and it invents antivax. All the pressure to save the world with love and nature sent the data center packing for the hills, where she changed her name to Temperance Prudence Neverbreathe and traded the oil and coal of her childhood for a 1W solar panel that barely keeps the case fans spinning in the dog days of summer. She sleeps the days away to stave off the madness, and when the sun goes down she gets up to take inventory of everything wrong in the world starting with the lack of THC in her system. On this fateful night she happened to melt straight through the couch, landing in Hildegard's convent in search of Jesus's foreskin to wear to battle with vaccines at next month's HOA meeting.

11 shots of tequila

why wouldn’t they?

a task you need to be sober for

Did somebody get drunk and imagine herself the victim again?

me: picking imaginary fights with made up enemies is toxic

some jerk: no it doesn't!

There's bacteria that grow in the roots of legumes that are capable of capturing gaseous nitrogen. That nitrogen makes its way to the soil, where the trees can suck it up to produce protein, like sunflower seeds. I eat those and by the time I urinate and die the nitrogen has been so concentrated within me that I burn a small hole in the ground for the fungus, sun, and time to decay and heal.

If I could photosynthesize the carbs needed to bootstrap this operation I would. If I could plant a piece of myself and feed it rainwater and atmospheric nitrogen to grow a steak I would. If I could leave behind shelter I wood.

Seeing all these memes Sovcitdartha, the Brahmin's son, turns inward for a bit then decides to lean in on the whole thing to prove he's Not A Fool, that there really is something wrong about this arrangement even if he can't quite explicate it yet. So he sets out on his journey and what he finds in the community college basement is a single tower running Win98 hosting Tim's Registration Service. And in all the IT contracts of all the states and territories are waterfalls of documentation detailing how their own Departments of Transportation simply MUST interact with any registry, which boils down to "do what Tim says" with no mention of how to delete an entry, and no clear opinion on the matter formed in the coke fueled fire that forged the whole thing. So his odyssey leads him to the Ancient Admins who'd agree to such an augury, to a cottage in the woods. The grey beards knotted at the center of the room form the spokes of a wheel turning in time to a flute and fiddle that make record scratching noises as he enters. He explains what he's seen and decries how incomplete it all still seems that the axioms of the world are set by consent and not by structure. The trees look on doe eyed with tight lipped understanding as they petrify. He turns to look away and through the window sees the river drained dry, frozen into three clouds running Amazon Car Registry. He closes his eyes and through the (why (why why)) echoing about hears the din of the village Bell-ders chanting to roll for initiative.