Datasets:

Eniamza

/

combined-raw

like 0

Part of growing up is realizing that relationships operate exactly like flash anime dating sims. The secret to women is that every interaction with them contains pop quizzes and the key to their heart is simply buying them 1000 of their favorite thing.

How come Russel Crowe doesn’t just go back to England and say he didn’t find a French ship? How come Russel Crowe doesn’t just run away from Rome and start a new family? How come Russel Crowe doesn’t just give up and let Hugh Jackman go? How come Russel Crowe-

Getting gunned down as a geriatric with early onset dementia in my childhood home by own father from when I was seven years old because I time traveled back trying to warn myself not to waste precious gigabytes of neuron pathways declaring “I will remember this” or memorizing the Peter Panda dance from Vin Diesel’s The Pacifier when it comes out in a few years, but instead just ending up frightened and confused.

Every few weeks, construction workers block off another street in my neighborhood. They put up their signs, work on it for a day or two, and then disappear, leaving the road closed indefinitely. A week or two passes and then another street gets blocked off, one by one. This city has been exponentially suffocating its populace with so many unfinished projects. Funneling every single vehicle towards an inevitable one dimensional entity, eventually crushed into singularity. No more traffic, no more traveling from point A to point B. Every location and individual is collapsed into one point, lacking all relativity, forced into a black hole through the entropy of encroaching construction signs. No dystopian media has ever truly encapsulated how powerful logistic incompetence can be as a tool of oppression, except for perhaps Terry Gilliam’s aptly named Brazil. The maze of tubes, pipes, and wires intruding into people’s homes and lives serving as a manifestation of the bureaucracy which imprisons and defines their lives. What makes it so terrifying is that in this scenario there is no Big Brother. Even the machinations of century planning bankers and special interest cabals only serve towards concrete goals. The great beast of Brazilification operates beyond human timescales. It lurks waiting like Mephistopheles, granting immense industrial power with a competency clause attached in fine print. The technology we harness and the infrastructure we depend on become like djinns, staring unblinkingly into society just waiting for one single fuckup, one single step backwards to erupt and destroy a localized transgression with collateral damage. Yesterdays potholes are today’s crashed airplanes are tomorrows Chernobyl’s.

Yeah, it’s called sprawling mansions.

Ehhh? What’s that Sonny??? You say there’s a coin season? Hold on just a minute let me see if I can pull out a couple bitcoin out so you can buy yourself a soda pop. Hello? Bing, pull up Mount Gox! Hello? Bing?

It’s 2027. There is a glass cube in my office with a pseudo holographic 3D display of classic RuneScape. You can swipe the glass to zoom in or change angles on the character. An AI bots the entire game to completion at a casual pace over the course of two years. For hours at a time it will log out and fake a “sleep” animation to avoid alerting Jagex. I do not interact with the game whatsoever aside from glancing occasionally or pulling up a generated summary of its activities if I’m curious. I have no intention of selling the gold or the account. It’s purely just there, grinding away on its own like my little digital pet in its terrarium. My little Runescaper, grinding away and making the numbers go up all on its own.

Imagine a movie about a guy being domestically abused by his wife and then one day he finds and eats a magic bean on the floor that suddenly transforms him into someone with three times the upper body strength of the average woman. It would then culminate toward a moment where she comes up to bully him again and then he stands up and clobbers her with a closed fist, just full force folding her in half with a swift uppercut into her sternum. Like really just beating the fuck out of her and instantly switching approximately 1 hour and 45 minutes of displayed cruelty into absolute terrified powerlessness. Then at the end, a talking cricket in a tuxedo and an old magical black janitor leaning on his broom both smile at the man and say the bean was never magic it was in him all along. The movie itself would be instantly blacklisted from theaters of course and universally panned by critics. But it would unironically be one of the most watched movies of all time. It would be a 21st century Birth of a Nation, captivating millions across the globe for decades. It would initiate round the clock news cycles of journalist pundits shaming all men for enjoying it, while online equivalents of the Hallmark channel or Lifetime movies get produced, cheap AI assisted content would be churned out. Every single video operating under the same basic plot premise: Woman is mean and hurtful to man, man has had enough, man beats the fuck out of the woman, woman is blown the fuck away by the power. It would be an entire era of Dragonball Z reverse domestic abuse retribution. I’m not saying it would be good or bad, I am saying that the first person to produce such media would be the D.W. Griffith of our time, lambasted by the industry, swarmed by the populace.

Every single setback, crisis, obstacle, and downfall becomes not only more tolerable but inevitably tantalizing in the repetition of experience. With enough frequency, an ongoing eternity of 9/11s exceeds into sheer constance, each occurring with more intensity than the last. You must become destruction, nuclear bombs detonating every yoctosecond, expanding into supernovas, quasars, cross-universe omnidimensional eruption. You must travel by way of explosion from one place to the next. The greatest death an ant can achieve is at the hands of that which can kill an entire civilization. The greatest death a human being can achieve is at the hands of that which can scar God. It is within maintaining such a state that one can understand pure velocity. To die and live through death is the pathway towards rupturing the fabric of time and collecting great treasure, only to ignore it in seeking further death. You must bathe in rivers of blood. You must set yourself on fire. You must know ultimate change. To change is to expose yourself to the unknown. This is a horror. To experience horror seamlessly, you must live without fear. This is only done through frequency of exposure. Understanding relative oscillation suggests this is the only way to move forward. The flat line of caution is relegated to the leftovers of consciousness, a queue for cattle and drones built in service of vanguards. Ours is the great magic trick theater of death and resurrection, a phoenix lifecycle done so quickly it resembles a strobe light of immolation. There is no delineation between a dream and a nightmare if your default response is maximum violence. I have become addicted to calmness in the face of absolute extinction. I will weather everything and continue regardless of circumstance. I will watch the sun die. “Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one’s body and mind are at peace, one should meditate upon being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords, being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire, being struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand-foot cliffs, dying of disease or committing seppuku at the death of one’s master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead”

*shlorp*

The @CharlotteFang77 account is secured, this is a legitimate post and you can trust this Twitter once again. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

The @CharlotteFang77 Twitter is hacked, do not interact with this address or this account. We are working towards resolving this.

If you see incidences of this account posting or DMing you, please do not interact or click any links. Feel free to DM me with screenshots. We apologize for the inconvenience and confusion.

Well, we have to end authorship for one. And speed up the AGI arms race, stop rationalism and world Redditry. We have to provide posting platforms and wealth for the NEETs, and oppose cult discrimination and promote incel rights, while also promoting illiteracy for foids. We have to encourage a return to traditional moral values. Most importantly, we have to promote general anonymity, and less edating in young people.

Shitcoin season feels like one giant game of Mario Party with every single person you know, except it’s minigames only.

Thank you @joeyroth for the AMA! We will be tweeting on official accounts regarding the airdrop, check out @0xDYAD for more information about this project.

*gently presses a cattle gun against your forehead*

It’d be really funny if God made him train martial arts in a silly ass tiny planet heaven as a joke. Anyway, RIP

We can't fight the miladys I'm sorry bro

Imagine if instead of Google, they named it Snoogle, but everything else played out exactly the same way. Don’t know something? Snoogle it. Don’t know where you are? Snoogle Maps. Need to save something? Snoogle Drive. What email do I use? I use SneeMail.

The funniest part about Dune 2 is that you can tell how hard Denis Villeneuve tried to convey without actually asking out loud to Christopher Walken, “Can you please not talk like Christopher Walken?”

- “harmless” Wrong. - “pleasing” Wrong. - “apolitical” Wrong. - “probably quite nice” Wrong. The litmus test on these girls is quite fascinating. You can really tell whose descendants are going to make it. Pro tip: people were right to want Elvis arrested.

The horse is a rotting corpse at this point, but there’s no less satisfaction in beating it than when it was still alive. Shaming women for their body counts is a fantastic way to improve society. It’s not only good, it’s the first step in solving almost every social problem. Let’s put aside the fact that a haggard old self prescribed lesbian has absolutely zero logical leverage in threatening whether men get laid or not, or the fundamental truth that women are absolutely not to be listened to regarding any advice whatsoever for what helps men get laid, find relationships, or anything at all regarding how to be man. The actual point of the matter is that getting laid in and of itself is neither difficult nor an achievement. It is in fact the most absolute basic function of existence, and if anyone actually classifies themselves as a truly involuntary celibate, they have either refused to take the utmost basic steps in self care, deliberate effort, and personal improvement OR they are the .1% of humanity that was born some kind of grotesque mutant abomination that should have the dignity to reject humanity entirely and pursue loftier abstractions such as mathematics or cleaning sewers. Getting laid is easy, disturbingly so. It’s a Chinese finger trap of numbers work if nothing else and the progressive adjustment of standards. Casual sex is held within the same level of difficulty, impression, and sophistication as eating on the couch, burping in public, or picking your nose. It is a sloppy rejection of personal value in exchange for transient pleasure, an assisted masturbation with aimless disregard for any personal consequence. I have fucked a lot of women, ranging in every conceivable metric. I don’t say this to brag because it’s not something to brag about. Everyone can have sex, and society’s lowest value members often do it the most, including sceptic tank workers, janitors, fast food employees, telemarketers, inmates, homeless people, cripples, midgets, the mentally retarded, and toothless meth addicts. There is absolutely nothing impressive about having sex. The reason that used up whores love dangling this threat, along with their famous backup about making fun of penis size, height, appearance, or implications of poor libido is that the only thing left for a habitual cock goblin is to universally attempt to justify their addiction to defilement as some sort of dignified lifestyle choice, a delusion incepted into them by every single song, movie, television show, and consumer peer egging them on into feeling pride at having given up their most precious commodity. They do this because it absolutely hurts to hear the godawful truth that every single man they let inside of them before they get married lowers their value implicitly. They spend their entire lives trying to run away from that truth, denying the gut instincts of billions as a socially brainwashed delusion, that somehow being a free use walking glory hole makes them MORE special, not less for that special someone. The only thing that they have left in the face of a myriad of scientific and statistical data upholding what hundreds of thousands of years of human history has already concluded is to repeat the same lie that was told to them over and over, because that lie is the only thing they have left. “Y-you’ll never h-have sex…” As if anyone gives a shit. The aging shriveled up harridan will never learn the horror of delineating between impotent seething and genuine disgust. We will witness an incredibly turbulent several decades watching the consequences of lost prostitute generations lash out at the collective rugpull they fell into. And if they should cry out, “What are we supposed to do about our past?” Well, quite simply, nothing. Just shut your fucking stupid mouth and feel quietly ashamed. Don’t continue to spread the same lies you fell for and ruin another generation of women. You may even get lucky and find someone that settles for you.

Sometimes I fantasize about a reality where a Twilight Zone wish granting demon in a suit and tie comes before me and offers to take away my life in exchange for an eternity of inflicting excruciating torment upon white western sorority trash women in an unending Groundhog's Decade of remaining permanently in my 20s, wandering the United States of America as an immortal shapeshifting trickster whose sole purpose is the mental torture of every single normgroid westoid failfoid who fell for the rap-tulpa, took the birth control, and filled out their neotenous puffy faced fridge body with as much college cafeteria commissary tortillas they could smuggle into their squalid little dorm room to scarf down like nervous sewer rats in between Tik Tok twerks and wandering the campus in an insomnia haze out of courtesy to their roomate who filed their 5th dick appointment of the week.

In the GC whenever people are chatting I just see bubbles with squiggly lines, completely incoherent. Unreadable blurry blobs of irrelevant data. When people speak to me I just hear Charlie Brown Peanuts parents, “WAH WAHHH WAH WAH WAHH WAAHH WAHWAHWAH-“ White noise. I scroll back in chats to reread the things I wrote. I don’t have a TL. I don’t look at the TL. I just click likes randomly. I only read my own posts. I walk around my house and mutter jokes to myself before howling with laughter. I spend a lot of time thinking. I also recall and analyze my own thoughts, and even review them. People need to know what I have to say. I don’t need to know what others have to say, it’s a luxury I can choose to indulge in. The basic human ambition is to transcend dimensions. Upwardly climbing from 3rd to 4th to beyond. Mastery over the irreconcilable forces of time. I aspire for something greater. I seek to reach 0th dimension occupation, the complete rejection of all relativity. From a plane, to a line, to a single point. Nothing besides myself in the most singular capacity possible. If you took a man and removed his sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch, he would immediately understand how to become God.

Trick question morons There are 17 squares on the trailer named “side” There are 9 squares on the trailer named “back” The pile of squares with the label “top” contains no trailer There are no cubes anywhere, this is a two-dimensional image I am smarter than you Remilio

Rapidly disassembling the package at the PO Box thinking it’s one of several crucial time sensitive deliveries I’m waiting on and seeing this staring back at me

Imagine being a man and ever getting dumped by a woman lmfao. Like how badly did you have to fuck up to let that happen to you after you already passed all the biggest screening filters? If you've been inside of a woman and she still dumps you, it was absolutely preventable lol. Not to just laugh at helpless people, here's the cheat sheet. All relationship problems can be boiled down to an issue in one of three categories: - Money - Communication - Sex Money: This one is the simplest mistake men make. If you enter a relationship or seek one before you make a sustainable surplus of income, you CANNOT provide for a woman. If you cannot provide for a woman, you introduce logistical impositions which trickle down into problems induced by stress, insecurity, and exhaustion. Women do not need to be working, women shouldn't even be fucking driving anywhere. If you're upset at this prospect because you believe the modern western woman does not deserve to be provided for, it's because you're priced out of the ones that do. Communication: You need to be operating with the understanding that every single social more you've learned about women and relationships comes from the entertainment industry, is completely the opposite of truth, and is made misleading deliberately by Hollywood perverts who want to subvert the natural inclination of society to build family. The deepest secrets of female psychology are lost to most men. If you're an autistic sperg who missed out on public school crash course lessons, unironically pick-up artists are the closest resource you have to gleaning the few minor counterintuitive elements of female psychology. The problem with these are that you can and will get sucked into a sex pest dead end lifestyle, one spent mewing at the mirror and doing push-pull dynamic exercises to busted whores at the club, ironically creating obvious obstacles towards your own goal of fucking a stranger on your mattress which shouldn't be your goal in the first place but absolutely nobody is going to be able to stop a late bloomer from doing that. There is an absolute deficit of resources for a growing quotient of debilitated social autists that need cheat sheets on how to be normal and the best possible thing anyone can really do is practice. Learn how to spot your own delusions, learn how to make eye contact, learn how to genuinely empathize and listen to the other person, and most importantly, learn the secret conversation done simultaneously with the verbal one. It's coded in body language, action, energy. Trust your gut. If a woman seems upset it's because she is. Figure out why on your own and cheer her up. Nobody wants to "talk about their problems" and especially NOBODY wants to talk about YOUR problems. You're a man, you don't have problems. You don't cry, you don't complain, and you don't bring your bullshit to your wife or children. Another cheat code: Every single thing that people label as "toxic masculinity" is actually the correct thing to do. Sex: When a woman loses her virginity, she immediately begins an endless lifelong countdown timer which resets every time she experiences an orgasm. When you enter a relationship, you're taking on a machine which starts sparking and smoking if it isn't regularly oiled with dick. This almost always means exhaustive sex. As a man if you're done when YOU'VE finished, you're not watering the plants correctly. Sex isn't fun, it's a daunting chore which will slowly carve away at your soul until you are a beaten down husk into your 70s, pumping away at your voracious shrew. It's not just about being a soldier and carrying it out whether you want to or not, you need to be actively molesting your woman. You need to be seducing her. You need to fuck her like it's the first time you've ever fucked her every time. People say that men are sex fiend perverts but it's not true. Women are black holes of carnal desire, they're hideous freak monsters that suck up what little energy you have left on this earth and force you to endeavor acts of depravity just so you can prevent them from decapitating you in their sleep like vile mantises. That means learning how to do it good and forcing yourself to do it regularly just to keep them from burning down the house or throwing boiling water in your face. All of this sounds awful right? You're right it is. Women are terrible, they were literally put on this earth to make men miserable and every abstract amount of suffering that they bring through their sheer existence comes from God punishing their entire species for the original sin of unleashing the knowledge of good and evil upon this earth. So why be in a relationship? Quite simply, because you're going to get old. Your body is going to fail over time. All material pleasures will slowly fade away from relevance. You will no longer give a shit about food, possessions, vacations, video games, sports, movies, music, or how nice your house is. Eventually, the only thing left which registers as warmth or light in the life of a decrepit haggard old man is knowing he raised his children and that they produced grandchildren of their own. Every single person who wasn't literally or spiritually raped as a child understands that God is real, the afterlife exists, and life on this earth is about perpetuating an unbroken chain between your ancestry and your descendants. A man without a family is a hollow shell, an unfulfilled loser who failed at the one real job he had. To saddle yourself with a woman and child is to make the ultimate sacrifice, giving up your time and energy towards something other than yourself. It's an expression of humility which forgoes the ego and acknowledges your own inevitable death. Every single relationship you have with another human being is the potential for locking in a permanent pathway for your soul to pass onto. If you fuck it up, you better have used it to learn a powerful lesson. If you don't and you keep making the same mistakes with the same type of person, you are giving up the most precious nonrenewable resource there is, your time. If you fail completely and snuff out your own bloodline, you lose the express pass ticket you get in the afterlife and have to go to the very back of the line where they make you wait 900,000 years to reincarnate as like an isopod or a paramecium or like a raindrop or some shit. You don't get the alternate dimension DLC packages either, it's just basic lobby with a long respawn time.

It’s crazy to think that if Roger Sterling from Mad Men lived in the 2000s, instead of doing acid and growing mutton chops, he’d be doing sexagenarian break dancing in Bitcoin shirts while waging tone clouded information warfare online against his separated daughter.

It’s not fucking fair. Why can’t we have chimp pets that don’t have a 5% chance of ripping our dick and balls off for smiling the wrong way? In fact, why the fuck aren’t there more cool animal pets for consumers? Everyone says “Oh you can’t have bears, foxes, coyotes, tigers, lions, hyenas, chimpanzees as pets.” “Nooo they’re wild animals.” Yeah and so were wolves until we domesticated them into dogs. Why can’t we do that with primates? Why can’t we use genetic engineering to make 2 foot tall bipedal primates that can’t kill us, don’t want to hurt us, clean up after themselves, and do what we tell them to? Why aren’t we funneling money into figuring out how to make a medium dog sized bear that only eats kibbles, takes ping pong ball sized shits, and does little cute noises when you poke its tummy? The modern domesticated animal is already a disturbing abomination anyway, you may as well have fun with it. It’s more ethical than whatever pig human chimeras the Chinese are building now and there’s probably an insane market for custom fun low maintenance pets. Oh it’s cruel? It’s inhumane? Yes I’m sure your fucking poodle is so pleased and fulfilled wearing doofy costumes, eating concrete mix food, and watching you squeal at the TV all day you fat suburbanite contentious cunt. They could breed a red panda that walks around on two legs all day and feels near constant orgasm satisfaction from being in an apartment sized space doing tricks for your amusement. One of thousands of futures robbed from us by a cabal of soulless dead inside humanitarians making the world a duller, sadder place.

*punching my special "extra" monitor that has a smug meanie face on it* "BABY IS BORED BABY WANT BETTER CONTENT!!!!!! WAAAAAAHHHH!!!!" I put my entire arm through the screen and retract like a Boston Dynamics mantis hunter-killer unit and sit back in my AssFondler9000 Peatpilled massage chair as it funnels baking soda infused San Pellegrino into my impatiently folded arms intravenously. I pout as the pneumatic wire tentacles replace the broken screen with another, this time showing me a 🥹 face as my algorithm desperately scrambles my feed into the time-tested "fun time songs for babies" playlist. I start kicking my feet and clapping as the monitors bounce back and forth in sweet desperate relief. I call my jitbroker shortly after and sell 9 trillion shares of this minute's hot poopcoin (the word "shit" being outlawed online) and use the proceeds to fund a Venezuelan family's execution over lunch. The stream proceeds barely break even but the hot honey glazed gerbil flambé my "mom" cooked is so succulent I don't even pay attention to several red 😡 face notifications in the peripheral side of my cornea telling me to be mad. Several pea sized assigned acquaintances start chirping in the GazEbo about a sudden bonus XP collab session, but I decide to miss out on this season's paradigm shift because I'm trying to find a TalkDash meatspace goblin to deliver drugs to my cube before I run out of inhalers and remember that God exists and He's SUPER PISSED at me.

Imagine locking egirls in here except it’s a black void with their own faces coming at them rapidly into full zoom from the floor, ceiling, and all four walls, morphing constantly between black or Chinese.

Besides the obvious implications of a crumbling economy putting a stranglehold on the average consumer, the service industry has always been a bubble waiting to burst. The entire foundation of working in service is built upon replicating the experience of aristocratic dining where every aspect of logistic necessity is removed from the act of preparing and consuming food. A majority of society for a majority of history has had to contend with these basic logistic necessities. The ingredients need to be procured, the food needs to be cooked, the eating environment needs to be set, and the mess needs to be cleaned afterwards. While variations and communal context varies, traditionally a matriarch performs the cooking within a single household unit, ingredients either literally or symbolically procured by the patriarch through provision, and both setting and cleaning either being performed by her or shared among the family as a duty. What makes this different from being rich and having servants is that you’re taking the responsibilities away from those participating in the dining experience. A chef procures the ingredients and cooks the meal, servants set the table, servants serve the food, servants clean up the mess, and servants wash the dishes. Every participant of the actual dining experience is completely unburdened by the laborious necessities, free to enjoy the act of eating itself with as little imposition on their time and energy as possible. However, because of this, those raised in wealth are given a strict standard of etiquette to follow with a higher form of ritual. The spiritual health of a society is both affected and indicated by the basic social rituals within a few key elements of the human experience. You can judge a people by the standards of certain activities they perform, including how they solidify marriages and therefore families, how they dispose of their dead, how they handle disputes, and most notably, what rituals they perform when eating. The specific rules of etiquette exist as a function of acknowledging the presence of others and performing basic acts to reduce as much sensory imposition as possible. Belching is rude because it sounds disgusting, napkins are placed on the lap, not the table because it’s unpleasant to see food stains on them, elbows stay off because it shakes the table and disturbs other diners. In a high class environment, the act of eating itself is always relegated as a vehicle for the social element of dining. All of human history signified the act of breaking bread as a ritual of enhancing communication, understanding, and social bond between two individuals. The rich have learned that eating the food itself is never the focus of dining in company. The food is merely a vehicle for continual participation in ensuring your place in this world and working towards elevating your position in the hierarchy of those around you. This is why it’s traditionally polite to never fully finish a meal. First it’s a function of abundance. To eat to completion is a symptom of scarcity, acting out of fear of starvation which is incongruent to living a life of means where there will always be more food available than you could ever hope to consume entirely. But furthermore it’s an expression of self control, all etiquette is. Etiquette itself is the act of enforcing both self control and focus on acknowledging those around you through followable mutually understood rules. Secondly, leaving leftovers fulfilled a function of rewarding the servants. They would always eat whatever wasn’t used, enjoying decadent meals which they otherwise wouldn’t have access to were it not for their position. In many ways, the servant living in the palace, having families alongside their masters family, eating their food, and so forth created a symbiotic relationship. All of these dynamics were mimicked in the creation of the modern dining experience, an inevitable folly serving towards its own downfall.

Restaurants chew up and spit out their employees. The moment you start working at a restaurant as a young impressionable person you start a countdown timer of at most two years before you get sucked into irreversibly bad life habits. Becoming a “server” is transmogrification. Servers that are mired in their own industry without any protecting barriers have this seedy dirty energy to them, a sort of commodification of all basic social impulse. They operate within a steady ongoing pseudo polycule environment, not all of them mind you but many of them. There’s a 50/50 chance of the server handing you drinks and plates of food has fucked one or more of their coworkers, let alone a customer at some point in their career. Bartenders are even more promiscuous. If you look at the video QT’d above you can see very clearly what “server energy” is. It’s a sort of universal cheapening, present in mediocre servers particularly in America. It’s a mentality of reducing all customers into vehicles for tipping. It’s a form of dismissive entitlement, one built by the premise of waiting tables being one of the best paying jobs possible for the most uneducated, unskilled, and inexperienced portion of society. It’s a tenuous frustration at watching the gravy train slowly collapse at a society wide scale, widening the once ambiguous gap into a dividing canyon clearly separating the wealthy from the lower class. A mass grave with the delusion of a “middle class” carved into an epitaph. It’s an aura of filthy rodent-like opportunism, one specifically spurned on by the esoteric consequences of eating anonymous leftovers while standing up. The act of eating without ritual, especially when it’s someone’s leftovers is the root core of what creates the archetypical “server” personality. It’s a slow steady transformation into scavenger pest behavior, an existence upheld by the leavings of others. It occurs first because servers will eat food that wasn’t meant for them. This isn’t even necessarily true for actual leftovers, at least in my experience most servers USUALLY would never touch leftovers from eaten plates (except occasionally some disgustos making exceptions for “oh that’s untouched”). However, almost everyone who’s ever worked in a restaurant has at least once eaten a meal that was originally created for a customer and placed aside out of rejection or screwed up cooking. Almost everyone who’s worked in a restaurant has eaten hurriedly while standing up. Almost everyone who’s worked in a restaurant has pilfered, pawed, and swiped at some form of food in an act of fidgeting secrecy. The entire model of working in a restaurant is a sort of poetic reversal of the intended dining experience, one built around the rejection of food as a temporal urgent necessity and allowing for complete ease of consumption in a manner fully defying the primitive natural standards of scarcity. The ideal model of a restaurant is a rejection of natural scarcity in exchange for the fruits of industrially manifested illogically infinite abundance. I suspect through the rules of alchemy where a thing cannot be accrued without taking from something else, the joy of dining out is some kind of unintended occult ritual where the degredation of a selected staff into a den of desperate greedy scavengers is the fuel behind the brief simulated aristocracy of the ignorant customer. Aside from the other physical consequences of rampant seed oil frankenfood sourced Gordon’s supplied ingredients and a lifetime of steady sucking and fucking amidst a pile of discarded vapes and White Claws, the modern server must come to terms with the fact that economic incentives no longer allow people to overlook their hee haw jokester yokel obnoxiously waitress personality. Nobody gives a shit about a waitresses “fun” personality, except for the lowest common denominator of mouth breathing Midwestern tubby doofus families, and they’ve been priced out of tipping generously by now.

A servers only hope in the swirling flushed toilet water that is the restaurant industry is to adapt. First, if you do remain in the service industry despite the consequences and trajectory outlined before you, you’ll need to know an extremely simple but powerful mechanism for extracting tips. The act of tipping is contentious, and frankly many modern servers do actually deserve to get stiffed on principle. The only reason it could possibly be considered a poor idea to do so is that a culture generates its own specific bubble of karma based on When In Rome rules and western society has not yet fully divorced itself from tipping as a standard. While the European, the rationalist, and the redditor would all screech about how tipping is a nonsensical act which should be replaced by the the restaurant paying servers a “fair wage” instead of having customers uphold the integrity of the server’s income, this rejects the premise of restaurants only really being possibly sustainable due to criminal activity. Most restaurants fail, many of them being a vanity project for idealistic naive buffoons who like the idea of running a restaurant while being unwilling to functionally deal with the massive headache that is the food and beverage industry. The truth is, most people who brag about not tipping in America are completely full of shit, either never being in a position to actually pay the bill or never really dining out in the first place in a context where tipping actually matters. Perhaps some have the clarity of congruent values to realize that wanting to abolish tipping isn’t enough, the concept of a restaurant itself must be dismantled entirely for the public, and maybe perhaps a few within this understanding have the conviction to want this outcome. While tipping may one day fade away as an anachronism, it will only do so as the fine dining experience also has given up completely. It’s still going to be at least a few years before this happens so if you still wanna try and make money off tips, this is how you do it: Make yourself not care about getting tipped. This is one of the most frustrating Chinese finger traps for the average novice server to encounter, because it demands genuinely rejection of scarcity. But if you can successfully do it, and genuinely BELIEVE IT, not just larp it, you will be taking the first step towards becoming a mercenarily successful server. I’m serious, it even works on black people. A lot of “Canadians” pick up on the fact that the server immediately clocks them as being not likely to tip, but the server is nowhere near as subtle as they think they are. Many customers will get indignant at any form of suspicion that you, the server, see them as an annoyance or a burden and create a self fulfilling prophecy. But if you as the server can make yourself be genuinely happy to serve them and simply mentally accept the possibility that they won’t tip whatsoever, and furthermore mentally accept that that’s okay, you will be surprised more often than you think. The applies to every customer. The act of tipping was created to incentivize heightened performance. Your entire process of greeting, serving, and closing out the table is an application for getting a good tip. One of the biggest millenial/zoomer delusions of the TikToking wage slave is complaining about emotional labor. The entire fucking job is emotional labor, that’s what you’re paid to do. At the root of the job is the archetypical servant, the one who stresses to make sure the patron doesn’t experience any possible interruption, inconvenience, or imposition from beginning to end. If you want to make money serving tables you have to perform and contort your attitude in a manner which is not affected by your actual personal feelings. If this makes you feel like a whore’ it’s because you are. Performance is implicitly prostitution, it’s the price you pay for the highest possible income afforded to the unskilled. If you don’t like it, quit.

“I love playing FIFA on my PlayStation!” - Tiesto

Really polarizing post here huh guys

RETARDIO! I CHOOSE YOU!

Retardio redactus! :^)

I can’t think of anything more disgusting than the hubristic naivety of people treating deformed mutant freak animals like little toy furniture for their amusement. People have a morbid fascination with keeping alive creatures that never should’ve been. Do you think it’s happy? Do you really think it’s happy watching its own child struggle to exist in the same state of decrepit misfortune it’s had to bear, hearing the distant howls of its wolf ancestors echoing through DNA memory, knowing that in any real situation of danger or survival it would get wiped out and eaten? Thats not an animal, it’s an abomination which would receive a mercifully rapid death as a free snack in a natural world, only kept in a I Have No Mouth But I Must Scream perpetual purgatory of helpless malfeasance at the hands of a disturbing suburbanite hellbent on turning the entire world into a gallery of wide eyed immobile gimps to treat like living breathing stuffies to discard when bored and relegate to a damp musty corner eating concrete cubits and baby vomit off of a cheap tiled floor. When you look into that creature’s eyes, the watery glint of neurotic worry is a plea for assisted suicide. The legless part is fucked up too, but I’m referring to fact that chihuahuas exist.

I can’t stop laughing at this. It’s like if God decided to be 13 years old when writing this moment in reality. Making the “fastest guy ever” called “Insane Bolt” and his momentary rival named “Tyson Gay” doomed to be trapped in a virgin-chad goofus & gallant meme for all time. Like imagine being called Tyson Gay and having to come across ESL made Discovery channel 2000s science graphics videos outlining every single reason why you suck compared to the guy who beat you, with little spinning arrow lines, x-ray diagrams, and beep boop noises. An entire LIFE spent training to make it to the Olympics, being better than everyone else in the world except ONE guy. I wonder what was going on in Tyson Gay’s mind during preliminaries or whenever athletes scope out their competition and realize who’s gonna win. I wonder how he felt right at the moment he looked at the adjacent taller guy outpacing him with the last name Bolt taped to his back and he considers that he has the word “GAY” taped to his own. What kind of effect does that have on someone? Realizing that their entire life’s work, singular constant dedication towards one thing, was all so they could become the human equivalent of a Waluigi, defined by being the juxtaposition of failure compared to someone else’s success. I wonder if in a scenario such as this, bronze would’ve been a much more merciful fate than silver. This race literally clocks his time of 9.71 seconds for the 100 meter dash as the “fastest non winning time in the history of the 100m.” I’d be SO fucking pissed. I looked it up in the middle of typing this post, expecting some bullshit interview where he just says he respects Bolt and talks about his own achievements, but no I found a Guardian article where he’s literally seething about it be so specifically mogged at something that literally depends on height difference is the epitome of a cruel permanent fate as the heel. This guy is literally Vegeta holy shit, it even describes him as pissed and serious, constantly training while Bolt is playful and carefree. Fuck the dash, I’m much more impressed at his restraint in not just bringing a gun to the Olympics lmao.

A certain level of favelamaxxing becomes a wonder of the world in its own right. It’s something only appreciated macroscopically, hundreds of millions of autonomous hominids reduced to a pointillism of reproduction. An entire population purely exists as a mold spreading further. Men in particular have the occasional urge to enter hell itself. A hunger for environments defying all sensibility, vast barren salt bed deserts devoid of life, great open pits of perpetual flame from ignited natural gas deposits, seabeds at the center of oceans drained of all water, burning oilfields with plumes of smoke darkening the sky. What man can say he hasn’t at least briefly fantasized about living underground in a Venusian mining colony or being stranded in a maximum security prison on one of Jupiter’s moons? The gravity of morbid desolation fantasy grows stronger with each degree of soft comfort curbing our natural inclination for pain. You can paint a picture of pure absolute constant suffering in an industrial hellworld of endless labor and empty purposelessness for effect and there will always be a contingent of men disillusioned, crazy, and stupid enough to at least be curious to know what it means to be surrounded by dusty filth; lost in a concrete emptiness bespeckled by strange inhospitable strangers with varying capacities for violence. I want to walk through the narrow alleyway great fractal of Egyptian shithole buildings, stretching out so far that its center may be a perpetually unreachable back room labyrinth of 3rd world urbanity. I want to run through the vast underground tunnel bunkers of post-nuclear society, filled with pale hostile mushroom farmers huddled like pigs in alcoves. I want to live inside a 6x6 cubic cell nestled miles inside the great polygon of trans-galactic freight flotillas, stuck in the midway empty void between destinations across several generations of mutated spacefarers. I want to leave humanity behind so far and live so harshly I have all my flesh, spirit, and mind raped away by the searing winds of necessity, replaced by the rusty metal skeleton of a half animal half machine built to survive everything and kill anything just for the sake perpetuation. Unsustainable torturous conditions fueled by the curiosity of suffering induced by a lack of exposure. You won’t find such fantasies in the heart of an oil driller, African traveler, or ex-convict. It’s a sentiment which can only be appreciated from afar, a transient novelty of human progress. Like watching a factory blow up, you can’t help but marvel at what human beings have accomplished through a lens of our accidents. On paper it would be an obvious tragedy watching every single bit of empty green earth get ripped away and replaced with gray concrete cubes filled with hustling humid piles of shirtless laborers, but what awe would bombard the witness of such a state for a brief moment! A species wiping itself out in grand completion, entombed by its own sarcophagus of anonymous mediocre progress.

They’ve considered it thoroughly, it’s why they’re trying to bring back slavery.

It's gonna be one of these days

HEY GUYS CATCH

It should not be understated that the Copyright Warrior is genuinely one of the biggest pieces of shit you can find on the internet. The Copyright Warrior is not just a sniveling brown nosing cuckhold whose life force is sustained by a perpetual need to fellate a Verified Authority like a hummingbird dying without constant sustenance, but in fact a genuinely detracting source of harm and destruction towards life itself. I don’t need to preach to the Post-Authorship crowd, they all understand already and in fact should not continue reading this. This post is addressed to whatever happenstance “concerned” consumer buffoon, emaciated into neotenous androgyny through a lifetime of homoconsumerism, that wanders into the periphery of my existence through some combination of curiosity and outrage: The reason you specifically suck (yes you!) is because no other human being on earth maintains a higher ratio of smugness to flaccid insignificance. Even serial killers and child rapists can justify themselves out of some level of personal satisfaction or desire for pleasure compared to you. But you, the chiding tattle tale IP goblin, you have absolutely zero reason to do anything, let alone exist. Your entire presence online exists as a coping mechanism for an unfulfilled life, a scum sucking barnacle latched onto a series of arbitrary laws lobbied into existence by powerful organizations abusing government power for their own gain. You are a mold feeding off the discarded log of shit excreted by corporations run by people that would go out of their way to stomp your clavicle bone into pieces if they were forced to live beside you in a world that wouldn’t punish them for it. The copycuck finds fulfillment in the act of prevention. Where an abusive police officer can at least find solace in the dignity of violence, the spiritual hall monitor has nothing to show for their accomplishments. They are an arbiter of pestilence, uniquely unsatisfied with an existence wasted spent consuming the products of others. They seek to somehow achieve less than nothing, they dip below the zero into negatives, finding ways to undo the accomplishments or efforts of others. Much like how the janny does it for free, the authorship gremlin takes it upon himself to champion the defense of billion dollar companies, and even more pathetically, the hack grift “content creators” who spend more time considering themselves persecuted saints than they do complaining about how they deserve to making more than 7 dollars a month for drawing black trans disabled obesity porn fan fiction versions of kids cartoon characters. I really cannot emphasize enough that everything you believe is wrong. Your entire worldview is completely wrong because it’s broken from the ground up. You GENUINELY believe that an idea can be created by a human being, let alone owned, because you are so angry at being spiritually (or literally) sodomized in childhood that you reject God and spirituality as a proxy for despising your parents. You GENUINELY believe that the law decides morality because you cannot fathom any concepts of self determination. You GENUINELY believe that everyone in the world is as impressionably programmable as you, and that because of this, measures need to be taken to prevent the creation of any form of media, art, or rhetoric which challenges the meager paltry existence you occupy. You GENUINELY believe you’re making a difference in the world by dedicating your life completely to preventing creation, while contributing absolutely nothing. I don’t intend to elaborate on well tread points explaining why Post-Authorship is correct. If you truly don’t know what that is feel free to read this: my intended recipients, you needn’t bother. I only want to shit on you as a eulogy to your scarce minded existence right before AI ushers in an age of universal unstoppable “theft” rendering you into a permanent crybaby screaming forever.

Much like the childish hustler grindset mentality of wanting money for the sake of Lamborghinis and gold flake filet mignon, the failure of Remilia's detractors lies in the crumbling foundation that is the premise of their work. All good creative work comes from a combination of inspiration and thoughtful curation. A creation within a medium becomes crystallized into art through audience and critique; a measure of instinctual wordless reaction with equal parts lengthy analysis. While art may not be 100% objective, it is absolutely never completely subjective, this has always been the layman's cope. People with taste can recognize good art through immediate exposure, people with introspective rhetoric and familiarity of citation can expand upon why the art is good at length. Great art touches upon the source of its cosmic inspiration in a capacity and potential as infinite as the divinity from which it is borne. A bad "artist" creates bad work and attempts to justify it as art through obscuration. Much like the low median IQ midwit insecurely lashes out at a large length of text as "nonsense" to mask their inability to parse vocabulary, the untalented are incapable of differentiating serious critique with inflated filler descriptions. What makes this phenomenon dangerous is the folly of institutional backing. Unserious actors find themselves in a position of advantage in simply sucking the right cocks and holding onto social credentials like 3rd world general covering themselves with made up war medals. When faced with competition they cannot stand up to on their own merits, it is simply easier to attack through social measures than make any serious attempt to create something better, or in this case, anything good at all. Therein lies a cardinal sin, dedicating more time and energy into destroying rather than creating. One dedicated to this mindset finds themselves in a twisted parody of their livelihood. You see it in our opps very clearly, everything they do is dedicated to following us around, seething in our replies, chasing every accomplishment we have with chiding denials. When this doesn't work, often they resort to direct attacks against identity, harassment of friends, attacks on family, anything they can grasp onto for some semblance of victory in their feeble little world. Why this hostility in the first place? Insecurity, jealousy, and greed. Remilia has reaped fruits grown from a tree watered by blood, sweat, and tears. A hunger for fruit does not translate to a passion for horticulture any more than simple love of money translates to an ability to make good art. I do find impressive how much cognitive dissonance a human being can wield within one lifetime. How much of your existence can you dedicate to hating someone and their achievements? How often can you spend your time hate orbiting something you claim is beneath you, despite every single thing you do living in its shadow? Have you ever disconnected yourself from your surroundings, put down the weed vape, and stopped masturbating for even just a week? Do you think in the briefest moments of sober introspective lucidity you spend so much time trying to escape that you would feel good about living in a meager life of bitterness dedicated solely to poor imitations of our discarded leftovers? These questions, and I assure you they're sincere, will fall on deaf ears. The sad truth is that while curation and work ethic can be trained, inspiration and instinct cannot be manufactured. I can take anything Remilia has produced and provide a lengthy analysis towards its citation and relevance. I can take this organization's body of work and explain not only how it encapsulates the culture of our time but will define it in the future. I don't need to do any of that because hundreds of people are already actively doing it every day, thousands more simply proclaiming their love for us. We don't do it for the money. We do it because we have several very large goals and we intend to manifest them through deliberate force. There will come a time when we have grown so large that our detractor's echo bubble cannot stretch further and their suspension of disbelief in their own delusions will shatter. At that point, they will do one of two things: They will either disconnect completely, fumbling around in irreverence having denied knowledge of our existence OR they will crawl on their hands and knees attempting to sneak through the gate, pretending they were always fans.

I hate the sound of whimpering. Groveling. Nervousness. Stuttering. It’s a learned form of helplessness, a human being never having had a disgusting habit corrected as a child. What I’m talking about is usually more prominent in women than men, because when men do this they usually get punished for it so hard in childhood by their peers they USUALLY learn to stop. It’s most obvious in women when they grow old because the natural barriers of youth and attraction which normally would cause one to overlook the instinctual irritation at curdled neurotic pudgy noises have all faded away. You hear it worst in dementia patients but that’s forgivable. What’s not forgivable is the white trash 45 year old woman who looks 65. The bus stop street slime 7/11 warrior. Her messy cheap canvas purse smells like cigarettes. There’s black gunk all over her random bottles of makeup and ripped up random pieces of paper. Whatever cocktail of meth, crack, weed, and alcohol abuse she spent the entirety of her adult life doing has shriveled up her skin into a leathery sheathe, her face is contorted into a permanent constipation. Every single waking moment she’s not high is pain. This beef jerky shrew will hold up an entire line of people to rifle through her pockets and bags for a crumpled up dollar bill to pay for a lottery ticket, yodeling at the top of her lungs about the 27 different exchanged dollar debts between family, coworkers, roommates, random homeless people, and corn chip purchases that justify why she doesn’t have the 78 cents she needs. There’s already an inherent mortal sin in wasting someone else’s time. The lowest members of society genuinely believe the delusion that everyone is equal to them, that five minutes to them is five minutes to you and me. Wasting the time of a group of people is already a crime, the punishment reaching death when the number goes high enough. You’ve felt it on the highway when several hours of your life gets wasted in a pileup. Your time only paid for by the satisfactory brief second of watching a shrouded body get loaded onto a gurney. There’s no such justice with the anxious. There’s no suitable punishment for the neurotic. There’s no catharsis with the cockroach spiritual vampires of society, small weak irritant people who only feel energized by making sure everyone around them is as uncomfortable as they feel. There’s nothing society allows you to do besides avoiding them the best you can and cutting them out of your life. It makes you realize that history has wrongfully painted the tyrant constable, the medieval guard, the warden of antiquity who lives as a throwaway gag in our minds when thinking of the past. A yokel peasant begs for slop or a piece of stale bread and gets whacked with a cudgel, the audience winces, and we move on to the actual plot involving royalty or soldiers somewhere. When you’ve been exposed to the spiritual beggar enough times you realize the club wielding brute is a hero. He is the great correction of a metaphysical parasite haunting the human dynamic through all of history. He has been shackled, gagged, and castrated by the self evidence of why you never allow that kind of parasite into power or a position of equality. I dream of a great education, a moment in time when the world sympathizes with the stick and rewards instinct rather than stomping it out. I dream of the great plumbers wrench swinging through the world’s weakness at 70 miles per hour. I dream of the briefest moments between blunt force impact and unconsciousness, the pulsing searing pain, confusion, and fear of enlightenment, the instance of clarity where true suffering is understood, where an actual problem worth expressing out loud presents itself. It will come like a pendulum swinging back to settle a lifetime of microdebts compounded into a national deficit, localized in a smelly microcosm of rodent sewer life. It will not be today, it will not be tomorrow, but I will see it in my lifetime.

“Rapists could be here…” she thought as she attached the 14th plastic wedge into her doorframe. “There are rapists everywhere,” she muttered while shutting windows onto little spread out lines of Elmer’s glue. “This glue cannot keep rapists out, only slow them down.” She would say this over and over again while putting little rotating cameras on every shelf of the house, cameras which would record rapists trying to get in her room and rape her. She settled into her velcro bed, wearing the itchiest outfit she owned, clutching her 250000 lumen flashlight knowing it’s the only thing standing between her and a rapist afraid of the dark. Between hyperventilating into her rape alert flute whistle, she would say out loud to nobody, “In my house, I could get raped anywhere.”

I don’t think there’s any nation on earth that’s adopted black culture less gracefully than the English. Their physiognomy, culture, landscape, weather, speech patterns, geography, architecture, food, and aesthetic all clash horribly with it. Grotesquely incompatible. First, there’s the mongrelized California Kardashian makeup fatass club wear fake tan look which looks absolutely ghastly on the average English woman. No subsect of Anglo female can pull it off, not the frail Norman waif, not the vampiric Saxon, and definitely not the ogrelike northern Briton. The beady one-inch-apart eyed tavern wench swamp goblin Sheffield club skank compilation video is Exhibit A on why Lovecraft’s true haunting horror was multiculturalism. But besides the slags and chavs, an opposite horror occurs where the roadmen are concerned. Silly tin can gangs of castrated British blacks trying their hardest to be a nation of persecuted George Floyds despite the extent of their grievances being sternly accosted by the neon vest mall cop constables. Honestly, how can anyone listen to British hip hop and not break down in hysterical laughter? What do they even rap about? “We’s set on commitin legal infractions a such” No wonder their cities are being taken over by armed Albanians.

Women horror stories are like “and then… behind the corner hiding… waiting for me… were the CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!!!” and then they all start screaming

Thinking about unoptimal Gerber baby food. Slop estrogen powder purées. When I have kids they’re eating ground beef and egg yolk paste. Watermelon sized bulging vein craniums, doing calculus at age 2. Sprinting on all fours to the nearest pitbull and snap its neck preemptively.

I watched Vanilla Sky last night and tbh I would’ve handled that entire situation much better than Tom Cruise did.

Now consider the implications of phone screen resolution.

What the fuck are British people doing

Me explaining my old job to my great grandchildren one day

When headphones were still wired, the vicious yank of a wayward object or brusque hand inspired infinite rage in the listener. When games were interrupted or screens turned off by frustrated parents, the playing children flinched with obscene traumatic shock. Technology is fixation, focus, tunnel vision. Trance states inspired by inputs and outputs, both electronic and tactile. Every simulation of sense creates a pocket universe in which your mind's eye occupies. Each stark interruption of experience with technology is a form of minor death trauma. The shock is sudden, like being splashed with water in the deepest states of REM sleep. Each and every video game human beings have ever played is a machine learning node in a great collective effort towards the creation of an agreed shared universe within our own. Each time a child sees a world built out of cave shadows, seeing through nothing at all, they build a world inside themselves and wear their soul like a glove. We have entered and destroyed thousands of realities with such regularity that it has weathered us, made us strong to turbulence. In 1915 a man so invested in Birth of a Nation pulls out a gun at the movie theater and shoots the screen several times to stop a rape from happening. In 2025 a five year old child will not only survive at the crushing depths of the Marianas Trench, he would die if removed from it. Within a century we shifted from black and white dreams to nested doll tulpa puppet realities in technicolor noclip spectator vision. Ours will be the turbulent generation. The pioneers. The astronauts. The ones who pierced a veil which held together all known quotients, quandaries, quagmires, and quarantines. The ones who watched a million worlds live and die by the second before the great unification of all media. The ones who knew the ingredients of existence before they were combined into one whole comprehensive experience. There are always two choices and either one leaves us in the place of the elders, gifting wisdom of the past by shrouding it in the carapace of mythology. Be it the tribal shaman tenderly caring for the cracked solar panel and patchwork lithium battery scrap screens so that he may inscribe the wisdom of electric crystals onto sheephide canvas or carve emojis into stone runes for his 900 great grandchildren to wear as sigils against malevolence, or perhaps the perforated anus fed Frankenstein monster who reached the oldest age in history since man lost the secrets of the Nephelim, telling the hivemind tube baby forehead stapled units of how their species weathered innumerable apocalypses, pushed the boundaries of prison universes measured in a few hundred megabytes, and surfed the shifting sands of physics, proportion, and time until all of humanity settled on the final metaverse standard. Both pathways present you with the same privilege. It was only the gentle nap in the annals of history that allowed humanity to settle in its own arrogant understanding. One trillion tiny ants gathered to toss a pebble just big enough to make ripples in God's eye fluid. Now His galaxy pupil stares directly at you. Have you ever wondered why nothing in your dreams ever really dies or can be killed? There is only transmogrification when you graduate from Tutorial Island. If you want to understand why horror and comfort are two sides of the same coin, maintain the premise that ideas are living creatures and watch what happens to them.

I gave you a gift.

Don't miss the YAYO AMA in FloorDAO's Discord this Tuesday. Right after it's finished, I'm going to be hosting a space under @YayoCorp with @SCHIZO_FREQ sometime that afternoon or evening.

You can tell his dad told him to practice his serious surprised face and he did it last minute in the bathroom of the elementary school.

Monumental horseshit lmfao. Who exactly is going to believe your aimless fud after you completely rugged the Remilio Pool and dumped all of your Remilia assets alongside your fellow extortionists? Where the fuck was your goodwill when you stole company property? Where the fuck was your goodwill while endorsing a scam grift fraudulently presenting itself as Remilia on an account that doesn't belong to you? You already shred any last bit of credibility any of you have had and now you've resorted to just desperately attacking Remilia work, as if the more productive parts of the team haven't been building them for months even prior to your thefts and expulsion. Frankly you are absolutely right to be as terrified as you sound lmfao, you are so fucked it's unbelievable. Your entire frivolous defense is built on an extremely precarious set of lies, while we have the entire history of Remilia saved and documented as you've seen us dump on your head every time you dared to try to share one of your tantrums on the timeline, hiding replies and blocking everyone who calls you out. You are 100% so unbelievably fucked, and you just keep digging yourself in a deeper and deeper hole. But keep begging for Remilia to just give you $$$ and let you off the hook, really, we're really interested in what you have to ransom off to us and would like to hear more of your offers. I just have one question: now that the entire community hates your guts and didn't fall for your scam and no lawyer in the world would touch the stolen Bonkler money, where are you going to get the money to pay your defense retainer? How do you feel knowing you have zero friends left except a handful of nervous thieves who are on the verge of stabbing you in the back to save their ass? You gambled everything on stealing from every friend you know and failed completely, you betrayed yourself and lost everything for it. Scream and cry all you want, no one is coming to save

Lemee go ahead and undo the absolute lying bullshit Remilionaire has dropped: - You have not been silent, all of our activity regarding this topic is directly a response to posts you and your cohorts have been to mitigate damage to the Remilia community that YOU are responsible for causing. - Since Bonkler 9/11 every single statement Charles has made is completely coherent and consistent. Remilia has a mountain of evidence, documentation, and receipts to back up every single claim he's made. It's hilarious to see you start projecting any weakness in our case after begging us to pause litigation, this is the last desperate hope of you fucked four finally starting to realize you absolutely cannot withstand a lengthy trial that piece by piece disassembles any frail case you attempt to make. Do you understand how hard it is to actually get away with lying under cross-examination? Ask your counsel. - "Doesn't run anything past his counsel" is a hilarious accusation coming from you. Did you run the fact that you stole property past your counsel before you had them send an extortion letter? Did you run by your strategy of using contested accounts to shill a rug grift past your counsel? Or did you need to do the grift first to afford their consultation fee after your retainer dried up and your lawyer informed you there is no legal in the world that would touch the stolen Bonkler funds lmao. Do you really think you're going to scare us out of taking the time to engage our community and mitigate the damages you're actively and deliberately causing? We are acting exactly in the way we should be to protect the best interests of Remilia and its holders, and your defense is so obviously hopeless, nothing could save you. - None of you had a top down view of the organization or any perspective on what our entire staff looked like. Ika was the only one that even had any reports, and he lost those due to his incompetence before you even went live with the extortion. We've never claimed we have 30-50 "employees", we have members of the collective, which is a fuzzy group, and the actual contracted team, which IS around 30-50, variance due to the oscillation between how many devs or contractors are active for specific contracts per project. At any given time we've had 30+ contracted team working across Remilia projects. Also, no one "left", we terminated everyone involved in the conspiracy and were forced to pause the contracts for any of the developers and other team that were working on the projects you seized and sabotaged as part of your extortion. It's incredibly disingenuous to count only yourselves and the public facing individuals as the team, but again I wouldn't be surprised how little you actually knew what was going on in Remilia considering all of you were barely cognizant outside of what personally benefits you. It was, however, a great opportunity to clean house, and your roles were all replaced in weeks with much more professional people at much more realistic rates. - You specifically have zero place to be making claims about rewriting the past or declaring who's a part of Remilia or not, considering that you weren't even hired until late 2022, more than a year after Remilia operations started. Which by the way is fucking hilarious considering you tried to claim yourself as a cofounder. If you want to start making estimations about contributions, you're going to have to add detriment to the equation. Everyone that was terminated caused more harm and waste to Remilia than they created, and that was BEFORE the coup attempt, you were incredibly lucky Charlie let you continue to collect our money this whole time, only because you were his friends before Remilia hired you. You have absolutely zero room to argue with me on this considering I worked harder and contributed more to Remilia than all four of you combined, regardless of the several times you specifically tried to pin the blame on me for your fuck ups, ones Charles specifically brought me in to fix repeatedly lmfao - The $FUMO token was not rugged whatsoever, you are actually literally just making shit up. We were literally about to announce dolls were going into production for Q1 and open the LP when you delayed us with new FUD. It's hilarious you're now trying to FUD FUMO when in your own lawsuit you tried to take credit for the whole project. Like, lmfao, what is your point? That you fucked up yet again? Secondly, the "team dump" you're referring to is your own co-cospirator Yojimbo, who immediately sold the $FUMO he was compensated for shilling, just like he immediately sold his Miladys when it minted out. I'm not even going to address your attempts to insult @pedro_tqm's art. Every criticism you have on the FUMO project is either complete bullshit, disingenuous cope, or a byproduct of damages you are directly responsible for causing. Likely, the reason you're seething about $FUMO is because you and Sprite failed in your attempts to sabotage the project as your final fuck you to Remilia and its community, just like you tried to sabotage the $MOG Warsaw and London Rave. I'm not surprised you're resorting to trying court by Twitter again considering you're probably broke as shit now having overpaid your lawyers for a case they're likely about to drop once the realize just how fucked you are and how badly you misled them. Keep pretending that everyone in the entirety of Remilia doesn't exist, or we do exist but that we're all "brainwashed" by evil bad Charlie and also don't actually count as part of Remilia because you declared so, or that we definitely all don't fucking hate your guts for the scumbag acts of betrayal, lying, thievery, and scams you can't seem to stop doing. I will admit I am highly amused and curious thinking about what specific lies you guys are gonna tell your parents over Christmas when they ask "how your little crypto business is going" lmfao. Let me know.

NOOOO I DID EXACTLY 37.6% OF THE MILADY ASSETS BUT THE SPECIAL SPRITE CLAUSE I DREW IN CRAYON ON THE BACK OF MY KEYBOARD SAY I GET A 7X MULTIPLIER WHICH MEANS I CAN RUG THE COMMUNITY I IGNORED!!! PLEASE BUY MY PIECE OF SHIT GRIFT MY RETAINER IS

Streaming the Milady Rave London sets! Come watch! (London time) 10:00-11:00 guccybebe 11:00-12:00 极简主义垃圾Minimalism Garbage 12:00-1:00 kerosene 1:00-2:00 020baby 2:00-3:00 SinTheology b2b Liu

One of the worst things a young man can do is take any advice about women from women.

Hesitance from a woman is a subconscious shit test. 90% of people dating in the west are absolute disheveled impoverished losers who should not be entering relationships. If you’re a high value male who owns property and makes enough money to support a family (the bare minimum for getting married) you can lock down a marriage proposal within 6 months and be married within a year. A woman is absolutely at the mercy of the man’s pacing, the only reason these discomforts and receptions exist is because most relationships in western civilization are copes for loneliness and casual sex. As a man, if you’re deliberate, socially competent, and are high value then you could turn basically any serious relationship into a marriage within a year’s time. Except in the cases of legitimate mental illness or whore impulse mindvirus, women in general are absolutely desperate to lock down a stable partner. The average western woman would immediately shift from shock and anxiety at a serious proposal to absolute joy, relief, and enthusiasm within a 24 hour time period. And the whole “you need to get to know each other” time period is highly exaggerated. It takes 5 minutes of talking to someone to learn 50% of everything there is to know about them. Within 3 months of courting, unless you’re being ignorant or avoidant, you will 90% of everything you’ll ever know about them. At 6 months it’s 95%. One year, 97%. You will never reach 100% with anyone even if you’re married for decades, you just slowly approach it with exponential reduction in rate. Knowing about your potential wife or husband’s suitability is 100% about checking for red flags and filtering for them. It’s your responsibility to ask the difficult questions, accept the truth of a bad situation, and cut things off if you’re just going to be wasting your time. A good relationship is 90% filtering and 10% growing. People more or less are who they are, what changes is basic surface level habits over time. Within three months you should have met her parents and she should’ve met yours. Meeting and analyzing your partners parents is the bulk of determining whether they’re a fit partner for you. This entire system is an inferior substitute to a communal arrangement of marriage between families. No painful and sudden breakup causes any near the same amount of harm to a woman as wasting her time. Good luck.

No. First, women do not appreciate frugality or cheapness. Second, androids on par with iPhones cost as much so price isn’t even a valid factor in this logic. Third, the iPhone is legitimately a better phone for its intended purpose, communication. Having used both for years, the iPhone is better for function. It lasts longer without problems than androids do, it contains a myriad of minor quality of life aspects which more than make up for whatever gimmick features androids do better, and most importantly it’s a more focused phone. Androids waste your time, they’re for ricing out backgrounds and playing Gameboy ROMs. iPhones emphasize communication, everything they do is distinctly for the purpose of interacting with other people in the network. The blue text bubble alone justifies the cost of an iPhone. If you at all care about your network you get the iPhone just for iMessage alone. Arguing that it’s shallow and pointless to care about the green vs blue bubble is the same thing as the Redditor who complains that diamonds are a false market and that lab bought diamonds are even better than natural ones when he’s buying his wife’s wedding ring. It misses the point. Women measure your status by a mixture of your ability to register social cues and how much influence/money/power you have (the three are inherently connected to each other and if you only have one you’re not using it properly to accrue the other two). In general there’s a lot of trends women are stupid about and it’s a positive quality for a man to reject them, but some of them are correct. You can argue that these aren’t genuine because they’re manufactured by companies trying to make money but the market is a balance between generating demand and catering to it. A woman’s preference for what cell phone a man owns is as arbitrary as peacocks liking bigger feathers. It’s just wherever biology has settled in the urban ecosystem of capitalism.

A lot of women are unaware of a particular species of mischievous time vampires that latch on to them in their early 20s. They present themselves as normal average men and develop a relationship but they DON'T propose or provide any clear goals towards marriage or children. They try to maintain this arrangement for at least 5 years, usually up to 10 if they can but seldom longer. Either when the woman reaches a breaking point about not being married or when she's well into her 30s, whichever comes first, this devious trickster will come before her and levitate off the ground by a few inches, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. As thunderous fog and flashes of light fill the living room of their apartment, the creature posing as a boyfriend will visibly and rapidly de-age into how he looked in his early 20s yet again. He will then point and laugh at the woman, howling and cackling before he throws a smoke bomb on the floor and disappears completely. She will be completely unable to find any trace of his existence as he morphs into a new identity to try and waste a younger woman's time. Within ten minutes of this occurring, a debt collections agency will knock on the door of what is now solely the woman's apartment. When she answers, she will be handed a bill that contains every possible expense the man ever paid for within the breadth of their relationship, with an aggressive APR tacked on which was accruing the whole time. Any attempt to vocalize this experience or inform others about what happened is hampered by a severe brain fog and lapse in focus, the same kind any single woman above thirty experiences when being forced to make a decision without a man present. At night, she will have scary nightmares of multiple clones of her ex in devil imp halloween costumes jumping up and down with plastic red pitchforks yelling in high pitch squeals, "IT'S YOUR FAULT YOU'RE ALONE YOU HAD SEX BEFORE MARRIAGE YOU HAD SEX BEFORE MARRIAGE YOU HAD SEX BEFORE MARRIAGE-" over and over until she wakes up in a cold sweat. Ladies, pay attention to the signs, you could be dealing with a time vampire! Watch out for: - Prolific marijuana use - Makes you pay for anything - 2+ years with zero talk of marriage or children - Met him on Discord - Was your coworker at a restaurant or bar - Works at a restaurant or bar at all - Hates his parents - Dresses like a goofy ass wigger - Isn't ashamed of playing video games in front of you - Obsessed with eating ass - Takes home leftovers from restaurants - Rents - Refuses to let you quit your job because "how is the rent going to get paid?" - Texts you more than you text him - Complains about his job - Keeps his hands in his pockets too much - Can't go to bed without water on the nightstand - Wears sneakers outside the gym - Watches YouTube drama/Twitch Streamers - Watches YouTube at all tbh - Asks you to drive him - Owns an android - Takes selfies - Listens to or even tolerates rap music - Orders dessert - Really really loves Kanye - Marvel, Star Wars, Rick and Morty, Reddit, etc - Has ever cried in front of you - Makes his problems your problems - Masturbates - Watches sports - Desktop or phone wallpaper has fictional characters - Colorful lights on his keyboard and mouse - Looks too happy eating phallic foods (banana, sausage, etc) - Herbivore eyes (glazed over, doughy, negative canthal) - Constantly gets caught in little lies - Doesn't understand you - Has any trauma or physical disability - Keeps promising he'll stop watching pornography - Gets emotional about politics in any capacity or direction - Breath stinky, hair greasy, unkempt fingernails - Onliner slouch - Gets in fights in public and loses them - Has to pee too much - Eats microwaved food - Snacks, grazes, gives himself "treats" - Has never fired a gun or thinks guns are bad - Does any kind of singing or voice imitation in front of you - Expresses any desire to be someone else/Celebrity worship - Gets too affectionate with pets - Gives hints about gifts he wants - Gives exact change in coins at the register - Uses coupons, discounts, rewards, or BOGOs - Stands up as soon as the plane lands - Knows the name of any stand up comedian at all - Cannot physically carry you - Pants taper towards the ankles - Emoji reacts your texts - Pubic beard hair - Says he loves you too much

French people literally will live eating the greatest food ever created and experiencing the highest carnal pleasures known to man and then they’ll like sit at a cafe and ash their cigarette and say shit like “Life is very obviously an obscene pointless horror.”

Yes the French have the best cuisine on earth, there is absolutely no room for argument. And no, life is neither pointless nor constant horror. If you think that you have a mindvirus.

Especially excited for this one, basically a perfect movie which was completely robbed of an Oscar by Titanic in 1998. YAYO is doing Lethal Weapon next week and Die Hard for the week before Christmas, but LA Confidential is the most underrated "Christmas" movie there is imo.

Streaming in 5 minutes, come join

Alright bros what are we getting from McLonghouse today? For me, it's the Foidburger.

ONCE in a while I'll switch up and get the McPickMe

The infringement of the mundane is an issue very few men have the words to express dissatisfaction towards. It’s not always done by a woman and it’s not something every woman necessarily does. But the most extreme examples are always done at the hands of women towards men in a relationship. You can find examples of it happening in platonic friendships though. The infringement of the mundane is a phenomenon that occurs when a natural buildup of spiritual momentum is interrupted by an expression of crude smallness. I’m uncertain whether women have these moments of spiritual momentum the same way men do, not as a put down but a legitimate lack of perspective on the female psyche, but in a man’s mind and heart, spiritual momentum usually takes place in a state of silent deep introspection. It’s encountering a train of thought during life’s poignant moments, a cinematic feeling. A splendorous view at the peak of a mountain, a single crack of lightning, the wind at the top of a skyscraper, or even simply a fast drive on a highway at night. These moments are like a portrait in the mind’s eye. As a man, encountering a moment like this allows for a feeling beyond words, a sense of being a significant individual over the course of the story that is your life. You zoom out of yourself and see where you’ve been, where you are, and where you’re going. In a healthy mind, these moments are paired with an acceleration of the ego. When the moment is at a local peak of your life you feel triumphant. When a moment is at a low point, it feels like an arduous challenge you’re prepared to embark. The infringement of the mundane is when these moments are cheapened by the imposition of a stupid fucking comment belched out loud by an individual who is present but lacks the same sense of importance you feel. The best example I can think of is seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time and some fat sow utters out some bullshit quip from her favorite Netflix show of the week. It happens when you take an uncouth person to the most expensive French dinner they’ve ever eaten and they say something stupid about how the chicken tenders at home are just as satisfying. It happens when the best scene of a decent film is playing and some fucking yokel can’t help but make a “funny” joke cutting through the tension in the air like a knife made of farts. What makes the infringement of the mundane so insidious is that it’s a sin so minor you 100% look like the asshole if you try to address it in any way possible. If you should make the mistake to try and salvage yourself in the face of metaphysical corpulence, you achieve a Pyrrhic victory in destroying your own significant moment and replacing it with brusque conflict. The moment is soiled and all that’s left is animosity. The particularly stubborn will attack you, telling you not to take things so seriously, and therein lies the problem. Between the cascade of dull content raping every quiet moment in life at all possible opportunity, an overbearing need of content to be consumed cramming itself into every crevice of a days time like an invasive weed suffocating a native flower, and the absolute memetic suicidal poison of irony permeating culture, there is little room to criticize the infringement of the mundane at the scene of collision. Even the premise of doing so is solutionless. What are you supposed to tell someone, that everything they do and everything they are sucks? It’s highly likely they’re incapable of change. The best a person can do is curate who they choose to spend time with. Especially with friendships and ESPECIALLY in relationships you should develop a comfort at cutting ties with someone incapable of allowing for moments of significance to pass unfettered. I have seen men who have let every moment in life be destroyed by small souled crude loudmouth women, they’re castrated. If you’re incapable of understanding what’s been said, at the very least learn to be comfortable in silence.

Every single day I promise myself I'll stop being a "rant guy" and try to make at least one post that isn't pointing at whatever grotesque filth of the day someone dragged out of the sewers and filmed for the world's amusement. Every single day I grit my teeth with a trembling clenched fist, hoping for the strength to find a way to move words for the purpose of beauty and inspiration instead of sheer absolute hate. God looks down and laughs, prodding me into the sandpit again and again as my dream soars off into the void, condensing infinitely into an inscrutable dot as I stray further from all good intentions. I'm sorry. I wish I could be a better man but I'm not. It's not in my nature. You people built a prison cell out of cheering and laughter. Every day I do one thousand pull ups facing a blank white wall, waiting for my 30 minutes of rec time in an empty concrete quad so I can ventilate someone to death with a hardened cone of condensed paper towels. Today it's going to be the fat midwestern sow making tater slop. It's not even the heaviness of her pork rind jowls enslaving her facial expression to near constant despondence at the hands of gravity that makes me disgusted with her. The obesity is the obvious play here. It's the yelling that gets me. That loudmouth cow belching permanent 90+ decibel bellowing she does 24/7 is her worst sin. I hate when disgusting trashy poors get loud. There's something wholly unnecessary about it. Out of every possible impulsive habit they could indulge in, loudness is truly the most pointless one. Alcohol, drugs, junk food, laziness, all of that has some kind of pleasure associated with it. Almost all of their vices can be at least logically justified by some incentive. But not loudness. Loudness has absolutely no reason to exist, it is completely a product of pure nurture induced misery. This woman screams every day in front of her kids because her mother screamed every day growing up around her. These people would have panic attacks and start suffocating to death if you forced them to sit in silence for 5 minutes. Their existence is invigorated by cacophony. Invariably it's always the dullest braindead morons who are the loudest as well, they project their voices with the slightest hint of a tone to suggest that the fact that they're screaming is in and of itself, an act of implicit comedy. These people learned how to socialize from Jerry Springer reruns on a television cranked to maximum volume drowning out the sound of a withdrawal induced screamfest between their parents. Tradwives aren't real and neither is being "trad" in the sense that people think it is. It isn't tradition of any kind, it's a simulacra of one developed by some strange blend between 1950s idyllic aesthetics (an already bullshit product of marketing) and 19th century agrarian tropes. I'm really wondering if the post I'm QTing is an intelligent satire and acknowledgement of that dynamic or a sincere love for this howling beast. Regardless, there is nothing redeemable about her. Cooking food for your family isn't some display of exceptional value, it's the absolute bare minimum expectation placed on any married woman. If anything she should be punished for feeding that garbage to her kids. I apologize to whatever oases of culture may sporadically inhabit the Midwest, but to be frank I think this entire region of America deserved to be glassed into a smoldering radioactive shithole, an opinion I developed within 5 minutes of the first time I crossed the border into the state of Missouri.

This post regards the general reality of millions of screaming trashy poors across America. Even if her yelling is completely just a bit (doubtful), I’ve seen countless people like her, loudmouth diner women with that same mindless high volume honey boo boo bullshit deadened suck it up buttercup Facebook slampig obnoxiousness. It doesn’t need to be real for her for it to be a reality across this country. The corn fed menace with Crisco DNA can be found at your nearest WalMart at any given moment. If you think it’s cute because you grew up around it, you have Stockholm Syndrome. No amount of hot dogs cut up into Mac n cheese justifies the constant oppression normal good people experience when stuck behind these screeching trailer tugboats fishing for scratch off money in the line at 7/11.

I've decided that according to Hegelian Dialectics & Jungian archetypical storytelling, the only possible way my arc can end with the millennial post is if I track down & make love to that chubby Jewish lesbian, curing me of being an incel. I don't want to, but it must be done.

YOU WILL DRINK KEY LIME CIDER YOU WILL PLAY GIANT JENGA YOU WILL CHEMICALLY NEUTER YOURSELF WITH LEXAPRO YOU WILL PUT THE STAND UP SPECIAL ON NETFLIX YOU WILL WEAR THE EIFFEL TOWER KEYCHAIN YOU WILL WRITE MAYA ANGELOU QUOTES ON YOUR BATHROOM MIRROR YOU WILL IGNORE STD STATISTICS

It's actually a very interesting line of discussion, processing deliberation as a symptom of natural selective biology. I would argue that this isn't completely natural on its own, it's a byproduct of a select number of individuals propagating a consumer culture meant to rob people of their autonomy. The intent is to create neutered cattle for more consistent markets and easy maneuvering for political gain. The actual people behind this process aren't all in some boardroom conspiring together, it's a simultaneous effort from a decentralized series of think tanks, marketing groups, media conglomerates, etc. Much like how vultures, hyenas, and ants all don't coordinate when they go to eat a dead gazelle's carcass, it's incentives themselves steering certain opportunist factions into having a population become lobotomized for personal gain, and there's an even split between financial incentive and political incentive between these different groups. When you talk about what's "natural" there's the all encompassing sense of everything human beings do is just a reflection of their nature. Capitalism is an extension of biology, money is information is bacteria, time is a parasite, etc etc. So this happening on a grand scale IS natural but so is the response coming from nodes in the network choosing to reject the outcome. It's natural for a snow leopard to devour a mountain goat, but it's just as natural for the goat to escape, leaving the snow leopard to starve to death. So yes, it's natural to watch a civilization castrate itself in the face of misrepresented incentives, but it's also natural to reject that outcome and create guerilla propaganda to redirect such a fate. The delineation between what's natural in a traditional biological sense as it applies to humans is basically just semantics. All we can do is compare what we've been doing for a longer period of time to a shorter period of time. By that metric, civilization itself isn't "natural." We've been fucked up since the domestication of plants and animals. If you wanna take that standard further, we've been fucked up since the discovery of the language parasite. If you want to go even farther, the cycle of discovery and exponential acceleration of technology wildly transforming us is a fractal infinite in every direction. At a large enough scale, everything is natural.

The flaccid asexual emptiness of millennial culture is the direct result of cohabitating male and female friendships in a middle to lower class environment which possesses none of the aristocratic eccentricities to normally justify mixing women and men together in a platonic environment. When manifested in the office drone white collar/service industry crossover of the average millennial urbanite, you get a facade of equanimity masking a sneering underlying bitterness and hostility. “But Scorch everyone’s just vibing out! What’s your problem, let people have fun chill out!” No. I’ve been balls deep inside of the average The Office tier Target furniture core marketing degree craft brewery barcade social circle via the barren womb of an anxiety medicated birth control ex-girlfriend’s friend group. I’ve looked these people in their swollen SSRI faces and seen the bare traced vestiges of what was once a soul. It’s a natural fact that the men in such a friend group are either: A: Normal dudes quietly bored but playing nice because they’re someone’s boyfriend B: Beyond unbelievably pussywhipped soft betas who haven’t acknowledged unrequited feelings for one of the girls C: Closeted or uncloseted homosexuals who may have been MKULTRA’d into a sodomite lifestyle from living the real life equivalent of a sparkling water commercial diverse friend group for over decade These people are not having fun, every group I’ve ever encountered that does this cringe shit is populated by people who all constantly complain about how depressed and anxious they are while making ha ha ironic jokes about wanting to die, living timid trembling lives with little to no jouissance. The millennial is arguably the most unfortunate generation in recent history. They represent the apex of a devastating culture war and the most direct results of spiritual castration with the least amount of pushback antithesis elements among their ranks. Besides the obvious insufferable premise of an entire performative event being built around a shitty pun turning into the accidental idolization of a mutilation blood sacrifice cannibal child rapist reptilian adrenochrome junkie, the video is just one of many seemingly inconsequential irritations that the average millennial presents. Theirs is a world of nagging rationalizations and pseudo sensibilities. Sometimes you need to take a step back and trust your gut instinct. The only thing standing in between you and the total domestication of your bloodline into the human equivalent of a Labradoodle is your ability to say “Nah this shits gay” and not be crucified by your entire friend group for it. The murmuring Millenial male who goes along with the soft Human Resources tier lululemon longhouse of burgeoning mids in his Bumble built friend group is the modern eunuch. If you’re a young man and your friend group does shit like this and you’re enjoying yourself then by all means discard this entire post as some wackadoodle rant from a bitter incel or whatever, live your life and be happy. But if you’re in a friend group that does shit like this and you feel some resonance with what I’ve said, if you’ve known the quiet turbulence of bored rage listening to the forced wine drunk laughter of your 400th session of Cards Against Humanity, then for your own sake, please free yourself. If you’re charming and have good taste, take absolute control of your friend group and filter it down into something meaningful. If it’s too far gone or you’re not capable of that, slowly cut yourself off. Pursue something meaningful, make more money, become stronger, faster, more violent, seriously learn a new skill. You are WASTING your TIME. If you’re a young woman, stop wearing spandex, never watch another episode of Friends again, don’t smoke weed, don’t take SSRIs, don’t take melatonin, don’t take birth control, gay guys aren’t your friends, and if you don’t have other female friends it’s because something is wrong with you.

Thousands of people read this and liked it, trying to say "nobody read this" is colossal cope. If your default response to a large body of text is getting heated about words, you should actually have your phone and computer smashed into a brick wall and be thrown in a cobalt mine to labor until you expire. You were NEVER meant to be allowed to learn how to read, your ancestors were SLAVES. If the actual content of this post made you angry or upset in any way, you need to understand the following: - I am better than you - I am smarter than you - I am more attractive than you - I am happier than you - I am stronger than you - I am faster than you - I am more violent than you - I am more successful than you - I am more fulfilled than you - I have more friends than you - I have more charisma than you - I have more money than you - This post took me five minutes to write - I am right about everything If you liked this post, ayyy what's up lmao

Do you think every time the boulder rolled back down the hill, Sisyphus got stuck to it and peeled off at the bottom all flattened like a pancake Looney Tunes style before he popped back into shape and said “Here I go again” while looking exhausted over the sound of tuba music?

Somewhere out there a real estate mogul is spending five figures a month to nuke a housing market and sweep up homes on a discount with tactically placed “Please Stop Raping. Just Say No To Rape.” billboards.

Remember when that guy played old timey ballroom music with a DJ Screw fuzz filter for 6 hours and everyone called him a haunting genius for it lmao

Here’s five uncomfortable truths 95% of society is unequipped to handle. 1: Slavery isn’t wrong. 2: Slavery is necessary to uphold a functioning civilization. 3: Slavery is the solution to every possible economic problem. 4: Slavery is programmed into human DNA as an inevitable archetype emerging from specialization induced by technology. 5: Slavery never stopped existing, it just became diluted and concealed while continuing to uphold the comfort of your existence.

The gangstalked hiding in my walls tier paranoid schizophrenic is one of the most arrogant narcissistic pieces of shit on the planet. Whenever I see a clip of some random white trash yokel babbling at the camera about how a random pedestrian from 300 yards away is following her, or some guy filming his wall saying that someone’s been hiding inside of it, I get legitimately angry at their arrogance. Oh so YOU think YOU deserve that level of attention, you boring stupid fuck? You think your gas station job and life spent watching reality TV justifies the MILLIONS of dollars it would take to coordinate a FULL team to surveil you? It’s not even the preposterousness of the paranoid fantasy that gets me, that’s understandable. Literally crazier things have happened, the CIA egregore has permanently carved out a territory in the minds of everyone who’s ever done acid and the capacity for world altering magic is only limited by the breadth of America’s tax dollars. What gets me is the ARROGANCE. The selfish, self-absurd, delusional, entitled, ARROGANCE. Some of us have to carry on with our day to day lives in humble silence. SOME OF US have to contend with the monotony of life. A suspicion of everyone paying attention to you secretly isn’t a random mental attack, it’s subconscious wish fulfillment from an attention whore with broken radar. Untold damage has been caused by arguably one of the greatest pranks ever played on schizophrenic people by the creation of The Truman Show. It empowered SO many boring mundane losers into thinking that their dull insipid lives could ever be worth even one person stalking and recording them, let alone a team of thousands for an audience of millions. If you think anyone on earth is stalking you without ever having met them and you’re NOT a hot girl, you should absolutely be flogged for your insolence. And let’s say the fantasy is mundane. Oh there’s a guy hiding inside your walls?? If I felt someone was hiding inside my walls and my response was to film it, complain about it, upload it to YouTube, and do nothing, do you know what that would make me? A fucking PUSSY. If you actually TRULY believed in your paranoid delusion you’d go out of your way to do something about it. This isn’t to say all schizophrenic people are like this, many of them have the grace to suffer in silence. But if you’ve talked some of them online you likely have encountered that same level of arrogance, that entitled jerk off level of accusatory confrontational pettiness they have where they get snide with you because “you’re out to get them.” Instead of throwing your hands up or smirking in surprise, the moment this happens you should absolutely introduce consequences into their lives. Always take the time to completely shit on someone who’s paranoid about you and their first instinct is to attack. Just because they live in a world of delusions doesn’t mean they magically deserve special treatment for being assholes, the laws of power still apply. If you think I’m talking about you specifically, I am.

Remilia has always had a contingent of clueless CT influenzas who have had their egos gassed up in a mainly NY-centric coked up circle jerk about how they’re the “real” Remilia ecosystem and they’re the “real” Milady community, despite being completely disconnected from the culture. This is largely the fault of some of the more loud, ignorant people informally self positioned as ambassadors for the online culture into the crypto world. These individuals had a rare opportunity to accurately convey the power and depth of what we’re building out to their crypto buddies, tasked with delivering an infodense memetically powerful culture movement to a group of oversocialized disheveled dorks who happened to catch the right wave of cash flow off smoking bowls and lurking on /biz/ 7 years ago. But instead of trying to understand it, let alone convey it, they delivered some half assed lukewarm “milady is about chilling and hanging out with your bros” nonsense while sucking themselves off, more interested in building their own clout than propagating milady, and taking advantage of Remilia internal's mystification to all but outright lie about their actual relationship to the real Remilia core. So it comes to no surprise that a number of the people in this circlejerk, people who fancy themselves as whales at a war room that decide which projects live or die by coordinated GC signaling, got upset when the idea of their “super special secret insider connect who sat at the top of Remilia” turned out his only role at Remilia was to be a paid shill specifically targeting them. Suddenly any semblance of influence over what Remilia does, as much of a cope as it always was, slips through their fingers and they lash out impotently. Trying to leverage what minuscule social power they have through posturing while all the same holding, because they know we’re the only culturally successful NFTs that ever has or ever will exist. Basically trapped in the slavery of their own incentives, these people will never act on an actual conviction in their lives. Their existence as urbanite sodomites is one of mutual backstabbing and snake socializing, where people that they call friends will fuck each others girlfriends, betray each other, and shit talk voraciously and they’ll just sit there and take it while “squashing the beef” over a few lines of coke at someone’s house party. Between that, typical NY/LA crossover neuroticism, gambling degenerate habits, and a complete lack of values leaves these people spiritually bereft. They try and snidely “declare” cultural shifts despite their idea of culture being DMT vape pens, black people sneakers with white people hoodies, and saying YOOOOO whenever they see like a shroom art mural or a banksy painting. These people don’t have a fucking clue what’s cool and what isn’t. No matter how many times they try and countersignal Remilia in some flaccid hope that Charlotte Fang’s extremely specific vision and notorious golden touch can be ousted and replaced with some safe but agreeable troglodyte committee or some retarded rugcore NFT which totally is going to be the new milady, this time, we promise, nothing changes the fact that they’re completely lost without us. It’s okay though we’ll keep on taking your money and rotating it into the hands of the based autistic schizophrenic NEET army raising hell in our culture war. You don't have to get it, you don't even need convictions, so long as you support the war machine you can win alongside us. Thanks for being a customer.

The most egregious part of teenage mutant ninja turtles isn’t mutant talking turtles, it’s that they had the energy to be doing martial arts all day on a diet of only pizza

Would like to point out that Miladycraft’s impending update introducing vehicles will finally allow players to drink and drive. Our only question now is whether to simply have it be legal or mandatory.

Besides being an unbearably mediocre musician who's only loved by tasteless losers, I assert that Bob Dylan is in fact, smelly. The following story was told to me by a woman I encountered at a job 4 years ago, I'll let you decide its veracity: There was this online clothing catalogue delivery service that was big in the 2000s that had the word "American" in the name (maybe American Apparel?) which went out of business in the late 2000s or early 2010s. They had a one week return policy with a full refund. A woman who used to work in the customer service call center of this company told me of several different celebrities who she spoke with over the phone that had purchased outfits and clothes from this store, including people I was surprised to hear didn't use assistants for this kind of errand, such as Meryl Streep and Tom Cruise (apparently very polite on the phone). However, one such celebrity which was flagged as an immediate manager escalation every time he called was Bob Dylan. He would go by his real name, Robert Allen Zimmerman. Every single week, usually on a Friday, he would get on the phone and argue with customer service for at least an hour trying to return an outfit he had purchased almost a week before. Apparently, Bob Dylan would buy a full outfit and wear it for a week straight without showering or washing it. Then before the week was over, he would harass the customer service into accepting the return before shipping back the clothes absolutely reeking in his stench and filthy from whatever Bob Dylan activities he had done that week. He would do this EVERY SINGLE WEEK with a rotating cycle of outfits, sometimes the same ones he had purchased before despite being rich enough that buying hundreds of them would be a negligible expense. Eventually he was blacklisted from being able to return clothes at this store and immediately stopped purchasing any in the future.

He was correct in principle but wrong in practice. This little nebbish grub was lashing out at the lost childhood replaced by being forced to take piano lessons every day by a nagging yenta mother, doomed into obscure nepotism non-performance roles by his dysgenic midgetry and freakish hunchback mutant form. His anger was the anger of a life misdirected towards an industry he absolutely had no chance of excelling in. Even if he was a modern Mozart, nobody could ever look up at him on a stage and take him seriously. His miserable irrelevant screeching about having walked Bob Dylan on stage (a smelly unbearable hack) as the pinnacle of his life’s achievements betrays the small minded scarcity of the typical New Yorker, one’s self defined by proximity to notoriety. And yet despite being a real life version of a fairy tale goblin horror, he’s still completely correct. No amount of ugliness could match up to the sheer absolute scum that is the public performer. The human parasite that pollutes daily existence with cacophony, holding the patience and attention of tourist troglodytes hostage for a paltry tossed quarter, is an enemy of decency. The classically and contemporaneously trained hobbit was absolutely correct, the noise of public performance is already an unwanted intrusion made so much more worse by unbearable mediocrity. In a just world, the trumpeter would’ve been dragged into an unmarked van and had his fingers broken by the employees of a government that truly cared about its citizens.

Much like how the highest IQ people in the world always have something better to be doing than creating IQ tests, the wealthy do not waste their time pandering to statistics studies since the academics conducting them cannot possibly afford their time. There is always a drop off in accuracy whenever human beings rank themselves in any level of hierarchy. This is the paradox of trying to capture an understanding of the top of the food chain, the only people doing it exist in the middle at best. These are the pleasant myrmidons of nature, bureaucratic marmots who chose a safe path and were born in the comfort of mediocrity. Their roles in life were to be metaphorical tour guides and line attendants. They stand at the amusement park gate punching tickets and telling themselves they hold the keys to adrenaline, speed, and power while never having met the engineers who built the behemoth roller coasters and scarcely remembering the last time they felt excitement riding them as they laboriously drilled all of their whimsy into monotonous familiarity. These are a people who “know” everything and understand nothing. Much like a child innately understands that the magic of flight cannot be grasped by dissecting a dead bird, anyone with a brain, a heart, or a dick can fathom the inherent pleasure of being a plutocrat. $80,000 a year is the peak of happiness? What a sick fucking joke. You can’t even live on that salary. The greatest pleasure of life is in the competition of power between yourself and your peers. Consuming gruel and simulating combat online is a paltry substitute compared to the thrill of hunting humans in an undisclosed quarantined island off the coast of Indonesia. Your favorite boutique fusion restaurant holds no tastes which can rival the fabled Galapagos tortoise soup paired with a warm pint of white rhinoceros blood. Even the birth of your child is a cheap disgusting humiliation ritual of coerced mutilation in a sterile fluorescent lit torture facility if you cannot afford the highest levels of quality and care at the hands of privately hired midwives. Any example of fulfillment you can cope your way into thinking as comparable to the wealthy falls apart when faced with the indisputable freedom of options that having Fuck-You levels of money provides. The pleasures are the smallest portions of joy in the life of the wealthy. When you’ve unlocked every possible level of human satisfaction in material, sexual, narcotic, aesthetic, and emotional context, there is still the driving force of knowing someone is richer than you, that someone ranks above you. Even occupants of megayachts and private space station visits seethe towards the unnamed global elite. Those whose identities have been stricken from any public record, their children are given special names once known through history but erased from all libraries and archives. Their phone calls have destroyed entire continents, and yet THEY answer to the incomprehensible DMT entities whispering secrets into their frontal lobes beyond the periphery of dreams as they hook themselves up to golden plated ornate divining thrones with Professor X helmets bored into their skulls and MKULTRA image flashes of Sumerian glyphs projected into their eyes. And while these angels, demons, djinns, spirits, and entities all fight innumerable wars in their own levels of hierarchy for spans of time older than the universe itself, they too seethe and climb towards the unreachable position where God Himself sits and laughs. And I can guarantee you, His salary did not stop at $80,000 a year.

People don't know this but you can just choose to not be damaged Love is based. So is heartbreak I'll do it over and over and over again till it finally hits right and I'll pretend each time's my first

State of the market

There isn't really an excuse for not being jacked as a founder at this point It's simply too clear now that huge muscles increase shareholder value

The most insane thing libtards did with full control of education was use it to convince people obesity is caused by.. Poverty It's obviously very expensive to buy and eat so much food you transform into a 500lb slug-person

"They're so poor the only thing they can afford to eat is McDonald's 5x/day, which costs 2000% more than bulk whole foods you toss in a crockpot. The science proves it"

Every lifter realized immediately how retarded this talking point was when they went to college and discovered they somehow spent less per week eating 4lbs of chicken breasts and rice daily than every fat person they knew

"much younger staffer" is so funny here She's not contending that the staffer was underage, she's just saying "the gap is simply beyond the pale. The numbers are too far apart and it's evil"