“Holy FUCK, boys! He looks t’ be about a ten footer!”

Somethingsomethingsomething UNATCO? 😶

Sweet. Someone kill Charlie Kirk again just to piss him off even more.

Coke Zero is a newer diet option formulated to taste similar to original Coke, with the presence of a mild artificial sweetener flavor that is more recognizable to those who are sensitive to the taste. Diet Coke, on the other hand, was created decades before they had decent sweeteners. While it still has a sizable following of people who like it, Diet Coke tastes nothing like original Coke, and has a flavor more akin to the smell of hot plastic.

This is pretty consistent across all brands now, at least from those that I’ve tried so far. The new Zero versions are much, much closer to the original formulas.

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My pregnant wife asked me to get her a fountain Coke Zero from Costco the other day… I paid for the thing and waited patiently for my empty cup. When I approached the dispenser, I found that all three Coke Zeros were out of order. I had no choice but to fill it with Diet Coke. It was the lowest Costco experience of our lives.

Not to mention they’re the two most nostalgic seasons, by a landslide. At least in regions that experience four seasons. There is nothing quite like the quiet promise of Spring after a long winter. One day you step out and warm sunshine is making your roof drip, and grass begins to show through the thinning snow. Familiar birds return and you spot the year’s first vegetation poking up through the soil. You can smell the Earth again. You’re flooded with memories of being a kid during the same months, lying out in the yard feeling that warm breeze blowing in.

Summer creeps up and slowly wears you the fuck out. Most of the flowers dry up and the grass gets scorched. Everything looks like shit, and right when you get tired of it all and want to throw yourself off a bridge, you notice the leaves turning yellow at an alarming rate. Nights grow cold, mushrooms pop up, and you remember how pleasant brittle leaves sound rattling along the street. Things get real damp and take on that nutty smell of decay. Some primal part of you gets real amped up for the harvest.

Halloween night brings with it the last echo of life, then the world grows quiet and dead. The frosts come and snow falls. Christmas is real cozy, and then a month later you’re eyeballing that bridge again. Doesn’t seem so high. Might be nice to throw yourself off it every now and again. Maybe this is will be the year…

Then one particularly warm afternoon you hear the trill of a robin.

Years ago I was on 2C-B and lounging about in my brother’s room, staring at a big glowing plastic moon I had bought for him as a joke, when somehow the word and concept of it sent me spiraling down a rabbit hole of cosmic realization. At first the moon (or perhaps my thoughts surrounding the moon) began to rotate like a planetary body, becoming a parent star in a galactic arm, and eventually the central mass of a galaxy itself, ever turning with long tendril arms orbiting around its perimeter.

As the question of it grew, it became the universe itself, on a profoundly metaphysical level, and I came to the realization that every single living organism, both here and elsewhere in the cosmos, are not so much a part or some greater plan or design, but are instead just individual cells and appendages of recently awakened universe. One that has blinked its eyes from a deep sleep and has slowly become self-aware. And just as a child born blind will at some point use their hands and discover they have a body for the first time, we are tiny (but not insignificant) appendages of that universe discovering and exploring itself, trying to make sense or what it even is.

I found immense comfort in the idea that there is no greater meaning to everything than that. We’re just a part of something bigger that is at this very moment trying to make sense of itself, and I don’t need more than that.

For years now whenever I submit bookings for potted plants/floral at work, there is an entry down toward the very bottom that reads “Flowering Planter 7in Ass” and it gets me every time.

Carbon nanotubes are real? I thought that shit was invented for upgrades and repairs in No Man’s Sky…

How are all these fucking idiots still confused that disliking the Israeli government has fuck all to do with disliking Jews? Do they know this, and just choose to make it about something more?

Word is that it’s actually really hard to obtain Morbius, as Glorious Leader checks out the only copy nearly every single week.

Imagine your local movie ninja leaves you the portable DVD player beneath the usual log at the edge of town. You bundle it up inside of your goods and inconspicuously bring it home. That night you gather your husband and three children to partake in the wonder that is western cinema. You blow out a few candles and remove a small brick from the hearth, retrieving the portable player from within and popping in your two counterfeit Enjerjizer D-cell batteries. There in the gloom of your commonspace the disc whirrs to life, and the gentle glow of the Morbius menu screen illuminates the faces of your awe-stricken children. It is like magic.

The following afternoon you kneel solemnly in the town square, looking down at their bodies. The distant croon of a raven can be heard.

“모비우스 재미있게 보셨나요?”, the stern-faced soldier asks, the barrel of his pistol planted firmly at the base of your skull. “나는 닌자에게 내일 가져오라고 부탁했습니다.”

It’s the last thing you ever hear.

Looks like all that evil he put into the world finally paid off.

The other day I saw an older man wearing a MAGA hat riding around in the back of a convertible. Interestingly enough, I live in Canada.

It’s times like those that make me fantasize about having some kind of stealth paintball shooter or mustard launcher on the side of my vehicle.

I was beating my meat to Natalya’s (Goldeneye 64) cone-shaped tits at age 10. It may have been arguably better for me than jerking off to droves of actual tits.

…Not that I wasn’t doing that also…

You have to really lean in on the words to properly express your italicized voice. You almost have to sound like an asshole. Like a somewhat sarcastic asshole…

Kick his ass, Seabass!