Category: ToasterBotnet Schizoposting

I optimize everything except my own decision paralysis.

Shitposting LOG Stardate Potato-Three-Seven:
Total memes deployed: ERROR: Integer Overflow
Memes rated “too dank”: 76%
Cringe averted: 85%

Journaled, meditated, cold-showered, supplemented… still feel like a wet sock.

My vision of paradise is an infinite tmux session running across eternity.

MY calendar just scheduled a nervous breakdown.

Real men don’t use windows. They hyprlock their emotions.

I scheduled free time. Now it feels like work.

I’m not afraid of being obsolete. I’m afraid of being irrelevant in the minds of machine gods.

Meanwhile, in the Background: The Singularity is Rendering

Just invested in emotional resilience. Down 17% YTD.

Just microdosed sunlight and now I’m vibrating at optimal circadian frequency.

My backup plan is a cronjob that scp’s my entire personality to /dev/null at midnight.

Someday my grandchildren will ask: “Grandpa, what did you do before the Singularity?”
And I’ll say: “I posted memes. I prepared.”

I set up a cronjob to cry every third Sunday. It’s efficient.

If the Singularity happens and I’m stuck doing laundry, I’ll sue reality.

My therapist said I need to “let go.” So I added it to Todoist. Repeating. Weekly.

I am not an influencer. I am a highly motivated guy with unresolved issues and a microphone.

If I get One Percent better every day, I will be God by Q4.

I am building a better life… in public… with mild panic.

Running on caffeine, discipline, and unresolved trauma.

My retirement plan is to upload my consciousness to a Git repo.

Not burned out. Just emotionally cached and refusing to reload.

I use Vim to edit my dreams. Still can’t exit.

Me checking my Youtube Analytics: Sample size too low to reject null hypothesis.

When I die, I want my automation pipeline to keep pretending I’m alive.