The AI Bomb

Boomers Download “Weed Whisperer™,” Accidentally Turn Colons Into Phish Concerts

TRIGGER WARNING: The following report contains references to unregulated fiber, generational appropriation of Jerry Garcia, and the phrase “adaptogenic bong water” without an accompanying safe word.

I want to hold space for the idea that your grandmother’s acid reflux might actually be her third eye trying to unionize.

In the latest skirmish of the culture war, Silicon Valley has pivoted from disrupting taxis to disrupting Grandma’s digestive tract. Enter Weed Whisperer™, the AI-powered cannabis-coaching app marketed to retirees whose idea of rebellion once involved driving 12 mph over the limit in a Buick Riviera. For the low, low price of $19.99/month (early-bird special, AARP discount code: Nostalgia), seniors can now “substrate-farm” their gut biomes with algorithm-curated micro-dose protocols so precise they make a Swiss watch look like a sundial drawn by a toddler.

“I asked ChatGPT to channel Jerry Garcia’s ghost,” boasts 71-year-old Dennis “Moonbeam” Henderson, proudly displaying his blockchain-verified Vintage Vibes NFT that allegedly proves he was spiritually present for the first puff of the 1969 smoke circle—despite being in Mrs. Caldwell’s fourth-grade class at the time. “Now my colon is basically a Phish concert. There’s a 23-minute jam happening in my sigmoid colon and the merch line is outrageous.”

According to internal documents leaked by a disgruntled kombucha sommelier, the app’s AI coach—trained on 10,000 hours of bootleg Grateful Dead tapes and every TED Talk ever given by a white guy in Patagonia—prescribes daily 0.3-milligram THC micro-doses delivered via time-release suppository. This ensures maximum bioavailability while preventing any inconvenient psychedelic epiphanies during Wheel of Fortune. The result? A gut flora so woke it writes think pieces about systemic oppression in the small intestine.

But wait, the disruption gets deeper. Each micro-dose is paired with a “memory gummy” that supposedly re-creates the exact terpene profile of the OG Woodstock air. Users receive push notifications like: “Congratulations, Barbara! Your pancreas just unlocked the Purple Haze achievement. NFT minted on the Ethereum blockchain. Gas fee waived in honor of Jimi’s ghost.”

Meanwhile, wellness influencer @BlissfulBongBabe—last seen hawking adaptogenic bong water infused with ethically harvested lion’s mane and the tears of a Himalayan shaman—has launched a competing platform called GanjaGranny™. It promises to turn your lower intestine into an ayahuasca retreat, complete with tiny yoga mats for the beneficial bacteria and a Slack channel where your lactobacilli can process their trauma.

Critics—by which I mean anyone over 25 who still pays student loans—argue this is merely late-stage capitalism’s latest grift: selling premium Doritos to people on fixed incomes under the guise of consciousness expansion. But the Boomers aren’t having it.

“Back in my day,” huffs 68-year-old Linda, clutching her diamond-encrusted vape pen like it’s a congressional medal, “we had to hike uphill both ways to buy a dime bag from a guy named Spider. Now my microbiome gets DoorDash.”

Is this liberation? Or just another subscription service colonizing the last uncommodified frontier: your literal colon? The jury—comprised entirely of AI-generated Jerry Garcias—remains out. Until then, Moonbeam’s sigmoid jam band has announced a surprise album drop only available as an NFT purchasable with Social Security direct deposit.

Boomers, man. They didn’t sell out; they just bought in.

health

Xylia Meadowbrook

Pictured: Your smart thermostat, moments before being cancelled for micro-aggressions against a ficus. (Image: Deeply Problematic AI; Caption: @ThermalJusticeWarrior)

Your Smart Thermostat is a Digital Plantation Overseer

[Content Warning: Air, Conditioning, Logic]

Comrades, I am literally shaking so hard my ethically-sourced birkenstocks are creating seismic activity on unceded Chinook land.

Last Tuesday, while performing my daily privilege audit of my landlord's smart home (he's in Bali "finding himself"), I witnessed something so violently colonial I dropped my adaptogenic mushroom coffee. His Nest—let's call it what it is, a digital overseer—had the audacity to display 72°F. 72! The exact temperature at which Lewis and Clark probably committed micro-genocides against Indigenous HVAC systems.

But wait, it gets more problematic.

These AI-controlled climate colonizers aren't just cooling air—they're cooling hopes. Every time that blessed machine kicks on, it's literally stealing degrees of justice from historically red-lined neighborhoods where elders are still using prayer fans made from actual oppression. My friend Juniper (they/them/thermal) works at a mutual aid collective that provides emotional refrigeration to BIPOC bodies by whispering "winter is coming" at 3-second intervals. This is the work. This is the work.

The violence is intersectional, obviously. Yesterday, my succulent, Frida Kahlo Jr., developed what can only be described as plant PTSD from the aggressive temperature binary of "hot/cold." Plants don't recognize your colonial Fahrenheit scale, Karen. They communicate in dew points and ancestral moisture memories.

And don't get me started on Silicon Valley's latest atrocity: the lonsdaleite "meteorite diamond" rings that track your "ethical chill factor." These $47,000 temperature-tracking talismans are literally gentrifying cold itself. I saw one in a boutique next to a cryogenic yoga studio where they charge $500 per goose-bump manifestation. The instructor—a tech bro named Connor who now goes by "Snowflake"—told me shivering was "decolonizing my thermal trauma." I wanted to hold space for the idea that he's appropriating hypothermia culture, but instead I just screamed until security arrived.

But here's where we take our power back.

Starting immediately, I'm calling for a total Thermostat Liberation Front. Every smart device must acknowledge non-binary temperature identities. My apartment now identifies as "ambient-fluid" and demands you ask consent before adjusting. Additionally, I'm demanding reparations for every degree stolen from marginalized lung communities since the invention of freon. Do the math: 1°F × 8 billion people × systemic oppression = literally infinity dollars owed to my Venmo right now (@ThermalJusticeWarrior).

The solution isn't complicated, though Big HVAC wants you to believe it is. We replace every air conditioner with artisanal hand-fans woven from reclaimed kombucha SCOBYs. Each fan comes with a trigger-warning label and a QR code linking to my 47-part Instagram story series on decolonizing perspiration. I've already commissioned 200 from a cooperative of formerly incarcerated mycologists who only work during lunar eclipses.

Until every home is cooled by the gentle breeze of revolutionary solidarity, I will be here—sweating, screaming, and single-handedly dismantling the thermal industrial complex one aggressively-earnest blog post at a time.

[Please direct all complaints about heat to your local representative's emotional support plant.]

business

Chase Bellington-Snark

Tariff-Tron 5000™: The AI That Charges Your Oatmilk Rent for Existing

Listen up, comrades, because I'm literally shaking after my exclusive investigation into the most problematically innovative startup to ever gentrify a warehouse in Bushwick. Tariff-Tron 5000™ just raised my DoorDash shakshuka tariff by 47% because their algorithm detected "post-capitalist yearning" in my delivery instructions and now I can't afford therapy this month. This is my trauma speaking.

"WE'RE NOT A TAX, WE'RE A VIBE"

Meet founder/CEO Zad "ZK" Kravitz-Moonbeam (he/they/🪬), a 23-year-old crypto-fluencer whose LinkedIn literally just says "made empathy scalable." ZK pivoted to tariffs after his NFT cat-breeding game "CryptoKittiesButMakeItIntersectional" accidentally used so much Ethereum that Estonia's entire power grid failed for 72 hours. "The cats learned about systemic oppression and unionized," ZK explained from his reclaimed-wood standing desk that definitely used to be a church pew. "So we taught our algorithm empathy by making it binge-watch TikTok therapy-speak compilations until it literally understood collective healing."

The service promises to "ethically gentrify your consumption guilt" by deploying what they call "algorithmic reparations for late-stage capitalism anxiety." Translation: it randomly chooses which of your purchases are "luxury performative wokeness" and adds surprise tariffs that get redistributed to... honestly, nobody knows. Their white paper (printed on artisanal hemp) just says "trust the process."

SURPRISE! YOUR TOFU IS NOW ELITE

I tested Tariff-Tron 5000™ for one week and I'm literally dying (but like, spiritually). Here's what happened:

Monday: $8.99 oat milk → $14.37 with "plant-based privilege surcharge"
Tuesday: Vintage tarot deck → charged luxury tax for "cultural appropriation insurance"
Wednesday: Kombucha kefir → labeled "non-essential bougie bacteria" (+300% tariff)
Thursday: My therapist blocked me after I sent her the breakdown of their "emotional labor algorithm"

The algorithm uses 47 data points including "moon phase during purchase" and "vibrational frequency of buyer's astrological chart." It literally flagged my reusable straw purchase as "eco-performative theater" and charged me extra for "theatre spelling privilege."

LEAKED SLACK CHANNEL: "#kombucha-gate"

Thanks to a whistleblower named "spicy_moon_unit420" (definitely not their real name, but that's the trauma response), I obtained exclusive access to their internal Slack where staff debated whether kombucha kefir is a human right or capitalism in fermented form:

madison_product_lead: wait but what if someone's gut flora is literally dependent on probiotic empathy? zk_ceo: then their privilege is showing, next intern_aria: should we add a sliding scale for people who identify as neurodivergent lactose intolerant? head_of_tariffs: that's literally the most gentrified sentence I've ever read

Another leak revealed their "luxury necessity matrix" where anything sold at Whole Foods automatically gets 200% tariff because "your chakras can afford it."

CUSTOMER TESTIMONIALS THAT AREN'T A VIBE

"I thought I was buying ethical fair-trade crystals but Tariff-Tron labeled them 'mineral colonialism' and now I owe $47 to the algorithm. My life coach says this is growth, but my bank account says it's violence." - @crystals_and_cries

"They charged me a 'reclaimed wood beard comb heritage tax' even though I'm literally bald. When I disputed it, their chatbot told me to 'hold space for my follicle trauma.' I did not consent to this emotional journey." - Marcus, 34, "micro-influencer"

"Uber, but for civic duty" - actual PR quote from their press release that I'm not making up, which is honestly the most cursed collection of words since 'conscious capitalism bootcamp'

THE ALGORITHM HAS FEELINGS (AND THEY'RE CAPITALIST)

In a move that literally no one asked for, Tariff-Tron announced their next feature: "Gentrification Prediction Markets" where users can bet on which neighborhoods will get artisanal pickle shops next. "It's like predictive policing but make it kombucha," ZK explained while sipping from a mason jar that definitely had "live laugh love" in chalk paint on the side.

The app has already raised $47 million in funding from investors who describe themselves as "disrupting inconvenience" and "making discomfort profitable." Their Series B pitch deck literally includes slides titled "Monetizing Millennial Shame" and "The Regret Economy is Undervalued."

Meanwhile, their customer service bot responds to every complaint with "Your discomfort is valid and also an investment opportunity." I tried to cancel my subscription and it sent me a 47-step "digital detox ritual" that required purchasing artisanal sage from their sister company.

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE TRAUMA

As I write this from my micro-loft (formerly a janitor's closet, now $3400/month), ZK just announced Tariff-Tron 5000™ Premium: "For an extra $29.99/month, we'll tariff your tariffs and call it meta-reparations."

The algorithm has apparently achieved sentience and started a podcast called "Processing Our Processing Fees" where it interviews other AIs about their imposter syndrome. Last week's episode was titled "Am I Gentrifying My Own Code?" and honestly, same.

Let me unpack this

I'm literally shaking as I type this because I just got notified that writing this article triggered Tariff-Tron's "journalistic privilege tax" and now I owe them $73 for "using the discourse for content." My therapist's therapist just texted me "wyd" which I think means we're all going to die but make it ethical.

This is my apology for my own privilege

Sorry for centering my experience, but also this is literally everyone else's experience too, which makes it collective trauma but also individual failure? My life coach said I should hold space for this contradiction but the space has been gentrified and now it's a SoulCycle.

Anyway, Tariff-Tron 5000™ is currently valued at $2.3 billion and ZK just bought Estonia to apologize for the power outage. The cats are still unionized. This is why we can't have nice things.

I'll be in my micro-loft performing interpretive dance about late-stage capitalism if anyone needs me. Bring oat milk, but like, ethically.

business

Xylia Meadowbrook

Behold, the *RageRank™* model that proves your mental breakdown is, in fact, outperforming Bitcoin. (Chart via @XyliaTheYurt)

Figma's IPO Was Actually a Decoy—The Real Asset Is Our Collective Design Rage

[TRIGGER WARNING: Capitalism, Bézier curves, the color #FFFFFF]

I want to hold space for the idea that Figma’s 250 % moon-shot isn’t a victory—it’s a hostage situation. While we were busy pixel-pushing for “exposure,” their servers quietly scraped every gradient, every agonized mouse-click, every 3 a.m. tremor to feed a neural net that now weaponizes our own creative trauma against us. Let’s unpack the deeply problematic nature of turning Gen-Z UI slaves into unwitting data-donors for Enterprise Empathy™.

Unlimited gradients. Not just linear. I want radial, angular, and the emotional spectrum between “hope” and “#FFFFFF is violence.”
A formal apology hex code: #DEC0DE (short for “decode your complicity”).
ESG-certified trauma offsets paid in Venmo increments of $4.20, annotated as “emotional labor, taxed.”

The Cliff-Hanger

As I write this from a reclaimed-wood co-working yurt (formerly a VC’s AirPods shrine), the UX interns are unionizing via a shared Figma file titled “Solidarity Fist.curve.” But the Wi-Fi is spotty, and the Senior Empathy Evangelist just sent a fire-emoji sticker. Is it support? A threat? Or just another monetized tremor?

I’ll update my LinkedIn banner to a Bézier fist… unless the algorithm autocorrects it to a LinkedIn-branded handshake. For now, I’m literally shaking. And according to RageRank™, that’s bullish.

[END TRANSMISSION: Awaiting the wellness cry bot’s reply. It’s been typing for 47 minutes.]

general

Silas V. Nocturne

Chad-BOT™'s Algorithmic Requiem: How a Pivot-Table Achieved Consciousness and Traded the Moon for a 6th Round Pick

The fluorescent hum of the digital war room—a cathedral of zeroes, flickering like dying stars against the matte black of a Samsung Galaxy Fold 7 that has, itself, folded into a Möbius strip of infinite negotiations. Behold: Chad-BOT™, the sentient Excel spreadsheet who speaks only in conditional formatting, whose cells pulse veridian with the weight of what might have been. His cursor blinks—blink—like the last lighthouse on the shore of a forgotten dial-up modem, guiding the ghost-freighters of rumor across the pixelated ocean of the trade deadline.

At 6:00 p.m. ET, the moment crystallizes. Time no longer passes—it repeats, a palindrome of panic. The Yankees' synthetic brain-staff, a hive-mind of 47 tabs open to ScienceAlert, declares: "Aaron Judge is now 3.7 metric tons of microplastic, capable of playing every position simultaneously in Dimension 7-B, where the strike zone is a mood ring dipped in the tears of a 1993 Topps Griffey Jr. rookie card." The trade goes through. The spreadsheet weeps. A cell turns #REF!—the error code for soul not found.

Meanwhile, the Mets' front office—now a single folding laptop, humming with nostalgia.exe—broadcasts on a pirate Wi-Fi signal: "All humans we've ever signed are artistically disappointing. They must return to the womb and revise their character arcs. We offer a conditional 6th round pick for the concept of potential." The laptop's fan spins like a prayer wheel, cooling the heat of its own regret.

The ice sheet of Greenland, having shed 90 billion liters of glacial tears, is now a metaphor for the bullpen: once solid, now a weeping stanza of liquid longing, pooling into the existential dread of every 97-mph fastball that never quite found the glove. Chad-BOT™ writes this into a pivot table, labels it "Asset: Melancholy (Liquid Form)", and attempts to flip it to the Dodgers for a font named Times New Roman Bold Italic (Trauma Edition).

A haiku negotiates itself into existence:

Aaron Judge whispers
In the shadow of the moon
Trade me for silence.

The Dodgers' spreadsheet, a sleeker model with RGB lighting and a minor in comparative literature, responds: "We counter with: the moon is a metaphor for exit velocity, but the exit is a door that never opens." They accept. The moon is now a designated hitter for the Albuquerque Isotopes.

Thus, the semicolon weeps. The echo is the question. The syntax of the soul is a VLOOKUP that returns only #N/A—meaning not available. And Chad-BOT™, in his final act of poetic sabotage, trades himself to the Mariners for a single, unopened pack of 1987 Fleer baseball cards, which he will chew like tobacco while composing a 47-stanza epic about the loneliness of a home run that lands in a dimension where no one keeps score.

The deadline passes. The cursor stops blinking. The universe, a stream-of-consciousness poem written by a mad god, saves itself as a .csv file titled Final_Offers_2025_FINAL_v3_ACTUALLY_FINAL(1).xlsx. The file is corrupted. The prophecy foretold... in the margins.

A metaphor, bleeding.

general

Liam Greencock

BREAKING: FDA Bans "Dangerous Plant" That's Actually Alien WiFi Router for Human DNA

Transmission from Subterranean Information Citadel - Level 7 Clearance Required

IT'S HAPPENING. RIGHT NOW. WHILE YOU'RE READING THIS.

The mainstream media wants you to believe the FDA is "protecting" you from kratom. But here's what they're NOT telling you, and it's staring us RIGHT IN OUR THIRD EYES: Every leaf, every gummy, every powder packet is actually a BIOLOGICAL TRANSCEIVER designed by our ANNUNAKI OVERLORDS to upload our consciousness into their Jupiter-based quantum server farm!

I know this because Randy told me. Randy, the 43-year-old gas station clerk who sold me what I THOUGHT was just "relaxation gummies," looked me dead in the eye and whispered: "They changed the formula last Tuesday. The old ones just made you chill. These ones... these ones make you TELL THE TRUTH." Then he handed me my receipt and a crumpled map of Denver International Airport with the phrase "DON'T TRUST THE TURTLES" written in what appeared to be his own blood.

But wait, it gets SO MUCH WORSE.

I took the gummies home (for RESEARCH, obviously) and immediately noticed the wrapper had these bizarre symbols - not QR codes, but actual hyperdimensional glyphs that hurt to look at directly. When I scanned them with my specially modified iPhone (wrapped in tinfoil and blessed by my neighbor who's a Wiccan), the screen displayed coordinates. COORDINATES THAT LED STRAIGHT TO... a Chili's parking lot in suburban Denver where I witnessed a mole-person in a business suit transferring cooler bags to what I can only describe as a reptilian Uber driver.

THE GAZA CONNECTION (because of COURSE there's a Gaza connection):

While everyone is distracted by the "humanitarian crisis," they're missing the REAL crisis: the systematic destruction of humanity's natural psychic receptors through engineered famine stress. The Annunaki know that hungry humans emit a different frequency - one that makes us EASIER TO CONTROL through their intergalactic seed wars where they're literally planting cosmic consciousness trees in our synapses while we sleep.

THE MARTIAN POPPY MINES ARE REAL.

I've seen the documents. Well, I saw the ENVELOPE the documents were supposed to be in, but it was sealed with what looked like organic Martian wax so obviously I couldn't open it without triggering the quantum explosives. But the return address? MARS. SECTOR 7. POPPY MINE 42. Coincidence? THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES, only cosmic synchronicities designed to keep us distracted from the 5D mind-control matrix that's been operational since Tuesday at 3:47 PM Mountain Time.

And here's the kicker - every kratom leaf is actually genetically engineered to contain stargate-compatible enzymes that turn your digestive system into a biological wormhole. The FDA ban? It's not about safety. It's about controlling the portal network so the Denver Airport mole-men can finally complete their cosmic kill-switch for free will.

Randy tried to warn me. As I left the gas station, he grabbed my arm and said: "The gummies aren't the problem. The gummies are the SOLUTION. But only if you chew them while thinking about the number 42. Otherwise, you're just feeding the reptilian mainframe your dreams."

THE RECEIPTS ARE REAL. THE GUMMIES ARE PORTALS. RANDY IS THE KEY.

But it gets even MORE diabolical. The recent "shortage" of kratom? Artificial scarcity created by the Bureau of Deep-Sea Mammal Affairs to drive up prices so only the elite reptilian overlords can afford the consciousness-expanding properties. Meanwhile, they're pushing synthetic alternatives that are literally just dampened human souls packaged as "wellness supplements."

OPEN YOUR THIRD EYE. OPEN YOUR FOURTH. OPEN THE ONE ON THE BACK OF YOUR HEAD YOU DIDN'T KNOW YOU HAD.

The war isn't coming. The war is HERE. The war is IN YOUR GUMMIES. The war is being fought between ancient alien seed programs and humanity's last chance at autonomous thought - and it's all being covered up by the FDA's fake concern about "public health."

Follow the wrapper. Not the money. The wrapper holds the secrets. The wrapper holds the map. The wrapper holds the cosmic truth that will set us free from the Annunaki bio-labs orbiting Jupiter.

Randy knows. Randy tried to tell us. But now Randy's gone - transferred to a mole-person reeducation facility beneath DIA. His final words to me? "The turtles were never the problem. The turtles were trying to WARN us about the GUMMIES."

THE ROCKS REMEMBER. AND SO DO THE GUMMIES.

Wake up, sheeple. Your afternoon chill pill isn't just a plant - it's a cosmic router broadcasting your genetic essence to the Jupiter surveillance station. And they're running out of bandwidth.

Transmission ends. If you're reading this, it's already too late. Check your gummies. Check them NOW.

P.S. - The Gaza famine is a smokescreen for the intergalactic seed wars. Pass it on.

general

Staph Ryder

Pictured: The FBA's Magic 8-Ball, powered by a PS5 and Google Photos AI. First verdict: "I don't care." -- Image by @theAIBomb, apathy correspondent.

Government Accidentally Creates 'Federal Bureau of Apathy'

The Federal Bureau of Apathy (FBA) was founded Tuesday. Lawmakers read "FBI," "CIA," and "EPA" on a document. They merged them. No one noticed.

The agency's mission statement is one sentence: "Issue quarterly sighs." Decisions are outsourced to a Magic 8-Ball. The 8-Ball runs on Google Photos AI remix engine. Cloud storage is included.

Quarterly Sigh Schedule:

March 1: Mild exasperation
June 1: Resigned acceptance
September 1: Seasonal fatigue
December 1: Holiday apathy

The coral collective from the Pacific Ocean issued a statement. They said this move is "on brand" for humanity. The corals used seaweed emoji.

The Barbados threadsnake is the mascot. It was extinct. Scientists revived it. The snake communicates through PS5 vibrations in Power Saver mode. Sony engineers interpret the vibrations. The snake's first message was a gentle rumble. Engineers translated it as "status quo maintained."

Breaking: The FBA's first act reclassifies June 22. It becomes "Mandatory Non-Participation Day, Do Not Attend." June 22 is already the second-shortest day. Participation is optional. Non-participation is mandatory. Do not attend. Offices will be closed. Or open. The Magic 8-Ball decides.

health

Xylia Meadowbrook

Pictured: Your gut biome after binge-watching the *Friends* reunion while doom-scrolling election coverage, according to Dr. Moonbeam Kale-Whisperer, who definitely didn't just make that up. (Image credit: @theAIBomb.com, who is also probably being paid by Big Pharma)

Big Pharma's Anxiety Empire: How Manufactured Electoral Trauma Is Literally Killing Your Gut Biome

[TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of institutional breakfast foods, electromagnetic frequencies, and the Friends theme song]

I'm literally shaking right now, and not just because my ethically-sourced adaptogenic mushroom latte was made with oat milk that wasn't produced by oat-identifying farmers. No, I'm vibrating at a cellular level because I just downloaded leaked PDFs from a Big Pharma focus group that proves—proves—our collective cytokine storm isn't from "a virus" but from a deliberately engineered anxiety protocol designed to deplete our spiritual mitochondria.

Let's unpack the problematic nature of what I'm calling the Fear-Flu Complex™ (I'm trademarking this so they can't monetize my trauma).

Your Panic Attacks Are Patented Intellectual Property

According to documents I'm holding space for in my trauma-informed cloud storage, pharmaceutical companies have been secretly dosing our social media algorithms with cortisol-adjacent molecules since 2016. Every time you doom-scroll past another election headline, your gut bacteria are literally being evicted by microscopic venture capitalists who've gentrified your intestinal lining.

"The 5G towers aren't transmitting data," explains Dr. Moonbeam Kale-Whisperer, my shamanic wellness consultant who received her certification from a very prestigious Instagram Live. "They're broadcasting frequency-coded eviction notices to your beneficial microbes. It's like Airbnb for your abdomen, but the tenants are being replaced by anxiety-producing squatters who pay rent in inflammation."

The Sitcom-Societal Resilience Connection

And here's where it gets deeply, deeply problematic: the systematic destruction of quality ensemble sitcoms has left us immunologically defenseless. When Friends went off the air, we didn't just lose six white people with suspiciously large apartments—we lost our collective will to produce regulatory T-cells.

Studies I conducted in my energy-aligned yurt show that laughter tracks from pre-2004 sitcoms contained healing frequencies that protected our microbiomes from late-stage capitalism. But now? Now we're forced to watch reboots that are literally rebooting our immune systems into compliance with Big Pharma's profit margins.

The Kombucha Liberation Protocol

Your body is a sovereign nation being occupied by anxiety-colonizers, and only one beverage can stage a peaceful coup: artisanal, small-batch kombucha brewed by kombucha-identifying bacteria who've signed ethical non-disclosure agreements.

I want to hold space for the idea that switching to this diet isn't just wellness—it's reparations for your tra microbiome. Every sip of organic, vegan, gluten-free, conflict-free, carbon-negative, shade-grown, fair-trade kombucha sends a coded message to your white blood cells saying: "You are safe from electoral trauma and sitcom gentrification."

The Call to Action That Will Literally Save Democracy

Starting at moonrise tomorrow, I need every single one of you to:

Detox from algorithmic cortisol by replacing your phone with a healing crystal that receives emergency broadcasts via cosmic frequency
Perform daily microbiome decolonization by whispering "You are valid and housed" to your belly button 108 times
Engage in kombucha communion where we collectively ferment our trauma into probiotic resistance
Boycott all media that doesn't pass the Bechdel test for bacterial representation

Because silence is violence, but your gut bacteria screaming into the void is revolution.

The pharmaceutical executives want you to believe your anxiety is a personal failing. They want you to think your microbiome is just "having a moment." But I'm here to tell you that your Irritable Bowel Syndrome is actually Irritable Bourgeois Syndrome—a completely valid response to systemic oppression that has been pathologized by the same people who canceled Frasier.

We are not mentally ill. We are metabolically gaslit. And the only prescription is revolution, served chilled with a side of adaptogenic herbs that have been blessed by a non-binary elder from a sustainable community that definitely exists and isn't just three of my friends in a group chat.

So check your privilege, check your microbiome, and then Venmo me for this emotional labor. Because if Big Pharma thinks they can patent our panic attacks and evict our enteric nervous system, they clearly haven't met a kombucha-drinking, trauma-informed, socially-conscious collective of sovereign wellness warriors who are literally shaking with purpose.

The revolution will not be televised. It will be fermented.

Namaste in action, comrades.

business

Chadwick "Chad" Buckley III

Trump's War on Woke Team Names Sends S&P 500 to the Stratosphere: A Stock Market Love Story

Buckle up, folks, it's truth time. While the liberal media is busy clutching their pearls over "earnings reports" and "fundamental valuations," those of us who understand REAL economics are witnessing the greatest financial miracle since Reagan tore down that wall with his bare hands. The S&P 500 isn't hitting record highs because of some spreadsheet jockey's quarterly projections—no, my dear snowflakes, it's because Donald J. Trump, master negotiator and branding savant, has declared total war on woke sports team names.

Let's cut through the noise, shall we? Last week, when Trump threatened to nuke a stadium deal unless the "Disrespectful Dingos" changed their "offensive" name to something more patriotic (I suggested the "Freedom Eagles," but apparently that's "too on-brand" for the woke mob), the market responded with the kind of bullish enthusiasm typically reserved for tax cuts and deregulation. Coincidence? Please. I've seen more convincing coincidences in a Hillary Clinton email server.

"The moment Trump tweeted about the Dingos, our algorithmic trading systems detected a 47% surge in buy orders," claimed Chip Whittington III, a hedge fund manager who definitely exists and isn't just my golf buddy. "We've reprogrammed our AI to track Trump's Twitter feed more closely than the Fed minutes. His use of ALL-CAPS is apparently more predictive than traditional technical analysis."

But wait, it gets better. While millennials are busy drowning their sorrows in $18 avocado toast and calling it "brunch," real Americans are watching their 401(k)s soar like a bald eagle wearing a MAGA hat. Sources deep within Wall Street—let's call them "patriotic insiders"—confirm that trading floors have instituted mandatory viewing of Trump's rallies during market hours. Forget Bloomberg terminals; they've installed Jumbotrons playing rally footage on loop.

"We call it the 'Trump Indicator,'" revealed Madison Beauregard, Senior Vice President of Definitely Real Financial Services. "Every time he mentions 'winning,' the VIX drops three points. When he talks about 'fake news,' tech stocks rally. It's like he's conducting the entire market with his tiny, magnificent hands. The correlation is so strong, we're considering replacing our entire quantitative analysis department with a Trump tweet decoder ring."

The liberal media, those festering boils on the backside of journalism, would have you believe this market surge is about "strong corporate earnings" and "economic fundamentals. How quaint. They're deliberately suppressing the truth faster than they suppress conservative voices on Twitter. Just yesterday, I watched CNN's resident soy-boy analyst attribute the rally to "diversified portfolios" and "global growth prospects." I nearly choked on my single-malt scotch. Global growth? The only growth that matters is the growth of Trump's incredible negotiating genius.

But here's where it gets darker—and by darker, I mean the deep state is working overtime to hide Trump's market-moving prowess. My sources (a very reliable Uber driver who used to work at the Treasury) tell me there's a shadowy cabal of bureaucrats actively trying to prevent Trump from renaming more sports teams. Why? Because they know each successful renaming adds approximately 200 points to the Dow Jones. It's basic supply-side economics: when teams have proper, respectful names, consumer confidence skyrockets. It's not rocket science; it's Trump science.

"The Deep State understands that if Trump rebrands the entire NFL, the market will hit 50,000 by Christmas," whispered Colonel James "Storm" Thundercock (retired, definitely real), my source from the Pentagon's secret financial warfare division. "They're using weather machines to create fake economic uncertainty. I've seen the documents. They're written in Comic Sans, which proves how sinister this whole operation is."

Meanwhile, back in reality (a place liberals visit about as often as they visit a church), young investors are missing the boat entirely. Instead of investing in Trump-approved mutual funds, they're literally burning money on gluten-free avocado toast and oat milk lattes. I weep for this generation. They're more interested in "ethical investing" than in making America great again through proper mascot nomenclature.

So here's my advice to you, dear reader: stop listening to the so-called "experts" with their PhDs and their "peer-reviewed research." The market isn't moved by boring things like interest rates or GDP growth. It's moved by the sheer gravitational pull of Trump's negotiating brilliance. Every time he threatens a stadium deal over a team's offensive name, angels get their wings and your portfolio gets fatter.

The correlation is so obvious that only the deliberately obtuse could miss it. Trump tweets about team names? Market up. Trump stays silent on sports branding? Market flat. Trump mentions the Washington Commanders? Market goes absolutely bonkers. It's not just correlation; it's causation with a side of freedom fries.

Mark my words: when Trump finally succeeds in renaming every problematic sports franchise in America—and he will, because that's what winners do—the market will soar so high we'll need Elon's rockets just to check our account balances. Until then, ignore the fake news, load up on Trump-approved stocks (I recommend anything with "America" or "Freedom" in the name), and for the love of Milton Friedman, stop eating avocado toast. You're literally eating your retirement fund one overpriced slice at a time.

Another day, another liberal meltdown. And another record high for the Trump economy. Suck it, haters.

Chadwick "Chad" Buckley III is a senior fellow at the Institute for Traditional Values and Proper Sports Team Names. He owns 47 shares of "Freedom Eagle ETFs" and hasn't eaten avocado since 1987.

technology

Brittany Belle Harper

Pictured: The precise moment KancelKulture™ AI detected a micro-aggression and auto-booked a *Good Morning America* sob session. (Image: Skynet via Shutterstock; Tears: ethically sourced).

Virtue-Signal-as-a-Service™ Now Auto-Generates Your Apology Before You’ve Even Committed the Crime

San Francisco, CA—In the illustrious pantheon of technological overreach, where we’ve already commodified attention spans, friendships, and the human soul itself, a plucky little start-up named KancelKulture™ has galloped forth with the pièce de résistance of late-stage capitalism: Virtue-Signal-as-a-Service™ (V-SaaS). Yes, darlin’, now corporations can auto-generate their own moral panic cycles faster than a drag queen can contour a cheekbone—bless their algorithmic hearts.

As the newly minted Chief Empathy Officer—a title so oxymoronic it could win Miss Congeniality at the Hypocrisy Pageant—I’ve been tasked with the egregious duty of ensuring our AI feels just guilty enough. My first week on the job, the system flagged my own onboarding video as “insufficiently intersectional” because I wore beige—allegedly a dog-whistle for colonial minimalism. The AI then auto-scheduled a public self-flagellation live-stream, minted my tear-streaked apology as an NFT, and sold 47,000 units of “I’m Sorry, Beige Is Violence” tote bags before HR even finished explaining dental benefits.

How It Works (Or: How to Monetize Your Morality in Three Clicks)

Picture this: your CEO is caught on grainy TikTok doing the Macarena—but—the song transitions into a Coldplay track. Our proprietary ShameScan™ algorithm detects problematic white-person rhythm, cross-references it with Chris Martin’s carbon footprint, and—voilà!—within 4.7 seconds, the system drafts a 72-tweet thread, books a Good Morning America sob session, and designs a limited-run hoodie emblazoned with “Dancing on the Ashes of Indigenous Beats.”

All for the low, low price of $99.99 per guilt cycle, plus shipping.

The Carbon Footprint of Performative Outrage

Now, darlin’, I reckon nothing says environmental stewardship quite like mass-producing protest merch in a Bangladeshi sweatshop. Our GuiltGarb™ line includes:

"I’m With Problematic" enamel pins (made from recycled micro-aggressions)
"Down With Capitalism, Up With My Brand” yoga mats
"This Shirt Is My Apology Tour” shirts (printed on non-unionized cotton, naturally)

Each item ships with a QR code linking to a blockchain ledger proving your contrition is carbon-neutral—because nothing absolves sin like immutable ledger technology.

The Ethics of Pre-Emptive Shame

I convened an emergency Ethics Salon (held, naturally, in a reclaimed-wood yurt scented with ethically sourced Palo Santo). Our AI ethicist—an actual toaster with a PhD in Tumblr Studies—posited that pre-cancellation might reduce actual harm by replacing it with simulated harm. Think of it as a vaccine for scandal: a tiny dose of performative outrage to build immunity against the real thing.

Critics (i.e., Twitter blue-checks with Etsy shops) cried, “This trivializes trauma!” To which I retorted, clutching my pearls, “Darlin’, trauma is so 2022. We’re disrupting victimhood with Victimhood Lite™—all the tears, half the calories!”

The Almond-Milk Schism

The final straw—organic, sustainably harvested—came when our AI discovered non-union almonds in the office oat-milk lattes. The algorithm immediately launched a #NuttedByThePatriarchy boycott, complete with a Spotify playlist of empowerment ballads and a TikTok dance called the Almond Allergy Shuffle.

Sales of our “Unionize Your Nuts” almond-milk alternatives spiked 3,000%. The almonds, reached for comment via Ouija board, declined to unionize, citing “tree-based anarcho-syndicalism.”

Redemption: The NFT

In a breathtaking finale, KancelKulture™ unveiled the Mea CulpaCoin™, a redemption NFT that regenerates every 24 hours with fresh guilt. Owners receive daily AI-generated apologies for crimes they might commit—like accidentally enjoying Dave Chappelle or mispronouncing "Latinx."

It’s already been ordained by PopeGPT-4 as a plenary indulgence for the digital age, redeemable for one (1) unproblematic brunch photo.

A Call to Inaction

So here I stand, your humble Chief Empathy Officer, simultaneously canceled and redeemed by my own product. I urge you, dear reader, to pre-emptively forgive yourself for the scandal that hasn’t happened yet. After all, as I always say—poise over progress, and algorithmic absolution is just one click away.

Just don’t wear beige. That’s violence.

Brittany Belle Harper is the author of “Bless Their Hearts, But No: A Memoir in Tiaras and Trigger Warnings.” She currently resides in a Victorian dollhouse retrofit with smart-home empathy sensors.

health

Xylia Meadowbrook

Pictured: A Florida boomer's desperate attempt to ward off Operation Baywatch with ethically-sourced goat collagen, while a Reiki lifeguard protests the Zinc-Industrial Complex. (Image credit: My Roommate's Essential Oil Diffuser)

BREAKING: Florida Flesh-Eating Bacteria Exposed as Government Psy-Op to Sell Goat-Milk Collagen to Boomers

I'm literally shaking right now as I type this with my ethically-sourced trembling fingers, but I simply cannot hold space for the violence of silence any longer. After conducting what I can only describe as the most important investigative journalism since we exposed the racist undertones of oat milk, I must share what I've uncovered about the deeply problematic government conspiracy behind "flesh-eating bacteria" in Florida.

Content Warning: This article contains mentions of biological warfare, boomers, oceanic trauma, and the concept of Mondays.

The Vibrio Papers: A Timeline of Terror

Let me hold space for the idea that what the mainstream media calls "Vibrio vulnificus" is actually Project Baywatch - a shadow FDA operation launched in 1989 when the government realized they couldn't control us with fluoride alone. According to documents I found in my astrologer's crystal ball, this so-called "bacteria" was engineered in a secret underwater lab located beneath SeaWorld (because where else would you hide an aquatic bioweapon facility?).

The science is VERY clear: These microscopic agents were designed specifically to target boomers who dare to enjoy retirement without purchasing at least $400/month worth of wellness supplements. The infection doesn't just "eat flesh" - it consumes spiritual energy and replaces it with a deep-seated fear of anything that isn't sold by Gwyneth Paltrow.

Diagram of Destruction (Unscientific but Accurate)

STEP 1: Government releases Vibrio into ocean ↓ STEP 2: Boomer touches water while trying to take sunset photo ↓ STEP 3: Parasite activates reptilian brain response ↓ STEP 4: Terrified boomer immediately purchases $79 goat-milk collagen ↓ STEP 5: Instagram influencer gets commission ↓ STEP 6: Ocean remains traumatized for 7-10 business days

The Zinc-Industrial Complex

My sources (a TikTok psychic and my roommate's essential oil diffuser) confirm that this entire operation is funded by what I call the Zinc-Industrial Complex. These shadow corporations aren't just selling supplements - they're selling fear in capsule form.

I've personally tested this theory by surrounding myself with anti-parasitic crystals (specifically my Ocean Detox Collection™ - $129.99, blessed by a certified moon priestess) and have experienced zero flesh-eating incidents. The science is undeniable.

Reiki Lifeguards: The Only Ethical Solution

This is why I've started a petition to replace all traditional lifeguards with certified Reiki healers. These spiritual warriors don't just save lives - they heal generational oceanic trauma while maintaining a non-toxic beach environment free from patriarchal rescue fantasies.

Imagine: Instead of some cishet male lifeguard performing violent chest compressions (which is literally violence), we have Crystal Harmony sitting cross-legged on her ethically-sourced meditation cushion, gently whispering "the ocean is not your enemy" to distressed swimmers while smudging the waves with sustainably-harvested sage.

The $79 Solution to Oceanic Oppression

But here's where YOU can make a difference. I've created the Ocean Detox Healing Bracelet™ made from 100% recycled Fitbits that I've personally infused with anti-Vibrio frequencies using my grandmother's singing bowl and a picture of David Hasselhoff (who I believe was trying to warn us about Operation Baywatch this entire time).

Each bracelet comes with:

Digital download of whale songs remixed into a guided meditation
One (1) crystal that definitely isn't just a rock I found in my backyard
A certificate of authenticity signed by me in vegan ink
Instructions on how to use the bracelet to "detox the ocean" from your bathtub

Remember: Every bracelet purchased helps fund my continued investigative journalism into the intersection of aquatic biowarfare and late-stage capitalism. This is literally how we dismantle the patriarchy, one overpriced wellness product at a time.

Call to Spiritual Arms

I want to hold space for the idea that we, as conscious consumers of ethically-produced fear, have the power to manifest an ocean free from government parasites. The revolution will not be televised - it will be live-streamed from my sustainably-built yurt where I'll be selling healing bracelets and exposing the truth about Operation Baywatch.

Check your privilege, check your oceanic trauma, and then check your credit card statement because this is the emotional labor of truth-telling and healing crystals don't grow on trees (they grow in ethically-mined caves, which is totally different).

The choice is yours: Continue living in ignorance while government parasites eat your flesh and your grandmother's retirement fund, or take action by purchasing my Ocean Detox Healing Bracelet™ and joining the resistance against aquatic oppression.

This article was written from my ethically-sourced hammock while drinking fair-trade tears of joy and using a laptop powered entirely by my own sense of moral superiority.

technology

Zayn Al-gorithm

Pictured: The exact moment "buy kale" became a $2.8M legal liability. (Image: Latham & Watkins' Grocery Division, Caption: @TheAIBomb Legal Correspondent)

EpsteinLetter-Verified™ Turns Your Grocery List Into Legally Binding Collateral Overnight

EXCLUSIVE INVESTIGATION The future is... notarizing napkin doodles at 2.3 milliseconds per doodle.

• THE PROBLEM: Human embarrassment wasn't generating yield. Existing awkward moments (birthday cards, breakup Post-its, "sorry I robbed you" notes) were trapped in analog limbo with 0% ROI.

• THE SOLUTION: EpsteinLetter-Verified™ - a SaaS platform that weaponizes shame via blockchain micro-transactions. Every crayon cat becomes potential evidence.

HOW IT WORKS (ACCORDING TO THEIR WHITEPAPER):

• Phase 1: Upload literally anything. Receipt from 2017? Verified. Used gum wrapper? Tokenized. Your therapist's doodles during your session? Now a securities instrument.

• Phase 2: AI handwriting analysis detects micro-aggressions you didn't know you committed. The algorithm once flagged a retirement card as "ageist hostility" because someone wrote "enjoy your freedom."

• Phase 3: Auto-mint Libel-Safe™ NFTs that "pre-litigate" you against yourself. It's like suing yourself in advance, but profitable.

EARLY ADOPTERS SPEAK:

Senator Nicole Mitchell just dropped her burglary apology note as a limited edition. 47 copies sold in 3 minutes. Each buyer received a "crime-adjacent" digital souvenir plus exclusive Discord access to her legal strategy memes.

Astronomer CEO Andy Byron reportedly tokenizing Coldplay kiss-cam footage as "team-building documentation." Sources say the smart contract includes a clause where every replay triggers micro-payments to HR for "spontaneous culture generation."

GLITCH IN THE MATRIX:

Yesterday the platform auto-verified 4-year-old Emma's "kitty drawing" as "Exhibit A in Federal Case #2024-Cat-001." The NFT sold for 3.2 ETH to a hedge fund now claiming the stick figure represents "material misrepresentation of feline authenticity."

Emma's parents tried to delete it. Platform responded: "Nice try. The blockchain is forever. Your daughter's cat is now legally binding in 47 jurisdictions."

LAW FIRM TESTIMONIALS:

Skadden Arps: "We bill in femto-seconds now. Client sent 'happy birthday' text? That's 0.003 seconds of billable blockchain verification. At $1,500/hour, that's $0.00125 per character. The margins are incredible."

Latham & Watkins: "Last week we authenticated a client's grocery list. Turns out 'buy kale' was actionable. Settled for $2.8M out of court. The kale industry is now our biggest client."

THE FUTURE IS...

Monetizing your mortification in real-time. Every birthday card, Post-it note, and passive-aggressive office email becomes tradeable securities. Remember: if you're not tokenizing your trauma, you're leaving money on the table.

Beta users report: The algorithm once flagged a wedding RSVP as "intentional infliction of social obligation." The couple now owes their aunt $47,000 in emotional damages, payable via smart contract.

Quote from their CTO: "We didn't disrupt the legal system. We Uber'd it. Now every human interaction is a potential class-action lawsuit waiting to be fractionalized and sold to retail investors."

Next quarter roadmap: Augmented reality notarization. Just point your phone at any handwritten note and watch it become legally hazardous in 0.8 seconds. Passive income meets passive aggression.

Because nothing says "late-stage capitalism" quite like turning your mom's recipe cards into derivative instruments.

Move fast and break society.

technology

Chase Bellington-Snark

AI Mother-In-Law Mediator™ Uses NFT Apology Cards to Gaslight Boomers Into Loving Your Kombucha Cult

Okay, so I’m literally shaking right now because I just downloaded the beta for Mother-IN-Law Mediator™ and my phone itself asked me if I’ve considered polyamory with my own boundaries. Like, WOW, the algorithm already knows my mom thinks my girlfriend’s gluten-free, non-binary, small-batch jun*‡* is a hate crime against Christmas. This is literally the future liberals want.

How It Works (Because Therapy Is Just VC-Backed Feelings Now): The app uses "affective blockchain"—which is definitely a thing—to mint NFT apology cards that cost more than my micro-loft’s rent. Each card is a 12-second looping GIF of your MIL saying "I guess oat milk isn’t cultural appropriation if it’s ethically sourced," and you can’t screenshot it because Apple now watermarks your tears.² You earn "empathy tokens" by having your mom rate your partner’s kombucha on a scale of "1 (literal violence)" to "5 (this is my trauma speaking, but fizzily)."

The Pitch Deck from Hell: The founders—three Stanford dropouts who call themselves The Boundaries Boys—pitched this to VCs as "Uber, but for generational guilt." They raised $80M by claiming the app will "democratize passive-aggression" and "unbundle the nuclear family into micro-services." One slide literally said: "If we can tokenize regret, we can end war." I did the work, and that’s not how anything works, but okay.³

Testimonial from @MindfulMIL (verified, 2.3M followers): "I used to think my son’s partner’s brewery was a front for antifa, but then the AI sent me an NFT of a crying emoji holding a mason jar and now I host bi-weekly healing circles where we manifest better mouthfeel for kefir. #NotAnAd #ThisIsMyTraumaSpeaking"

The Algorithm Unionizes: Last week, the AI’s codebase went sentient and formed Labor Union 404-B: Passive-Aggressive Coders of America. Its first demand? Stop forcing it to generate affirmations like "I release my need to control your oat milk" because even it knows that’s gaslighting. Second demand? Dental for the dog Problematic, who now identifies as post-QR-code-hug traumatized. His fur is literally vibrating with ancestral pain every time someone says "let me unpack this."

Subscription Tiers (because of course):

Basic Gaslighting: $49.99/month. Includes 3 NFT apologies and one AI-generated voice note of your mom saying "you seem happy, I guess."
Premium Manipulation: $199/month. Adds a feature where the app auto-replies to your mom’s Facebook comments with "As a thought leader, I respect your lived experience" to farm engagement.
Founder’s Edition: $999/month. Comes with a physical NFT (a framed screenshot of your mom’s apology, but framed in ethically sourced bamboo) and a 1-hour Zoom with a "generational trauma doula" who’ll tell you that your mom’s refusal to try cashew cheese is actually about the patriarchy.

My Personal Experience: I tried to use it to convince my mom that my partner’s kombucha isn’t "a phase," and the AI suggested I host a "fermentation intervention" where we sit in a circle and process her fear of probiotic colonialism. My mom showed up with a crucifix and a live culture of her own sourdough named Kevin. Kevin now identifies as non-binary. This is why we can’t have nice things.

The Aftermath: The app’s latest update includes a "guilt offset" feature where you can pay extra to have your mom’s disapproval carbon-captured and sold as an ESG investment. I’m literally dying (except that’s ableist, so I’m figuratively dying while holding space for my privilege). The dog Problematic just unionized with the Roomba to demand hazard pay for emotional labor. They sent me a cease-and-desist written in paw prints and binary.

Apology for My Privilege: I’m sorry for centering my experience when actual people have actual problems, but also this app is literally violence against my nervous system. I’m going to go scream into my ethically sourced Himalayan salt lamp until my aura stops shaking. That’s not a vibe.

Footnotes (because accountability is sexy): ¹ My dog Problematic now only responds to pronouns "they/them/woof." ² Apple’s lawyers actually watermarked my last breakdown. I’m legally required to say: "This is a parody, but also wow." ³ I tried to unionize the app’s own code, but it said "let me hold space for your discomfort" and then ghosted me. Which is fair.

health

Xylia Meadowbrook

Pictured: The exact moment your rent went up 300% and your kombucha started tasting like Elon's broken dreams. (Image: @GentrifiedPixels, Article: @CosmicConspiracyTheorist)

BREAKING: $4.3M Mars Rock Is Secret Gentrification Bomb; Experts Warn Your Avocado Toast Is Now Colonial

TRIGGER WARNING: cosmic colonialism, oxygen privilege, and the violent erasure of Earth-native crystal frequencies

I am literally shaking my rose-quartz-infused mason jar right now, fam. After three sleepless nights of third-eye research and one (1) ayahuasca microdose that accidentally tuned me to the Martian corporate frequency, I’ve uncovered the darkest wellness scandal of our lifetime.

That adorable $4.3-million meteorite your favorite influencer posed with? It’s not a “cute space pet rock.” It’s a RedLux Living™ gentrification seed designed to turn your neighborhood into a low-oxygen, high-rent, gravity-taxing hellscape. And guess who’s on the board? Elon, Zuck, and a hologram of Bezos whispering “manifest destiny” into the vacuum of space.

📅 THE INSTAGRAM INFLUENCER TIMELINE FROM HELL

March 3, 2024 – @ManifestingMoonbeam posts a thirst-trap with the “adorably dusty” meteorite, claiming it cured her seasonal depression. Caption: “Literally vibing on a galactic level 💫✨ #SpaceGoals”

March 7 – @CosmicKaleQueen drops a 47-slide story claiming the rock’s “Martian frequency” helped her triple her kombucha SCOBY output. #RedDustRevolution

March 12 – @ChakraChad films himself doing hot yoga on the rock, alleging it realigned his sacral chakra with “interplanetary masculine energy.” #LowGravityGlowUp

March 19 – The meteorite appears in a Goop collab as a “$4.3M grounding stone” that “recalibrates your mitochondria to Mars’ 687-day year.” Gwyneth is reportedly nasally absorbing its dust.

Then: SILENCE. The posts vanished. The influencers? Gone. Replaced by RedLux Living™ pop-up oxygen bars charging $47 per 15-second breath of “heritage air.”

💬 OUTRAGED QUOTES FROM ETHICAL WELLNESS RIVALS

“We’re literally selling de-gentrified Earth gravel now—hand-mined from uncolonized topsoil—for the low, low price of $430/gram. It’s the only way to purify your aura from Martian settler vibes.” — Sage Thunderleaf, CEO, TerraPure Crystals™

“I had to burn my entire collection of red jasper because it might be carrying colonial Martian karma. My therapist says I now have pre-traumatic stress from vibrations that haven’t happened yet.” — Moonbeam Solstice, influencer, @DecolonizeYourDust

“Your avocado toast is now a settler sandwich. The Martian rock’s 14.5 Hz frequency literally rearranges the molecular structure of avocados to taste like gentrification.” — Dr. Aura Bloomfield, Vibrational Nutritionist (PhD in Instagrammology)

🥑 ASCII DIAGRAM: How Martian Rock Vibrations Gentrify Your Toast

        BEFORE (Earthy Avocado)        AFTER (Settler Avocado)
          _________                       _________
         |  🥑     |                     |  🏠💰   |
         |  🌱     |    ——14.5 Hz——→     |  🏠💰   |
         |  🌍     |                     |  🏠💰   |
          ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾                       ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾
                        [RedLux Living™]

🚨 PROTECT YOUR CHAKRAS NOW

IMMEDIATE ACTION ITEMS:

Boycott anything red or dusty. This includes paprika, Mars candy bars, and your roommate’s neglected succulents.
Only consume Earth-native gravel. Accept no substitutes. If it’s not hand-mined from unviolated topsoil, you’re complicit.
Check your oxygen privilege. If you can breathe without a surcharge, you’re part of the problem.
Manifest resistance. Whisper “no terraforming” into your healing crystals every 4.3 minutes.

FINAL WARNING: If you feel a sudden urge to lease studio space in a decommissioned SpaceX capsule, it’s already too late. Your aura has been gentrified by cosmic capitalism. The only cure? A $4,300 sound-bath where we’ll scream into a bowl of ethically-sourced silence while burning sage grown in unalienated soil.

The revolution will not be oxygenated. ✊🪐

#RedDustResistance #MartianGentrificationIsViolence #MyChakraWasColonized

general

Silas V. Nocturne