Thoughts, Ideas, and Logs.

        Alright, alright, you perpetually bewildered occupants of planet Earth!     Glued to your little screens, hoping for… what, exactly? Good news? Ha! Don't make me laugh. The daily dump of global headlines is in, and it's the usual cocktail of incompetence, delusion, and outright lunacy.     Let's start with the former guy, the one with the hair. He's got a brilliant new offer for Canada. Our polite, hockey-loving neighbors to the north. He says they can be part of his "Fabulous Golden Dome System" – sounds like a Vegas casino crossed with a doomsday cult – for a mere $61 billion. But, ever the dealmaker, he's got a special: it's FREE if they just sign on the dotted line and become the 51st state. And get this, he claims they're "considering the offer!" Considering! I bet they're considering moving the entire country five hundred miles further north. Meanwhile, while he's trying to bill Canada for imaginary protection, a US...

    Alright, settle down, settle down. Or don't. What do I care? You’re probably reading this on the toilet, aren't you? The only place anyone gets any real thinking done these days. The porcelain throne room, the last bastion of analog contemplation before your neuralink kicks back in with the morning's mandatory dose of sunshine.     Speaking of which, did you get your "National Optimism Initiative" ping yet? Straight from the government, bless their centrally-planned hearts. AI-generated daily affirmations, folks. "You are a productive cog!" "Compliance is contentment!" "Your data footprint is a testament to your engagement!" My implant told me this morning, "Today is a gift, that's why they call it the present... and also, please report any unregulated thoughts to Sector 7G." I almost choked on my nutrient paste. Optimism. They think they can *schedule* optimism. Like it's a goddamn software update for the soul. ...

    Alright, so they had their little robot party again, didn't they? Google I/O. Or as I like to call it, the annual "Here's How We're Going to Make Your Life Weirder and Charge You For It" convention. And boy, did they deliver on the weird this year.     They're drowning us in numbers. "Trillions of tokens processed!" they crow. Trillions! What in God's name is a token? Is it something I can cash in at a greasy arcade for a plastic spider ring? Because honestly, that feels more useful than whatever digital chit they’re counting to justify selling you a "personalized bidet subscription." Probably tracks your fiber intake, that token.     And the intimacy! Oh, they're big on intimacy now. Your phone's gonna learn to whisper at you. Can you imagine? Just when you’re trying to relax, some synthesized voice murmurs sweet nothings in your ear about how your credit score just took another nosedive. Thanks, HAL, really needed that sen...

   Alright, folks, settle in, try to get comfortable, though I don’t know why you’d bother. It’s another week in the grand American experiment, May 2025, and the hits just keep on comin’. It’s like a septic tank backing up into a fan factory, and they’re telling you it’s just an “aromatic redistribution event.”    You look at the news – or what they call news, this pre-chewed, officially-sanctioned pabulum they feed you – and what do you see? Well, let’s talk about our favorite recurring character, shall we? The man, the myth, the walking, talking, ego-fueled headline generator: Donald J. Trump. Still out there, still makin’ waves, still convincing a whole lotta people that the water he’s pissin’ in is actually a delightful champagne.    So, this week’s chapter in the never-ending saga: the man gets a jet. A G-I-F-T-E-D jet! From Qatar, no less. The Qatari Prime Minister, bless his oil-soaked heart, says it’s all just a “very simple government to government...

   I got a story for ya, fresh from the digital trenches, the land of bits, bytes, and bureaucratic bullshit. This ain't about some schmohawk trying to get a free toaster, no. This is about a guy, a professional mind you, who finds a gaping, bleeding wound in the side of the Microsoft behemoth – Teams, Skype, the whole goddamn shebang – and tries to tell the giant, "Hey, you're leaking vital fluids, and the sharks are circling!"   So, this fella, Piergiorgio (sounds like a Renaissance painter, but he’s painting with vulnerability code) he sends a nice little note on March 6th. "Hey, Microsoft," he says, real polite, "I found a couple of… let's call 'em 'oopsie-daisies' in your ICE server setup. Like, 'anyone can walk in and grab the keys to the kingdom' kind of oopsie. I'm withholding the exact recipe for disaster until we can have a grown-up, secure chat, maybe discuss a little 'thank you for saving your ass' bounty,...

If George Carlin would have been alive he would have said something like this about this month's "news". Alright, settle down, you magnificent maniacs! You’ve survived another month in this glorious theme park called reality, 2025 edition. And who’s still the headliner on the goddamn marquee, hogging the spotlight like a hippo in a hot tub? You guessed it! The Donald! Still out there, folks, still slingin’ it. It’s like a rash you can’t get rid of, a song stuck in your head that slowly drives you insane, a goddamn recurring nightmare in a cheap suit and a bad wig! (Takes a slow, deliberate sip of water, squints at the audience) So, what’s our former Fearless Leader, the Sultan of Self-Promotion, been up to this month? Well, let’s peek under the hood of this clown car, shall we? Tariffs! Oh yeah, baby, the tariffs are back! Or maybe they never left. Maybe they just took a little vacation to Mar-a-Lago, sipped some Diet Cokes, and plotted their triumphant return. "We...