I’ll never understand this. If you spend any time in nature you’ll come across carcasses and bones from all kinds of animals yet not one Bigfoot skeleton has ever been found. Maybe aliens land and scoop up the evidence and take it back to their secret base on the moon or something.
After that, perhaps another distraction?
Next up, a distraction from the thousands of dead and injured troops sent as a distraction from the Epstein files.
Every picture of Kash is a dick pic.
Agreed. I don’t want to block people who post otherwise interesting stuff but I could happily do without trash like the NYPost.
Nobody likes an angry drunk, Pete.
I guess the crucifix was already taken.
I need to rewatch The Death of Stalin.
Yeah, fuck that guy.
It’s wild to me that people are still taking what this clown says at face value.
He can’t hide out on a military base for ever. Just saying.
If I was a NVDA investor, I’d be worried. This clown is doing nothing but gaslighting and lying these days.
If only there were other games available. Oh wait, there are, I’ll go play those instead.
You still get to vote, even Russia goes through that charade.
I don’t get it. $70-80 billion for an AI data center, plus continued investment for hardware upgrades - how are they planning on making money from this?
I get that we’re in a bubble but I’ve never seen this level of collective delusion/desperation before in the tech space.
I’ll never play a game of Civ ever again, it’s been ruined for me.
The only thing that interests me about Trump is the coroner’s report. It’ll be the only thing concerning him based in fact.
That’s news to me. Every time to vendor tries to get me to switch to their cloud product I tell them to get lost. I’m not willingly handing over patient data to these clowns, I’ve seen how bad they are at security.
Finally my diploma from the Arkansas School of Real Good Lawyerin’ is going to be of use.
Dream Song 29 by John Berryman
There sat down, once, a thing on Henry’s heart
só heavy, if he had a hundred years
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time
Henry could not make good.
Starts again always in Henry’s ears
the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime.
And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly,
with open eyes, he attends, blind.
All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears;
thinking.
But never did Henry, as he thought he did,
end anyone and hacks her body up
and hide the pieces, where they may be found.
He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody’s missing.
Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.
Nobody is ever missing.