WesternInfidels

“ChatGPT, please rewrite this inflammatory post full of libelous accusations using the rhetorical style of my worst enemy.”

In a sane world, the computer’s calculation would be used to guide a real investigation, which would find real evidence. The statistics wouldn’t be used as proof of anything.

I disguise my internet writings by doing them left handed.

These kinds of pictures go back years, and it’s really, really easy to mis-label them or to cherry-pick them to provoke whichever reaction the poster is trying to provoke. They have traditionally been a right-wing tool, maybe because so much right-wing sentiment is driven by negative feelings like disgust.

The “Occupy Wall Street” movement included clean-up crews, they even arranged some media photo-ops with their clean-up crews, but trash and litter is what showed up in the media anyway.

So I’m skeptical that I’m learning anything when I see pictures like these. I think you should be skeptical, too.

Charlie Kirk was an out-and-proud racist, and his supporters loved that about him. We don’t have to consider the litter to understand that his supporters are fundamentally opposed to the spirit of America itself.

I wonder if you’d find this video interesting: RC Solar Plane Flight Duration Test

I believe surgeons, dentists, and people who do similar small-scale hands-on work, like precision soldering, avoid coffee, because it makes for shaky (but alert!) hands. There are likely enough others that I’m not thinking of.

How about 15?

Fight dementia today, by dying of a heart attack at 45 instead

At the movies with my GF. And, for the first time, her family.

The lights come down. The film is underway. There’s a commotion at the other end of our row. GF’s sister has retrieved something from her bag. There are whispers. Something crinkly is passed down the row, one person at a time, to the left. Eventually, GF hands me a bundle the size of a football. It’s aluminum foil on the outside. Wax paper inside, loosely wrapping up … something. “What is this?” I ask, panicking.

“Pumpkin roll?” she says. Indignant eye-roll tone. As if she meant to say “Uh, helLO, it’s a PUMPkin roll, OBVIOUSLY.” She’s suddenly realized that I’m some kind of bumpkin what ain’t never been to no big-suburb movie theater like this before. Where entire family-size bake-sale pastries are always surreptitiously circulating in the dark.

We’ve been married 20 years now. When she’s mixed-up by some momentary contextual confusion, I am still likely to tease her by ‘explaining:’ “PUMPkin roll?”

I don’t remember if I ate any of it.