

Shit. Robot’s got hustle. Get it little guy. ACAB. Fuck them cops, get that paper.


Shit. Robot’s got hustle. Get it little guy. ACAB. Fuck them cops, get that paper.
5 years ago arguments were “slippery slopes.” Today it’s just Sunday in the news cycle.
What about someone who mumbles and has music cranked to 11 so you can’t even hear what they are saying?


Can we get Alan Wake 2 on Steam, pls?


Proper gun regulations will reduce lead in children, as well.


Calling The Weather Channel clickbait somehow the saddest thing I’ve read, and also the most on brand.


Like wearing a tan suit, or eating Dijon mustard.


Sweet, an Audio CD Free of Soundtrack!


It would be so much easier to convince them that AI was turning you gay.
Glad I could give you another thing in the list of stupid things we do to harm creatures that gives middling returns on quality that we otherwise wouldn’t miss.
Capon, if anyone is wondering what the translation is trying to say.
All hail the age of Doug!
My family took a novel approach to it. Everyone gets judged when they die, but only the worst go to hell, and the best go to heaven. The rest wait around until the rapture and then there is Judgement 2: Judgement Day where all the people that were waiting around get judged against all the new people, and then they are split based on some kind of holy bell curve. It was really just a lot of bullshit to get around my family being full of drug addicts and racists and no one wanting to admit that if they go by the Bible they are hellbound.
Neuromancer if anyone is curious. One of the best opening lines in literature.


Same. He’s got that, “He’s crazy, but he’s our kinda crazy” vibe going on. I guess I’m just glad he’s on our side. I’m not buying any merch though.


If a few years of AI have wiped out your ability to code, you weren’t great at coding anyway.


Remember when the world didn’t suck so bad that you could have windows above the third floor that people didn’t want to jump from?
“I’ve got demons to slay,” he said, and tipped his trilby. The final embers of his cigarette sent up signals from the ashtray that marked the end of the conversation he’d been practicing in the shower for three weeks now. He stood up, and farted a little bit, but it almost sounded like the chair moving, so he didn’t think anyone noticed. “M’lady.”