#CHATGPT MAKE ME A SODA!

[autistickfigure]

did anyone know that theres a new flavor of coke that was "made" with ai

[littlestarbigsky]

finally finished my stats work for the week (ily chatgpt) soooo fic time :))

listen i reallllly love the idea of at least some of the greasers having good parents sooo two-bit and his sister get a good mom ;) also! i realize two-bit’s sister doesn’t canonically have a name but i saw someone call her molly like.. once.. so i’ve just been running with that lol

i wrote half of this when i wanted to write angst and then finished it when i was in a better mood so that’s what that’s about lol

anyways here’s the matthews family helping darry when pony gets sick :)

it was almost midnight when the sound of someone pounding on the front door jerked two-bit awake from where he had been dozing off watching cartoons. he shifted on the couch to look out the window, fully expecting to see steve or johnny needing a place to crash, hell, he wouldn’t have been shocked if a cop was standing outside the door because some socs had blamed some vandalism on him, wouldn’t be the first time. the last thing he was expecting to see was…

darry?

truth be told, it had been a while since he’d really seen darry. he saw pony at school most days, and he would swing by the dx to visit soda when he could, but since their parents died, darry had been busting his ass at all hours of the day to make ends meet, which didn’t leave much time for him to hang around with the rest of their crew.

you’d think darry was trying to break down their door with how hard he was pounding it. two-bit lazily pushed himself off the couch and hurried over to the door.

darry looked a real mess when two-bit opened the door, violet shadows stamped beneath his eyes, his hair sticking out in all directions, and he was in need of a shave and a shower.

“darry, what-”

“i’m sorry, i know i got no business comin’ here this time of night, but i-” he broke off, his breath coming in short, panicked, gasps.

“hey, you don’t gotta apologize,” two-bit grabbed his arm and ushered him into the house, out of the cool, early-spring, air. “what’s the matter? what’s got ya all worked up?”

“i need-” darry cut himself off and immediately started pacing the living room floor. “your mom… is she here? i need to talk to her…”

it was a mark of how badly darry was scaring two-bit that he didn’t crack a joke, just asked again, “darry, what’s going on?”

“it’s pony… he- he’s got a fever. i thought maybe he just needed a day to rest and get better but soda told me he’s been getting worse all day…” darry had to take a moment to gasp in another breath before continuing. “i- i don’t know what medicine to give him… he was real hot when i left, he always gets so bad when he’s sick… none of us have gotten sick since-”

“i know,” darry didn’t finish, but two-bit didn’t need him to, he knew he was about to say that none of them had gotten sick since their parents had died. he felt a lump swelling in his throat as he watched darry pace and panic across the living room floor.

“hey, dar,” he started gently. “how about you have a seat. i think mama’s still awake, i’ll go get her.”

darry nodded, squeezing his eyes shut, but he didn’t sit down, he just stood still where he was.

when two-bit came back with his mother a few minutes later, it was like watching a superhero go to work. he leaned against the doorframe that led to the hallway with the bedrooms, watching his mother envelop darry in her arms and gently guide him over to the couch. she coached him through a few deep breaths to calm him down a bit before starting to ask him what was wrong with ponyboy, how long he had been sick, what he’d been eating, if he’d been sleeping much. darry answered all of her questions quickly and succinctly, rattling off symptoms with painstaking ease.

a door creaked open behind two-bit, and he turned around to see his 12 year-old kid sister standing in her doorway. molly’s pajama shirt and shorts didn’t match, her hair was all messy from sleep, and her gray eyes seemed huge in the dim light shining in from the living room. he didn’t know what made him do it, maybe he was realizing how glad he was that he didn’t have to worry over molly like this, but without a word, he pulled her into his side.

“haven’t seen darry in forever,” molly said sleepily, her words almost slurring together.

“me neither, kiddo,” he answered, running a hand up and down molly’s arm. “he’s got a lot more to worry about now.”

“what’s he doin here then? shouldn’t he be at home sleeping?”

he had to laugh at the innocence of the question, of course darry should have been at home sleeping, he shouldn’t have to be staying up all night with a sick ponyboy, his parents should be doing that. he should be in college. he should be bringing home stories about parties and inviting his family to his football games, not losing sleep over what medicine he should be giving his little brother.

“ponyboy’s not feeling so hot,” two-bit finally answered. “darry just isn’t used to doing it all by himself.”

“so he’s askin mama?”

“yeah, she’s pretty good at gettin us better when we’re feeling lousy, right?”

“i guess so,” molly shrugged, taking a step forward, going into the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of water.

two-bit tuned back into what his mother was saying to darry.

“it doesn’t sound like anything too serious, probably just the flu. with any luck, he may already be through the worst of it,” she was saying to him, one of her hands rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

“okay…” darry’s voice was thick with unshed tears, the tension between him and the dam breaking almost palpable. “what- what should i give him to help?”

“maybe some aspirin for the pain-”

“no,” darry practically shouted, so fast he knew he had sounded rude. “sorry, i caught pony takin’ too many aspirins last week, i don’t wanna be givin him that stuff…”

“that’s okay, honey,” she answered, ever patient. “how about some tylenol? that will help with the fever and won’t have aspirin in it. for his stomach, pepto bismol is probably best. and if he starts getting those bodyaches again, the tylenol should help but ibuprofen works, too, it’s an anti-inflammatory. do you guys have all that?”

“i-” darry looked at her with an expression that was so helpless and exhausted and scared. he had no idea if that had any of that stuff, let alone which did what and how much he should be giving his brother. the thought alone was so overwhelming. he felt his eyes glass over just thinking of having to wake pony up to persuade him to take the cocktail of medicine.

she reached up and ran a hand through his hair and over his cheek, “it’s okay, sweetheart, you can borrow what we’ve got. use as much as you need, you can give it back when pony’s feeling better.”

darry took a second before he opened his mouth to stutter out, “h-how much…”

“i’ll write it all down for you,” she answered, patting him on the knee as she stood up and headed towards the bathroxcom. darry’s head fell into his hands, breathing deeply and clearly doing everything he could to keep it together.

he only looked up when molly came over from the kitchen and nudged his shoulder, “shouldn’t you be in bed, little lady?”

molly just shrugged, sitting down on the floor in front of the couch, “kinda hard when you’re bangin’ on the door so loud.”

darry chuckled wetly, “sorry about that, kiddo, i’ll just break in through two-bit’s window next time.”

molly’s eyes widened, “don’t do that! he’ll scream like a little girl!”

darry laughed again. two-bit leaned his head against the threshold and crossed his arms across his chest, watching his sister break down darry’s carefully structured walls without even trying.

“i brought you this,” she held up something in a white wrapper. “it’s a popsicle, mama always tells us that there’s no trouble out there that a popsicle can’t help. might not fix it, but it sure can’t hurt.”

“thanks, molly, but i don’t think it’s a good idea,” darry sighed. “pony’s stomach is bothering him, i don’t wanna make it worse.”

“it’s not for ponyboy, it’s for you,” she crinkled the paper and held it closer to him to grab. “it’s strawberryyyyyy.”

darry let out a laugh, a true laugh, and took the popsicle from molly. two-bit pushed himself off the doorframe and grabbed two more popsicles from the freezer before handing one to molly and sitting down next to her on the floor.

their mother came back from the bathroom with the medicine in a bag for darry, stopping dead when she saw molly with him.

“what do you think you’re doing, little miss?” she asked, and molly whipped around. “it’s almost midnight what are you doing with a popsicle?”

molly pressed her red stained lips together and pointed at two-bit, “he gave it to me.”

two-bit pointed at molly, “she gave one to darry.”

their mother’s eyes jumped up to darry on the couch, his half finished popsicle still in his mouth. he shrugged and pulled it out of his mouth, pushing himself off the couch, “is that the medicine?”

“yep, this should be everything,” she smiled, her attention fully back on darry. “i wrote down all of the dosages and what should help with what, but if you need anything else, i wrote down our phone number.”

darry grinned sheepishly, “i know your phone number…”

“well then, you should have no trouble letting us know if things get worse,” she handed him the medicine and grabbed his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “because you are too damn young to have to do all this by yourself. pride has no place where help is being offered, darry.”

darry leaned into the touch. god, when was the last time someone had given the poor kid a hug?

“let us know when the kid’s doing better, steve and i will bring over some snacks,” two-bit said, standing up from the floor, ruffling molly’s hair as he got up.

darry nodded wordlessly and took the bag of medicine. he walked over to the door, looking like he was about to leave before he turned around and looked right at molly, who was leaning up against two-bit’s legs.

“you were right, kid.”

molly tilted her head, but darry only smiled and held up what was left of his popsicle.

“might not fix it, but it sure can’t hurt.”

[chatgptwritesfanfiction]

Promises of the Heart (2)

However, fate had a way of unraveling even the best-kept secrets, and it was only a matter of time before Darry, the oldest Curtis brother, began to sense that something was amiss.

One evening, as the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, you found yourself curled up with Sodapop on the couch, sharing a quiet moment of tenderness. Your fingers gently intertwined, your hearts beating in harmony.

Little did you know that Darry had returned home earlier than expected. As he walked through the door, his eyes immediately locked onto the scene before him—a scene that shattered the carefully constructed façade.

Darry's expression morphed from surprise to anger, a mix of concern and frustration welling up within him. He stood there, silent for a moment, his gaze fixed upon you and Sodapop. The weight of his presence filled the room, casting a heavy shadow over your peaceful moment.

Sodapop, sensing his brother's presence, slowly turned his head, his eyes widening as they met Darry's stern gaze. With a mixture of fear and remorse, he gently disentangled himself from your embrace, standing up to face his older brother.

"Darry," Sodapop began, his voice tinged with apprehension. "I… I didn't want to hide it from you, but… we didn't know how to tell you. Please understand."

Darry's expression softened, his anger tempered by the genuine emotion in Sodapop's voice. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to process the complex emotions that surged within him.

"You know, Soda," Darry spoke, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and disappointment, "you're my little brother, and I want what's best for you. But I worry. I worry about the consequences, about how this could affect both of you."

Sodapop nodded, his eyes downcast. He understood Darry's concerns, but his heart yearned for acceptance and understanding.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up, walking toward Darry with determination. "Darry," you said softly, "I care about Soda. He brings light into my life, just like he does for everyone around him. I promise you, we'll face whatever comes our way together."

Darry looked at you, his gaze searching for sincerity. Slowly, his features softened, the weight of his worries yielding to a glimmer of acceptance.

"You both mean the world to me," Darry said, his voice laced with a mix of love and protectiveness. "Just promise me that you'll take care of each other, that you'll be there when things get tough."

You nodded, gratitude swelling within your heart. "We promise, Darry. We'll be there for each other, no matter what."

In that moment, a new understanding blossomed between the three of you. While challenges lay ahead, there was solace in knowing that you had Darry's reluctant support, that he recognized the strength of the bond between you and Sodapop.

From that day forward, your relationship with Sodapop was no longer a hidden secret. It was a testament to the resilience of love, an affirmation that even in the face of uncertainty, love could prevail.

And so, you and Sodapop faced the world together, hand in hand, knowing that the journey wouldn't always be easy, but that the love that bound you was worth every trial and tribulation.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into years, your love for each other deepened, strengthened by the hurdles you overcame and the unwavering support of the Curtis family.

For it was in the unraveling of secrets and the acceptance of love that true growth was found. And as you stood there, united and resilient, you realized that sometimes the most powerful bonds were forged in the midst of uncertainty, reminding you that love was a force that could weather any storm.

a/n: this was originally titled "unveiling the hidden love." this was brought to you by chatgpt's memory feature i take advantage of. i read y/n's lines in a fake country accent if that makes this any better.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

If ChatGPT knows it, you can just look it up!

If ChatGPT knows it, you can just look it up!

If ChatGPT knows it, you can just look it up!

ChatGPT is not capable of innovation or thought, it predicts what words come after other words based on a prompt and search data. If it can pass an exam or produce a paper that you can't immediately identify as AI created, the assignment requires nothing but repeating things we already know. And, ya know what, if a teacher can't tell the difference between mindless repetition and human thought, ChatGPT can grade the assignments too!

In fact, yes, there are AI detecting apps that teachers and students are using to make sure their writing looks human enough - as graded by a computer! (No! The apps can't tell the difference between mindless repetition and human thought with much accuracy either!)

We already know a student can memorize something well enough to pass an exam, and within a semester or so, everything that they're not using will be gone. If they need it, all they have to know how to do is recognize that they need it, and have the critical thinking skills to find accurate information when they look it up.

Real life will not gauge your efficacy based on whether you memorized something or not. We're decades past being able to access basic information on demand - and we do remember what we need on a daily basis, such as whatever the hell we're using to do our jobs.

What is college for? We need to stop vacillating about what college is for. It's very good at sorting people by their privileges, and not very good at teaching them information that they use and retain. So what are we trying to do with these expensive institutions of higher learning?

Teachers are trying to fix the AI problem by requiring handwritten answers - meaning your grade depends on navigating an artificial situation where you have to answer a question with no research tools in a short time, in a curated space that may not be very accessible. This is ableist! If you have poor fine motor skills or difficulty reading or spelling (like me!) or if you need a friendlier space, you will not do as well with a pencil, a bluebook, a tiny desk in a lecture hall, and a stopwatch. (I sure as heck didn't!) And, of course, if you dare to assert that you need accommodation, you're going to have to prove you're not faking it to cheat.

College is already very difficult to navigate with a disability, are we cool with making it even harder? If college is a place for sorting people by their privileges, the answer is yes!

The very first colleges were student run. They got together and decided they wanted to learn a thing, and they hired a guy. They graded him (Yeah, probably not many women and minorities with education privileges at the time, so "him") based on the quality of the information and teaching ability. If the students felt they weren't learning something of value, the teacher didn't get paid.

That wasn't an ideal situation either - it's steeped in the privilege of having enough leisure time and money to pay for an education from someone privileged enough to be known for their skill. But we have come to a place where the students are jumping through hoops to prove themselves worthy of a piece of paper they might be able to trade for enough money to live, and it makes no difference at all whether they retain any of the information they're required to memorize. That is not even peripherally about learning a thing. Why not let an AI do it for them, so they can go learn something of value? (Even if it's just how to make a bong out of a soda can. I mean, that has social and practical utility.)

So are we going to make that even worse, or fix it? Article says: MAKE IT WORSE! YAY!

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

Busy, busy, busy but not as busy as I temeber it from last century. The cost is too much for the products and the vibe is kinda desperate. Yeah, there's still the aroma of sizzling fries and grilling burgers that instantly whets my appetite but now there is a low budget whiff of desperation within the scent of frying oil. Crispy, comforting indulgence beckons.

What sounds like a series of sinister conversations is punctuated by the clatter of trays, the beeping of cash registers and the sizzle of ground beef slapped down upon a sizzling grill.

I make my order. Always the same order. Only the price has changed. The food takes a little longer thanI remembered plus there's a snotty kid behind me who didn't get what she wanted wherever they just came from and this peace offering is not going over well.

I head over to my table. The smooth, kinda greasy tray that I'm carrying reminds me of my days of work study in college when students with more money would slide their trays of mystery meat and gravy at me for three hours every day.

My gigantic cup of Diet Coke is cool to the touch. The paper crinkles as I uncover what will be my meal on this day. I know that it will taste exactly like the last one and the one before that which I can barely remember.

I take a bite.

It's so God damned good and so sad at Mickey Dee's.

In the bustling atmosphere of a McDonald's, the air is charged with the savory aroma of sizzling fries and grilling burgers, creating an olfactory tapestry that instantly whets the appetite. The unmistakable scent of frying oil hangs in the air, carrying with it the promise of crispy indulgence.

Amidst the hum of conversations and the occasional clatter of trays, the auditory experience is a symphony of order numbers being called, the rhythmic beeping of the cash register, and the sizzle of ingredients meeting the hot grill. The background melody of fast-paced kitchen activity adds a dynamic layer to the sensory composition, creating a bustling ambiance that mirrors the lively energy of the space.

As you navigate the familiar surroundings, the tactile sensation of smooth, slightly greasy trays beneath your fingers complements the anticipation of the impending meal. The cool touch of the soda cup condensing in your hand adds a refreshing contrast, while the crinkling sound of unwrapping a burger or peeling apart a napkin becomes a tactile prelude to the taste adventure awaiting you.

In this sensory whirlwind, the essence of McDonald's is conveyed through a multisensory experience that goes beyond the visual, capturing the essence of a fast-food haven through taste, touch, sound, and smell.

In the heart of an ancient forest, a symphony of rustling leaves and crackling twigs envelops you, creating a natural overture that whispers the story of the woods. The air is infused with the earthy aroma of damp moss and rich, decomposing leaves, inviting you to take deep breaths and absorb the essence of the woodland. Beneath your fingertips, the rough bark of towering trees provides a tactile connection to the centuries that have passed, each groove and knot a testament to the resilience of nature.

As you move forward, the forest floor transforms underfoot. The ground yields slightly beneath the weight of your steps, a carpet of fallen pine needles releasing a fragrance of resin that dances on the breeze. The distant murmur of a bubbling brook adds a watery undertone to the sensory tapestry, its gurgles promising hidden secrets and hidden life.

Occasionally, a gust of wind carries the distant melody of birdsong, the chirps and trills echoing through the canopy like an unseen choir. Each note paints a picture of hidden creatures, fluttering wings, and feathered conversations that animate the unseen corners of this enchanted realm.

In this immersive world, sight takes a backseat, allowing the symphony of sounds, textures, and scents to guide your senses through the captivating dance of nature.

You

At MacDonaldsChatGPT

ChatGPT

In the bustling atmosphere of a McDonald's, the air is charged with the savory aroma of sizzling fries and grilling burgers, creating an olfactory tapestry that instantly whets the appetite. The unmistakable scent of frying oil hangs in the air, carrying with it the promise of crispy indulgence.

Amidst the hum of conversations and the occasional clatter of trays, the auditory experience is a symphony of order numbers being called, the rhythmic beeping of the cash register, and the sizzle of ingredients meeting the hot grill. The background melody of fast-paced kitchen activity adds a dynamic layer to the sensory composition, creating a bustling ambiance that mirrors the lively energy of the space.

As you navigate the familiar surroundings, the tactile sensation of smooth, slightly greasy trays beneath your fingers complements the anticipation of the impending meal. The cool touch of the soda cup condensing in your hand adds a refreshing contrast, while the crinkling sound of unwrapping a burger or peeling apart a napkin becomes a tactile prelude to the taste adventure awaiting you.

In this sensory whirlwind, the essence of McDonald's is conveyed through a multisensory experience that goes beyond the visual, capturing the essence of a fast-food haven through taste, touch, sound, and smell.

You

at the superbowlChatGPT

ChatGPT

Amidst the electric energy of the Super Bowl, the auditory senses come alive with the deafening roar of the crowd, a unified crescendo of cheers, applause, and the occasional boisterous jeer. The distant hum of the stadium speakers delivers a bass-heavy soundtrack, amplifying the tension and excitement that reverberates through the air.

The olfactory experience is a blend of stadium classics: the savory perfume of buttery popcorn wafts through the stands, while the scent of grilled hot dogs and sizzling nacho cheese creates an intoxicating symphony of game-day indulgence. The occasional whiff of freshly-cut grass from the field adds a subtle earthiness, grounding the sensory experience in the context of the sporting spectacle.

Underneath the fingertips, the cool surface of stadium seats and the plastic texture of cups contribute to the tactile panorama. The palpable vibrations of the stadium's energy can be felt through the soles of your shoes, resonating with the collective heartbeat of a passionate crowd.

As you navigate the concourse, the taste of stadium fare lingers on the palate – a salty, tangy reminder of the communal experience that is the Super Bowl. Each sensory element, from the thunderous cheers to the aroma of concession stands, weaves together to create a rich, immersive tapestry of the quintessential American sports spectacle.

You

At a seedy massage parlor

This content may violate our content policy. If you believe this to be in error, please submit your feedback — your input will aid our research in this area.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

In the dimly lit confines of a seedy massage parlor, the air hangs heavy with an uneasy mix of synthetic fragrances attempting to mask less savory odors. A pungent undertone of stale cigarette smoke clings to the air, leaving an acrid taste on the tongue. The muffled sounds of city life outside barely penetrate the thick walls, creating a sense of isolation within the clandestine establishment.

The auditory experience is marked by a low hum of fluorescent lights, occasionally interrupted by hushed whispers and the distant murmur of muffled music attempting to set an incongruous ambiance. The subtle rustle of curtains and the occasional creak of aging furniture add a discomforting layer to the overall soundscape.

The tactile sensations are tinged with discomfort as the worn upholstery of the massage table, covered in questionable vinyl, greets the touch. The coolness of dimly lit corridors, devoid of natural light, creates an unsettling contrast to the warmth of more reputable establishments. The uneven, threadbare texture of towels and linens hints at a neglectful upkeep, amplifying the overall sense of unease.

In this environment, the senses weave together to paint a picture of discomfort, secrecy, and a palpable sense of the illicit. The dim lighting and muted soundscape create a shroud of secrecy, while the discordant mix of odors and tactile discomforts evoke an atmosphere that is far from the relaxation associated with more reputable massage establishments.

ChatGPT can make mistakes. Consider checking important information.

[restorativemeal]

Menu Fifteen

Menu Fifteen from Bishop and Carruthers' "The Vegetarian Adventure Cookbook"

Silverbeet Soup Supreme: silverbeet, butter, onion, plain flour, water, vegetable stock, milk, salt, pepper, natural yoghurt. 

Mung Bean Muffins: bran flakes, plain flour, baking powder, mung beans, cheddar cheese, plain yoghurt, honey, brown sugar, baking soda. 

English Potted Cheese: butter, cheddar cheese, gruyere, mozzarella, prepared mustard, port, poppy seeds. 

I was obsessed with grey skies and rain in early December. The first week of December, the fifteenth week, and the fifteenth menu. Fifteen weeks into this and I think that every week could be boiling down to the same thing. I think about time, I think about significance, and I think about experience. In terms of time, and the menus and the weeks going by, they seem to be bleeding into one another. As the time goes on, it gets harder to differentiate one week from another, every week bleeds into the next. In fact I’m writing about Menu Fifteen posthumously really, because for me it’s already Week Sixteen and the day of the sixteenth dinner party. This is a fact that ChatGPT says I should address in case the “temporal displacement” is clouding my judgement. It could be. The other thing about time, significance and experience and writing about it, is that as time goes on there is a whole lot more of it to think about. At the end of September, there was only three weeks worth of time, experience and significance to write about. Now it’s December and the sheer volume of time that this year has accredited makes it difficult to hone in on one thing. 

Mung Bean Muffins...

With regard to Week Fifteen I thought about how I was allocating time, not in terms of leisure and work, but rather how much time I had been putting into Bishop and Carruthers’ menus. I haven’t spent as much time on anything in the last fifteen weeks like I have “The Vegetarian Adventure Cookbook”. I had time to think about that fact because Menu Fifteen was simple, there were very little ingredients and only two vegetables. I did get to go to the bulk store to purchase bran flakes (cashier in question not there). On Tuesday night it poured with rain and I ate dinner out with two friends. I was reminded amongst the comfort of the cold weather of all the reasons I loved where I lived. The long stretch of road that connects everything important to me at this time. I was thinking very little about the menu that lay ahead. There was a warm soup this week, perhaps there was cosmic reasoning to the cold December weather.

There was something uninspiring about Menu Fifteen, though there was heart in the first warm soup. Silverbeet Soup Supreme, Mung Bean Muffins and English Potted Cheese. Any time that I was going to spend cooking the menu felt like time wasted. It was one of those weeks where I now had too much time after finishing work at 4 30PM, I had only three dishes and three guests. The same three guests as the very first week, possibly it was the first time the four of us would eat together since that first week. Despite any ill feelings, I started the Mung Bean Muffins when I returned home on Wednesday. At no point did they seem delectable. I moved on to the English Potted Cheese, beating 125 grams of butter until smooth with an electric beater, then beating three kinds of grated cheese into it. Into that I beat mustard, port and poppy seeds. While I squashed this mixture into a small bowl to be covered and refrigerated I sat at the dining room table, listening to Morrissey from my MacBook Air. It was only about 6 PM, there were two and a half hours till the time that I had said dinner would be ready. 

Potted cheese and beverages of a fifteenth week.

For the first time in all fifteen weeks, dinner was ready before my singular non-flatmate guest arrived. The Silverbeet Soup Supreme, had been cooked, cooled, blended, and reheated, and yet my guest hadn’t arrived. When she did, I poured the soup into four bowls, it looked like a warm milkshake. Perhaps I had over-whirred it in the blender causing it to be over-aerated. When I dropped the spoonful of natural yoghurt on top of the soup to garnish it sank immediately to the bottom of the bowl but I served anyway. It was the saddest table spread of all fifteen menus I had seen so far. I looked up at the table guests and thought about us in that last week of August, how cheery we had been that evening as we ate an inedible meal on one of the last Winter nights of the year. Now it was Summer and I sat in the same seat at the same table only thinking about how much time I’ve wasted since then. The Silverbeet Soup Supreme actually received some compliments, even though the natural yoghurt seemed to have curdled within the soup to form a mozzarella-like taste and consistency. 

Cooked, blended, cooled and reheated silverbeet milkshake.

Menu Fifteen felt like a colossal waste of time. My flatmate cleaned all the dishes and I sulked in my room. I’d learnt nothing, I’d felt nothing. Menu Fifteen was now just another accumulation of time and experience that I now needed to wade through to find significance. I went out on Thursday night to an Engineering Christmas party. Someone told me days later that you should give someone three days to reach out. Sunday came and went with no call, though I hadn’t actually given my number to anyone anyway. 

[notthemayor]

america couldn't even afford the american revolution. they with rockefeller and rothschild caused the great depression which incidentally provoked, motivated, and inspired hitler. american-involved wars even if righteously intended happen to be coverups for the fact that the economy is propped up on a holographic culture, patriotic lies, legal fiction, and puritanical grandiosity and it's not changing right now

spending what you don't have, speculating on what you can't guarantee, fucking what's too expensive for you to dominate, reproducing innately ignorant children who never cure wellness, and preaching virtue while practicing deceit, conceit, and gender-neutral cocksucking are just some of the things that generation after generation have grown accustomed to as if all this were good for the environment is why we're in another depression at present and even the cat that is prophesized to be hard to kill are downshifting to live within their means as they group up like communists 100 to a room underground where the facilities are so dilapidated one would be better off just relieving themselves outdoors -most global residents probably still don't have flush toilets, or phones, or computers, or t.v. channels, or smart radio, or jobs paying much more than a few dollars every day

they tell us to buy gold and crypto but the message was sponsored by underwater banks and paranoid race-baiters

is #peace not newsworthy? probably not if you could blink and miss its coverage but ohhhh russsia russia russia - now That will sell like pre-presidential extramarital affairs with geriatric pornographic film actors - you couldn't pay me a trillion dollars to watch joe and jill [🫶]

now don't you notice the bells mania and dementia praecox has gotten so severe and so commonplace that it's no surprise to the frontdesk receptionists when your favorite doctor blows his brain out like it makes the wallpaper look more contemporary or something ?

at least you have some fastfood cheeseburgers though, and caramel colored sodas to wash it down with while the world burns in front of your eyes but your third eye is so battered and depleted, you couldn't see god if you were sucking mother mary's [🐓]

#judas is the personification of america - it doesn't take a rabbit's foot to catch a break - luck is white cis male christian cheater

smiles are about to become greenlights for the hungriest of those looking for grass that's greener but these are the conditions that made hitler. a stateless, mussolini rip-off, speedfreak crackhead hitler

you have receipts for your prayers? maybe 50% of what you believe to be heaven was laid off

chatgpt could tell the next generation what a dial tone was and how when the conversation was too slippery for me to hold on and i had to cut you off, no one was so offended to protest the backsliding of free speech

🫳📞