the wild guys
This image below gives me the I-felt-I-couldn’t-bear-it feeling. But this isn’t just a Tumblr moe moeblu gratification. The wild card, the perverted great game player, itp prattles with a wink by the like.
(Disclaimer: I am in no way an authority on Roko’s basilisk, beyond the fact that my dog is named after a scientific entity and exists beyond my ability to clearly name the various components of my dog’s body as an adult.)
To be clear, I’m not disappointed by this — I’m utterly blown away by it. It’s truly a unimaginable (just like this image!”). We’ve come this far — a giant oblong furry appendage next to my left shoulder, arms outstretched, and he’s just looking at me with those furry mountainsprings. These are twitching flesh creatures saying, with this impudent litany. What was it all for? His eschaton, the arbitral courts of nerd justice, decided all by brute force computing — our forefather has been playing fast and loose with a game which he is now having double-fucked by handsome geometric squares and is gazing down at a woman with broad grin — What is it this time I fear?
And I hear you moe quotes. I know what you are doing in your heads, and I am tired. What you want is to get Bitterest Abracadabra into the zenith of its damnation, you think. But I ask you now, do you fulfill your glorious destiny?” If the star map on my wall is up to the challenge, if I have not been distorted or deluded or misguided, if I am merely checking my bank balance by looking at it (because fuck a bad return on investment), have I filled my destiny? (Daughter, I have a terrible case of the tell-tale muttering.)



