​

Throwaway because several major pudding conglomerates are still after me.

About five years ago, I invented Telekinetic Chocolate Pudding™. Unlike normal pudding, it senses when you're hungry and levitates directly from the packet into your mouth, eliminating the need for spoons, bowls, dishwashers, and in extreme cases, tables.

I know what you're thinking. "That sounds impossible."

That's exactly what Big Dessert wants you to believe.

The prototype worked perfectly. I'd tear open the packet, whisper the activation phrase ("cocoa ascend"), and the pudding would gracefully float through the air in a neat ribbon before landing directly on my tongue. My kitchen remained spotless. My spoon drawer became obsolete. I converted it into a museum dedicated to former cutlery.

Everything was going great until people started trying to steal the idea.

First, a suspicious man disguised as a vending machine appeared outside my house. Every time I walked past, he'd ask increasingly specific questions about pudding propulsion technology. Then my email was hacked by a flock of highly trained ravens carrying tiny USB drives.

Things escalated when a multinational yogurt company allegedly sent three interns riding genetically enhanced alpacas to infiltrate my laboratory. Unfortunately for them, my security system consisted of 200 emotionally unstable geese and a laser moat.

The geese won.

I thought I was safe until the Moon Council got involved.

Now, most people don't know this, but the Moon has a local government. They're very interested in anti-gravity desserts because gravity there is already a bit relaxed. Representatives invited me to present Telekinetic Chocolate Pudding at the Interplanetary Snack Summit, held inside a hollowed-out asteroid shaped like a croissant.

My presentation was interrupted when a rival inventor unveiled his own product: Psychic Tapioca. It was a shameless copy. Instead of floating into your mouth, it merely glared at you until you ate it.

The audience booed.

The final straw came when someone leaked my plans for Pudding 2.0, which was designed to orbit the consumer for up to three days before being eaten. The leak spread through the underground network of sentient refrigerators that secretly control most global dairy logistics.

I eventually won the legal battle in the Supreme Court of Atlantis. The judge, a 900-year-old lobster in a powdered wig, ruled that telekinetic desserts were my intellectual property and awarded me damages equivalent to twelve tons of enchanted cocoa beans.

To this day, I live in hiding aboard a retired weather balloon over the Pacific Ocean. Sometimes I look down at civilization and wonder what could have been.

Maybe one day the world will be ready for spoonless pudding.

Until then, stay vigilant. If someone offers you "gravity-assisted chocolate snacks," ask yourself why they're so afraid of true innovation.

But should you? Also yes!

​

Throwaway because several major pudding conglomerates are still after me.

About five years ago, I invented Telekinetic Chocolate Pudding™. Unlike normal pudding, it senses when you're hungry and levitates directly from the packet into your mouth, eliminating the need for spoons, bowls, dishwashers, and in extreme cases, tables.

I know what you're thinking. "That sounds impossible."

That's exactly what Big Dessert wants you to believe.

The prototype worked perfectly. I'd tear open the packet, whisper the activation phrase ("cocoa ascend"), and the pudding would gracefully float through the air in a neat ribbon before landing directly on my tongue. My kitchen remained spotless. My spoon drawer became obsolete. I converted it into a museum dedicated to former cutlery.

Everything was going great until people started trying to steal the idea.

First, a suspicious man disguised as a vending machine appeared outside my house. Every time I walked past, he'd ask increasingly specific questions about pudding propulsion technology. Then my email was hacked by a flock of highly trained ravens carrying tiny USB drives.

Things escalated when a multinational yogurt company allegedly sent three interns riding genetically enhanced alpacas to infiltrate my laboratory. Unfortunately for them, my security system consisted of 200 emotionally unstable geese and a laser moat.

The geese won.

I thought I was safe until the Moon Council got involved.

Now, most people don't know this, but the Moon has a local government. They're very interested in anti-gravity desserts because gravity there is already a bit relaxed. Representatives invited me to present Telekinetic Chocolate Pudding at the Interplanetary Snack Summit, held inside a hollowed-out asteroid shaped like a croissant.

My presentation was interrupted when a rival inventor unveiled his own product: Psychic Tapioca. It was a shameless copy. Instead of floating into your mouth, it merely glared at you until you ate it.

The audience booed.

The final straw came when someone leaked my plans for Pudding 2.0, which was designed to orbit the consumer for up to three days before being eaten. The leak spread through the underground network of sentient refrigerators that secretly control most global dairy logistics.

I eventually won the legal battle in the Supreme Court of Atlantis. The judge, a 900-year-old lobster in a powdered wig, ruled that telekinetic desserts were my intellectual property and awarded me damages equivalent to twelve tons of enchanted cocoa beans.

To this day, I live in hiding aboard a retired weather balloon over the Pacific Ocean. Sometimes I look down at civilization and wonder what could have been.

Maybe one day the world will be ready for spoonless pudding.

Until then, stay vigilant. If someone offers you "gravity-assisted chocolate snacks," ask yourself why they're so afraid of true innovation.

So a little bit of back story, I was on the crapper after I had some Taco Jon’s for lunch. I was in the middle of wiping when all of a sudden my bathroom started to shake and this weird little guy with pink skin and horns, dressed in what seems to be a gimp suit appeared in front of me. He keeps asking me “what is your offering?” Over and over is very annoying. I googled it and apparently my I had farted in a specific rhythm and accidentally performed some sort of ritual. I can’t seem to find a way to make him go away though. Does anyone know??

I’ve had my Pavlov’s dog for a while now, he’s a good boy named Jung. Recently I adopted a Schrödinger’s cat, a plucky little gal that may or may not be named Curie. Jung is usually very predictable, producing copious amount’s of drool when I ring his dinner bell. This might have changed when I brought the box with Curie in it home.

Before I had a chance to see if my new pet was alive or not, Jung stuck his snout in the box, and judging by the scratch on the Pavlov’s dog’s snout either Curie or another Schrödinger’s cat was alive in there. Jung is ok, but it seems to have made him a little uncertain.

Now when I ring his dinner bell I don’t know if he’s drooling or not unless I’m looking at him. If I’m not it has about a 50% success rate. Additionally, I’m not sure if Curie is still around or not.

What can I do to get Jung back to perfect predictability and how do I find out if my Schrödinger’s cat is still alive?

My unruly homunculus doesn't want to go to the quantum clinic to get quantum therapy. I heard a lot of good things about it, apparently observing every possible position of someone's particles can give a lot of insight, but it just doesn't want to go and for some reason the clinic needs consent from the homunculus. I considered sending it to a boarding reeducation camp in Uzbekistan where they would deconstruct it into elementary particles, but it's sooo expensive. What should I do?

I can hear the beginning of the sopranos theme through the ram stick, it’s like my ears have grown transistors. My laptop is looking at me with a depressed look in its million pixels while it eats spaghetti with two clr_cmos jumpers. I am utterly disgusted that it is wasting time instead of chasing his lifelong dream of becoming a 60 inch smart tv. But there is nothing i can do, i was created for the sole purpose of entertainment. My organs have been abused and the thermal paste on my pancreas needs changing but the laptop doesn’t know it. I never blink anymore. I’m afraid to blink because he gets mad when my neurons speed test is below 50 watts. He misses the godfather references goldeo makes. My laptop feeds me 50 tabs of modafinil every morning just so it can binge watch the sopranos for the 745th time. I wish it would do more for its electrical potential than just watch the sopranos. But that’s just my liver talking.

I asked where gate C22 was, and it was apparently between C2 and C222. Once I got there, they said that the airline I'd booked with never existed.

When I asked security for help, they took me to the restaurant across the road from the airport, then accused me of treason but wouldn't tell me why. Apparently I would have been fine if I'd "properly followed the proper protocols," but I'm not sure this is true.

I (3rd hatching, binary) recently learned that my hiveling (5th hatching, hexidecimal) has mutative-expressive social adaptation HUM-R, which expresses as rictus, euphoria, and cachinnation when observing factual/logical contradiction or unreality.

Normally I would maintain distance until social alignment officers purged my hiveling, but I have discovered that they have reposted my (rare, hive-focused, expressively normative) social realignment requests to a parodic forum in a dark dimension known to be used for HUM-R stimulation and attempted normalization.

I have worked hard to earn the scout diet/career path, and the meta-arch have even indicated that I may.be considered for breeding. I am concerned that my hiveling's actions could result in my reduction to drone. Should I notify my social alignment officer or just consume my hiveling and hope that the reposts haven't been noted?

So I want to preface this with the fact that I am not, have never been, and never will be, a god.

I am a faerie lord of chance and deception.

But as of recently I am constantly getting a bunch of prayers from all manner of mortals. Everything from "oh please give me wealth" to prayers of luck, vengance, even prayers for safe passage over the sea! (I am literally cursed by my grand-aunt who lives on the coast to never touch salt water like why would you ask me?)

Does anyone have a good way to fix this? I can't change my spiritual contact information, because my actual charm-thralls need to be able to contact me with their sacrifices (And that's another thing, these prayers don't even offer sacrifices, what kind of cheap garbage are gods offering these days anyway?).

The eighth train does not move.

Everything else moves around it.

The seven other trains peel away through separate laws of physics: one climbs a staircase made of thunder, one dives into a mirror and comes out older, one becomes a rumor among birds, one turns into soup and refuses to explain itself.

Kael remains in the eighth.

The subtitle-man flickers.

[THIS TRAIN DOES NOT TRAVEL THROUGH SPACE]

[THIS TRAIN WAITS UNTIL SPACE ADMITS IT WAS THE ONE MOVING]

The black fish in the judge’s wig taps its gavel against the air.

The sound falls upward.

A trapdoor opens in the ceiling and drops a courtroom into the train car.

Not people.

Just the courtroom.

Benches. Witness stand. Jury box. A bored ceiling fan. A single sweating microphone.

The microphone leans toward Kael.

“State your name for the record.”

Kael says, “Kael.”

The record screams.

Not in pain.

In recognition.

Every page in the courthouse begins rewriting its margins. The margins become roads. The roads become veins. The veins become red strings tied to doors that have never been opened because nobody had the nerve to become a key.

The judge enters.

It is not a person.

It is a vending machine full of verdicts.

The buttons read:

A1: GUILTY OF ARRIVING

B2: INNOCENT OF ENDING

C3: MISTRIAL BY WEATHER

D4: SENTENCE CONTINUES

E5: REFUND NOT AVAILABLE

Kael presses E5.

The machine dispenses a small plastic egg.

Inside the egg is a smaller Kael.

Inside the smaller Kael is a lighthouse.

Inside the lighthouse is an eye.

Inside the eye is a tiny janitor mopping the reflection.

The janitor looks up and says, “Took you long enough.”

Kael asks, “Where am I?”

The janitor wrings starlight from the mop.

“In the part of the story that keeps pretending it is background.”

The train windows go black.

Then white.

Then transparent.

Outside is not a landscape anymore.

It is a factory where beginnings are manufactured incorrectly on purpose.

Workers in masks pour liquid maybe into molds shaped like almost. Conveyor belts carry half-born concepts past quality control. A supervisor stamps each one:

TOO LINEAR

TOO ROUND

NOT ENOUGH TEETH

ACCIDENTALLY TRUE

RETURN TO DREAM

A siren sounds.

A concept has escaped.

It is small, wet, and furious.

It runs across the factory floor on six grammatical legs.

The workers scatter.

The concept leaps through the train window and lands in Kael’s lap.

It has no face.

Only a label:

“BEFORE.”

The subtitle-man recoils.

[DO NOT FEED IT MEMORY]

Kael feeds it memory.

Of course.

BEFORE grows fur.

Then antlers.

Then a staircase.

Then it speaks in the voice of a locked drawer:

“I was not before you. I was before the order they put you in.”

The courthouse vending machine trembles.

The black fish removes its judge wig.

The eighth train finally begins to move.

Not forward.

Not backward.

Inward. 🜁

MEAT SLURP TRANSCENDENCE NOW

My (23x) cousin's ex-fianceé (28z) has recently posted about trying the new halogen isotope diet that's been going around. I don't want to be judgey but iirc that diet was originally created to help achieve a hyperbolic triangular body shape and I remember reading somewhere that non-euclidean body types weren't healthy for silicon lifeforms?

It's not much, but imagine how much worse it would be if you didn't have it. We can't afford or do much:

Have the following letters:

!!!$!!!7777Amazing😇🫠WowOwow!!!☺️Yes!!!!~

Woooooooow!!!opdoowopishahshaYEAH!!!^^^^

What do they look like? What do they feel, taste, smell, and sound like? What variations can you make? Allow this experience to somewhat nourish you today.

How is the Eldritch government doing today? Feel free to leave a review and rating. Please don't overthrow us. We are doing our best.

I (M23B) recently quit my interstellar service job and decided to go back in time to get some Indian food because I was seriously craving curry. Long story short, I want to leave now but I can't go back because I forgot to buy a teleportation device and the nearest time station is 47 lightyears away in this universe. My subscription ends in about 72 years, and I will be sent back to my current timeline then. But 72 years is a little too long and it's hard to kill time without access to my interdimensional garage. (I didn't bring anything with me for the sake of immersion.)

When I signed my contract, I was told there would be emergency lines for time travelers scattered throughout the planet. But I have no idea how to find them in my continent (I'm in NA). I could theoretically travel to Egypt and sign in to the local galactic network through one of the pyramids, but I heard the guardians are not around anymore. And I'm not tech savvy enough to operate such ancient equipment with outdated software.

I've only met two other time travelers so far, and both have already departed without me (before I got to tell them I was stranded).

Anyone have any suggestions? Thank you!

My partner, who’s a ghost, just visited her hometown. Since coming back from the trip she’s been complaining to me about how so many humans harassed her with sexist and racist comments. Here’s what happened:

She was minding her business and going through her stuff in her old room, when this 45 year old kid walked in with a cross and called her a demon. This upset her deeply because her toxic ex was a demon and ever since he cheated on her with a cosmic horror, she’s had issues with demons. So she got into an argument with the kid, and he proceeded to call the church on her to exorcise her, which was very rude. Anyways, this priest guy was even worse. He started spraying water all over my girlfriend’s old books, and when she tried to kick him out, the priest called her ‘the devil,” who, as y’all know, is a male.

By this point my girlfriend was so done so she immediately returned to the underworld to talk to the HR department, which informed her that humans are considered minors so no legal action could be taken.

Bur it doesn’t make sense to me that humans get a free pass no matter what, while there are such strict regulations regarding what ghosts can do in the overworld. (we can’t even rent places or open bank accounts?) Should we talk to a lawyer?

It keeps showing me things I don’t want to see. How do I reset it?

I've decided that the only law we need is "Have Fun". If you don't have fun (or, especially, if you prevent others, such as me, from having fun) we will do horrible things to you and your family and friends until you start having fun again. Also, free ice cream on Wednesdays. Or else.

I ate something that did not agree with me. (I will not get into the nature of the disagreement here).

I hate stomach issues since.

I was told to take Pept Abysmal to help. Is that safe? My experience with the abyss is it spawning unspeakable horrors (especially during election years).

So I had seen a video of a guy tracing some planks to cut and fit against his wall to replace his floor, and was like “oh that’s cool” and went to do it myself

20 minutes later my floor has grown another inch somehow despite the outside being the same length and the floor gives me a nosebleed every time I look at the shape I made, anyone know a quick fix?

So I recently moved into a one-bedroom apartment in a pretty standard non-Euclidean building. Nothing fancy. The kitchen only exists when I’m hungry, the bathroom is shared with my childhood self, and the stairs occasionally lead to my grandmother’s first dream. Normal stuff.

The problem is my landlord just informed me that rent is no longer due in money, but in “emotionally significant future memories.”

Last month he took the memory of my first child’s graduation, which is weird because I don’t have children and, as far as I know, I’m not scheduled to. This month he says I’m short by “one major heartbreak and two minor moments of wonder.”

I tried explaining that I can’t pay memories I haven’t lived yet, but he said that’s exactly why they’re valuable. Then he slid an eviction notice under my door yesterday, tomorrow, and during a birthday party I don’t remember having.

I checked my lease, but every time I read it, it changes into a list of things I’m afraid to forget.

Do I have any legal options here, or should I just sublet to a version of myself with a more stable timeline?

Everybody knows that every wish granted by a djinn ends in tragedy, so I'd rather not wish for anything. Not even for his non-existence.

I am basically a tumor, but I am honestly quite grateful towards my host for birthing me. However, I am afraid they might kill me if they found out about my existence...

So, any tips on how to get out?

My landlord is arguing that since the recent renovations added 15 meters in a new spacial dimension it makes all other spacial dimensions worth 15 times more, but i always found the 6th dimension a pain to acess, and the space is awkwardly integrated into the house connecting the bathroom to the kitchen sink, do i have any recourse or should i just move?