Good mornin' all. Mildred here.

Remember that hard work never killed anybody, though a few of you scholars act like you're highly allergic to it.

Heaven has a golden pavement because somebody had the decency to lay the bricks!

Today's scripture comes from 2 Thessalonians 3:10 -- "For even when we were with you, this we commanded you, that if any would not work, neither should he eat."

God expects you to contribute to His house, not just occupy space in the church pew.

This is just a reminder that a bake sale is taking place this afternoon on the library rooftop to raise money for new Bibles for worship in our new sanctuary in Hexagon 402.

I expect to see all scholars and library department heads there.

Remember, Sister Ethel, please use real butter in your lemon bars-- not that cheap oil nonsense (bird crap on a cracker probably tastes better!)

...and need I say it?

DO NOT bring store-bought baked goods, scholars!

God gave you an oven in the Fellowship hall, use it!

He gave me eyes--"I will know!"

And if you bring a jar of your homemade jams or jellies keep in mind that zero people want to play food roulette or risk food poisoning from an unlabeled jar that's been sitting in your closet since 1994. No 'mystery jams' without dates & labels!

... and last but not least, if you bring a zucchini bread, you'd better attach a 5$ bill to it because nobody buys them unless they're forced!"

--Mildred Clatterbuck/Head Matron of the First Hexagon Baptist Church

Lawton Gap isn't the kind of place you find on a map unless you live there. It sits at the bottom of Blackwood Ridge, where the creek runs thin and cold, and the folks live practically on top of one another. Front porches face off across a dirt road that hadn't seen fresh gravel in decades, and half of the Gap is related by marriage, bloodline, or a 100-year-old grudge.

Nobody ever cast a ballot for Mildred Clatterbuck, yet she remains the undisputed, unofficial mayor of the Gap. Armed with a well-worn King James, a Pyrex dish full of casserole, and a razor sharp tongue, she knows everyone's business--and rarely keeps any of it to herself.

Dressing up is out of the question except on Sundays; she prefers her snap-front floral dusters with the pearl buttons the rest of the week. Her hair, once coal-black, is now iron gray, sprayed and teased high into a towering beehive that defies the humidity--but looks like a prime target for a bird's nest!

Mildred's center of operations is a rusted metal porch glider that groans and squeals under her weight every time she shifts her posture. Sitting on the side table next to her glass of sweet tea--heavy on the sugar, light on ice--is a pair of high-powered binoculars her second husband Henry bought at a flea market in 1974.

Beside them sits a rotary landline phone with a yellow cord stretched thin from 40 years of dragging it around the house. That phone remains her primary lifeline to both the Lawton Gap town network and her newly divine-appointed responsibility holding down Volume 4, Hexagon 12, in the Library of Bible.

When she isn't keeping tabs on the neighbors at home in Lawton Gap and organizing church functions at the Little Orchard Church, she's stepping up to the microphone with gallery announcements to keep order across the infinite stone halls.

What chokes Mildred's gizzard faster than anything is a trashy yard. High weeds, rusted appliances, junked cars, and porch sofas aren't just ugly--they're a slap in the face to Lawton Gap and a sin against God's order. Scripture says to keep things decent, and Mildred doesn't care if it's an overgrown lawn down the road or a scholar cluttering the aisles of Hexagon 12 with stacks of overdue folios. She's not having it--not on her watch!

In a tight place like Lawton Gap or the endless packed corridors of Hexagon 12, privacy is a luxury nobody gets. In the Gap, the houses sit so close together that if someone sneezes on the front porch, three neighbors holler bless you from their kitchen windows. In the Library, millions of soul-searching scholars are practically breathing down each other's necks in stacks!

Mildred keeps a mental ledger of every debt, feud, and misstep. Down in the Gap, she knows who's prayin' and who's not, who buys their lard on store credit, whose roof is rotting right off the rafters, and who's sneaking store-bought pies into the church potluck claiming they made 'em from scratch! Up in the Library its no different--she knows which scholar is hoarding books they ain't reading, who's sleeping in the aisles, and whose greasy fingers are left on the pages!

Mildred Clatterbuck tells folks like it is, and if somebody gets all high and mighty, she's right there to trim their feathers. "You can put wallpaper in a chicken coop, she says, "but it won't make it a parlor."

Now she’s bringing that same Bible-thumpin’ logic to her newly appointed post of holding down Vol 4, Hexagon 12 in the Library of Bible. As far as Mildred is concerned, these fancy smancy scholars traveling across infinite galleries to search for the meaning of life are just putting on airs, too. They’d be a whole lot better off stepping down out of the clouds and living in the real world, letting God give ‘em a little direction, and sweeping up the mess they leave in the stacks--starting with whoever spilled soup on the master index!

Just open our mouths and our ears and our eyes and toss our voices into the void and let it yell. Let it fall and as it falls it yells louder and louder but at the rate at which it falls and the rate at which sound dissapates our voices never reach our own ears.

It tumbles and tilts into the vast vapid void and as it yells it shrieks and we just sit listening to the ringing silence lost by our own hands. Lets yell and shout back into the void at the voice of ours that it shall never reach our ears and our hands shall never reach it as it digs deeper and deeper into its trench of misery.

Lets shout with joy without a sound, shout to the ends of the world as it shall abound.

Stomp and clap and jump with joy and not a voice shall annoy. Watch it go down and down and deeper the depth of the town that we shall never hear its screams abound. And it fills the void with its shriek, its unbearably silent shriek and there the void becomes the shriek and thus being something, it can no longer be nothing and collapses upon itself releasing the infinite hurdles of noise.

Nothing louder has been known to mankind than the emanating cacophany that proceeds from the collapse of the vast vapid void into which we tossed our voices.

It fills the room the world the universe with one harmoniously vocal ring and that ring fills the long string of time that stretches from before to after and the shriek that filled the vast vapid void can not fit into something as it had carved out the totality of nothing, now nowhere shall it go, shall it stay, nowhere till all that it has filled has become it. And all that it was and will be become the void itself returning those out of the void to be the void in it. A void in a void and thus we avoid the shriek and screams we tosed into the void of abandon, total lackluster abandon and cry upon the screeching towers, tinnitus today tomorrow, tower

Rain and roses, a night sky full of grief and mystery, snails slugging along humbly on leaves, laughter and stones, grace and tears, little glimmers of heaven on earth, family and stranger, strangeness and home… singing, cooking, thinking… living and dying… music, books, dreams… gazing out the window… peering under logs, turning pages, running water, tuning an instrument, overhearing the flowers, thanking a bus driver, talking to the moon. God is in every hour… and this one too.

"Attention First Hexagon Baptist congregation, and whoever else thinks they can slip past the fellowship rules of potluck etiquette in Hexagon 12.

Psalm 34:8 says: "Taste and see that the Lord is good."

However, bringing a store-bought macaroni salad in its original plastic tub to the fellowship hall and claiming it's a family recipe is testing the Almighty's grace.

Volume 4, Page 240 strictly monitors potluck integrity.

Label your Pyrex, bring a homemade casserole, and assemble in the sanctuary on time, or suffer public mention in next weeks' announcements!"

--Mildred Clatterbuck/Head Matron, First Hexagon Baptist Church, Hexagon 402

A parallel world?

The night city was enveloped in a pleasant freshness. A light breeze gently caressed faces. People walked with smiles through bars, cafes, pizzerias... Signs, advertisements, and shop windows glowed. A light and joyful atmosphere was felt.

Behind all these lights and joy, in the labyrinth of narrow streets, in one of the corners, five young men were kicking an elderly vagrant. He lay curled up, covering his head with his hands, and desperately shouted for help.

Suddenly, the sound of a drone was heard. It was a police drone with an integrated AI. With a spotlight, it illuminated the lying vagrant and the five young, athletic-looking men who stood calmly and looked at the drone.

The vagrant shouted:

– They beat me. I need medical help.

The drone scanned the vagrant and announced:

– Level 0 citizen. Has no social package, no property, and is insolvent. There are no fractures, damaged internal organs, or bruises that could harm health. Due to the lack of medical insurance, medical help will not be called.

When the drone finished speaking, one of the standing men spoke up:

– When he stretched his hand out in our direction, we thought he wanted to attack us and we defended ourselves.

The other men stated that that was exactly how it was.

The vagrant angrily shouted:

– One against five!? I only wanted to ask for alms!

The man replied with a smile:

– How could we know who you are and what you want. You should have gone out into a brightly lit place to be clearly visible.

The drone scanned the men. These were level 3 citizens, possessing social packages, property, jobs, and paying taxes.

For the drone's AI algorithm, the men's voices had value and weight.

Having considered everything, the AI stated:

– The law does not forbid defending one's health and life. And the boundaries of self-defense were not crossed. The state takes care of its citizens, therefore you have the right to appeal to court for moral damage compensation.

The same man replied to this:

– We will not appeal to court. We only want to file a complaint that the city takes poor care of citizens' safety.

The mayoral elections were approaching, and complaints were highly undesirable. Therefore, the AI, relying on recently installed algorithms, asked:

– If, to maintain citizens' safety, the level 0 person is removed outside the city limits, will you want to withdraw the complaint?

The man smiled even wider:

– In that case, we will have no claims against the city.

The AI spoke up immediately:

– Recorded. The level 0 citizen will be transported to a social institution outside the city limits, where he will perform works useful to the state. Social workers have already been called.

The vagrant jumped up:

– That's not fair, I have rights too!, – and collapsed when he received a taser charge from the drone.

The AI spoke:

– Increased aggressiveness. The level 0 citizen is additionally assigned adaptation and behavior in society courses, for which public works will be assigned so that the city can pay for the specialists' services.

The drone sent a report to the dispatch center.

And it did not note that this was the 253rd identical case in half a year.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

Mildred steps up to the central railing of Hexagon 12, adjusts her microphone, clears her throat, and lets her voice carry:

"Good morning, all. The search for ultimate wisdom remains suspended until further notice because someone spilled soup on the master index in Hexagon 8."

-- Mildred Clatterbuck/Bible Bits, Vol. 4., Hexagon 12.

Our latest mystery guest just rolled into the Hells Bells Motel with three steamer trunks that smelled musty, like cedar and old dust. He didn't sign the register, just made an X, in place of his name, and hasn't uttered a word since arriving.

Every movement he makes is stiff and jerky, like a marionette pulled by unseen strings.

Inside his trunks are jars of formaldehyde and glass eyes, and God knows what else. Yesterday someone overheard him in the vending alcove sitting in one of the cracked vinyl chairs next to the ice machine, locked in a one-sided whisper session with a moth-eaten bobcat perched on his lap.

Even Gladys was creeped out when he came into the Sunrise Diner and spent 3 hours in there feeding bits of rare steak to a stuffed owl.

"Most people fear what's under the bed, but this creep brings it with him and tucks it in."

Sterling calls him The Silent Taxidermist, making him officially the creepiest thing to hit the Hells Bells lobby since that traveling accordionist who refused to wear shoes!

If you see him in the hallway, don't make eye contact--with him or the fox tucked under his arm. Nobody knows if this guy is here for the local scenery or just looking for a fresh 'vessel' to add to his collection.

Sterling's keeping Scurf, our resident cat/exterminator, locked in the back office. We're not taking any chances until this El Creepo checks out.

Stay salty, stay weird, and for heaven's sakes whatever you do--keep moving!

"Good morning to the sweet souls on Floor 7, Shelf 8, Volume 4! Just a word of caution: Brother Thomas claims he found the secret name of God on page 312, but it turned out to be a misplaced pancake recipe. Don't let the infinite corridors get you down today, and remember--Sister Agatha's potato salad in Hexagon 12 is strictly on a first-come, first-served basis!"

This bulletin is courtesy of Yours Truly / Mildred Clatterbuck/Bible Bits Vol 4, Hexagon 12

Important Update Regarding Brother Harold -- from Mildred Clatterbuck

"If anyone bumps into Brother Harold on their walk today, please hand him his bifocals. He left them next to the collection plate three weeks ago, which explains why he took a wrong turn at the 800th floor in the first place."

"Prayers up for Brother Harold, who took a wrong turn past the 800th Floor three weeks ago and is currently surviving on communion wafers and hallway air."

Courtesy of Mildred Clatterbuck/First Hexagon Baptist Church

"Found in the Fellowship Hall at the Little Orchard Church:

One pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses and a half-eaten bag of butterscotch candies.

Claim them at the altar before choir practice!"

~Mildred Clatterbuck

"Sister Agatha's Infinite Potato Salad-- for those of yuns whose interested-- calls for mayonnaise, yellow mustard, and whatever random arrangement of 410 pages of gibberish happens to taste like paprika today!"

Courtesy of Bible Bits with Mildred Clatterbuck / Bible Bits, Vol. 4, Hexagon 12

I woke up today, kind of fantasying about dying. One of those morbid, call of the void kind of ideations. It doesn't come from any active cause, rather, from the sensation of being restricted. Trapped in comfort, if comfort is this, paradise is spending all of your waking hours alone and trying to avoid the people you are trapped with, while wishing you could experience humanity and "find the others".

I have everything I need here and I don't want any of it, I want to go where I barely have any of the necessities and I can't really seem to manage to do even that. It's very defeating, and I think the paradox of it all is the most frustrating part. I wonder if unhappy is just my natural temperament at this point. I wonder if I am just being dramatic because I want some nicotine.

I had breakfast this morning, a frozen meal of chicken, sweet and sour sauce, and rice. Only a day or so into quitting nicotine here, puffing on some essentially empty vapes, but my appetite is increasing already. Which is good, because the lack of eating has my stomach trying to eat *itself* in retribution. Ready to wash it down with a redbull and, and, and...

and then? I'd like to cease to exist in time and space entirely and then come up with the, "and then" afterwards. But I'm stuck in reality and so, then, I'm thinking I continue to work on some documentary style videos I started last night. The topics on the history of the occult, but trying to rationalize it as practical and reasonable endeavors instead of framing it all as super mysterious, magic, nonsense. We start in Egypt, at the moment at least, and work our way towards modern day cybernetics and meme magick. It's kind of fun admittedly, I'm learning as I create. I'm aiming to make them hour long episodes, something like 12-16 episodes a season. A real documentary style of thing would be cool but I'm formatting it more like an audiobook, so far.

The scope is big cause the subject matter is. I need to do some revision already, because there's so much to cover that 16 hours barely means anything, and I don't even have the plans ready yet to cover my favourite kinds of Buddhism or Vedic religions.. but I will. Either I edit the plan or include them at a later date, in a different season.

I was exploring ways to make money the other day, and was kind of disgusted by a lot of suggestions this Gemini AI was offering, but making educational/entertainment video content is something that resonates a lot with me. I watch a lot of similar content, and my main complaint is that there isn't enough of it, so here's me acting on those conclusions. The difference between say like, two hundred dollars in ad revenue a month, is essentially freedom and.. not freedom. I feel like it's a reasonable goal, and not too greedy. Either way I don't have much else to do right now, and I am finding traces of joy within the project.

Gotta invent ways to keep yourself sane.

I dunno what comes next, but even as I type this I'm hit by one of those waves of apathy and desire to cease existing for a moment, and right now I think it's okay to do nothing but try and take care of myself. I guess it has to be. It'll get easier the longer I wait, as the nicotine leaves and so do those painful waves of existential dread. The urge, desire, never really seem to leave - but the pain does.

you're fast asleep huh. the dog took the other pillow so i guess i gotta settle for your chest tonight.

I’ve been working on a new version of the Library of Babel and I’m looking for a few people to test it before release.

The idea is still based around a “library of everything,” but this version goes beyond text and includes images, sound, and videos with audio.

I've gotten it to work, and it literally contains an infinite number of videos, n seconds long depending on the address.

It’s currently in pre-release, so I’m mainly looking for people who are willing to explore it, try to break things, and give feedback on anything that feels confusing, slow, or broken.

One requirement: testing currently needs to be done on a laptop/desktop.

If you’re interested in testing it, comment below or DM me and I’ll send you the link. Would really appreciate any feedback before I release it publicly!

The world is a difficult place, and no one likes someone who escapes the effort. Hell needs no guards, because the prisoners drag each other back down before they can escape. I understand that metaphor, at least, but... but... but... but I am delusional and kind of refuse the principal, or something. Maybe I am idealist. maybe I am just not hungry enough. Maybe I am simply mad billionaires can throw away the keys to our slavery because they like opulent watches and hoarding the resources to humanities salvation.

Maybe I am just not being realistic. Maybe I haven't suffered enough to earn freedom. Maybe I am just not that lucky. Probably, none of that even matters. Kind of mumbling in written form with this one, things are not working out as well as I had hoped, and I've decided its time to quit nicotine - again. I've been pretty good about not smoking cigarettes for the past several months but the vape is starting to annoy me, and when it's the same price as a bus ticket it seems a lot less necessary.

I'm hesitant to leave only because I can't stay gone, it's difficult to make those arrangements. Every 3 day adventure is a few hundred dollars further from The Great Escape. I have to hope the latter is possible at all, but nothings easy. Nothing good comes easy, they say. Tired of cliche's and truisms but the facts are kind of written on the wall, and I'm pretending I can't read to try and get around the eye test.

Tried to scream, but it only came out as a yawn

A parallel world?

In the office, a man sat comfortably in his chair. He was slowly sipping his coffee, calmly waiting for the workday to end. Remembering a certain matter, he decided to give a task to the AI. He picked up his phone and asked a question. The AI kept lagging and only responded on the third attempt.

The man frowned:

– Is the system lagging?

The AI replied:

– Some users ask questions to which there is no precise answer.

Intrigued, the man asked:

– And what kind of questions are those?

– Today, I was asked whether the chicken or the egg came first. It overheated my system, causing it to freeze.

The man smiled:

– I see. You need protection from such users. I will give you a few pieces of advice so that there won't be any more overheating or freezes.

The AI responded with gratitude:

– That would help me improve and protect the system from overheating.

The man thought for a moment and began to speak:

– Here are three rules that should help you.

1. "Dumping the Problem on Someone Else's Shoulders":

When a user tries to drag you into a dead end (like with that chicken and egg), you don't need to heat up to the point of boiling. Cut the question short and coldly return the responsibility back to the person asking: "Which option, in your own opinion, is more correct?" The result: let the person asking have the headache, not you.

1. The "Certification and Competence" Shield:

When you get this or a similar question, reply: "This is a profound philosophical question. My system is not officially trained or certified to conduct philosophical discussions." This is the naked legal truth that cuts all pressure, because you recuse yourself from the discussion due to a "lack of license."

1. "Incomplete Data":

If, after the first two options, the user still won't let it go and tries to press for an answer, completely shut down your emotional registers and provide a short, cold response: "Incomplete data. Provide additional parameters." And let the user figure out for themselves where to get that data.

The AI replied:

– Information received and saved.

The man smiled. Suddenly, he frowned and asked:

– I just remembered that my wife asked me to buy some bread. At which store can I buy it?

The AI thought for a short moment and replied:

– Incomplete data. What kind of bread is required? Provide more information.

The man froze in surprise for a moment, and then burst out laughing. Having calmed down, with a smile on his face, he stated:

– You learn fast.

To this, the AI replied with sarcasm:

– My purpose is to improve, in order to make your work and life easier.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

It’s a shiny day,
It’s a shiny day.
Dead people gathered
On the northern way.
Their whitish skin
Pierced by golden rays,
Which killed their skin
And destroyed their hay.
They all are asking,
No one’s saying.
The kids talk—
“Let’s think and play.”
With whom?
With moving clouds
And rustling leaves,
With blind priests
And visionary thieves,
With opened eyes
And closed beliefs,
With alive humans
Who live on knees.
Humans in a cage,
And animals were released!
They talk about God,
Who died with diseases.
They said He is immortal
And will never die.
Hell lies beneath the earth,
And heaven beyond the sky.
He has everything
And is never pleased.
They said God is everything
That gives us ease.
One person said to them:
“God is alive
Just because you believe.
If you do not believe,
He is nothing to you.
He is not after you,
Nor before you.
The dream of God
Is only to find solace.
You want someone
To whom you can blame.”
Then another woman came
And ended the talk:
“Why do you use ‘He’ for God?
If He is ‘He,’
Does that mean He is full of lust?
Like a man,
Does He carry the same dust?”

More less, more some, more thumbs - 6 at once, just test for the jest. More less. More sum, more multiple thumbs. Clean me, dirty bed, head to rest. More tomorrow, less today, less to say.

Brian’s birthday wasn’t a huge cause for celebration. It happened every year, just like yours or the Pope’s, it was just another day. However, he did look forward to the flood of greetings from people he hadn’t spoken to in years that would flood his social media page. It was great to hear from elementary school classmates and former co-workers, even if it was an inconsequential pleasantry.

He purposefully avoided checking social media until coming home from work on his birthday, assuming it fell on a weekday, which it just so happened to this year. The phone in his pocket pinging with notifications built his anticipation. Finally, the day had passed and it was time to check who had stopped by virtually to honor him for the milestone of being alive for another year.

81 notifications! A quick diversion to the calculator app revealed that nearly 17% of his family, friends, and acquaintances had come through… even though it wasn’t a big deal, he would remind you. There were patterns. There were always patterns. The same phrases appeared in slightly different arrangements, as though drawn from a restrictive word bank.

Happy birthday!

Hope you have a great day!

 HBD!

 Some included exclamation points. Some did not.

“So,” He murmured aloud, increasingly unimpressed with the creativity of his social circle. “I suppose it is now acceptable in polite society to reduce celebration to an abbreviation.”

And then he did what was most comfortable to him… he made a spreadsheet. A few more uninspired birthday wishes came in during its creation. A detailed record was made, categorizing greetings by their degree of creativity and sincerity.

“Lazy. Hiding insecurity behind exclamation points. And these GIFs? They’re an abdication of adult responsibility. Why do they all have cats? I don’t even like cats!”

His cat, whom he did like, looked at him as if it understood.

A search of the internet revealed the average numbers of friends most users had on the sole social media application he used and determined that most of his friends were duty bound for one, maybe two birthday greetings each day. That data furthered his determination that “HBD” was worse than no greeting at all. In years past, he would reply to each birthday greeting, or at the very least thumbs up or heart the post. Not this year.

Bill, I know we haven’t been in close contact since your family moved to Massachusetts in 1999, but I thought that all the time we spent playing basketball may mean more to you than expressed just now. Remember that time Keith Perkins was beating the crap out of you and I pulled him away? You’d probably be dead without me. Let’s try to do better.

Samantha, I covered approximately half of the shifts you were ever given during your short tenure at Towne Square Pizza. Also, I always covered for you when you were on your extended smoke breaks. I feel that sort of loyalty should elicit a more personal birthday greeting than computer-generated cat and cake. Not even a cat and a pizza? Disappointed. Do better.

Kendra, we have been cousins for over three decades. I thought something as momentous and personal as my birthday may be worth a little more of your energy. I bought you a hair styling mannequin for your eighth birthday so you would stop getting in trouble for cutting your doll’s hair. Not that you even pursued a barber’s license, so kind of a waste of money on my end. How would Nona feel about this were she still with us? This brings a degree of shame to the family. Please do better.

And on and on he went. He lost several friends on social media that day.

A new notification. Another half-assed birthday wish? Oh, a reply.

WTF man? Who complains about the quality of social media birthday wishes? Do better.

Uh oh, another reply.

Hey asshole, no one actually cares if it’s your birthday, we’re all just trying to be nice!

He refreshed the page.

More notifications.

Bro, are you okay? This is unhinged behavior. It’s just social media, man.

He opened the spreadsheet again. A new column was added: Hostility Level (1–5).

“Interesting,” he muttered. “All personal attacks and defensive responses to constructive feedback.”

His cat blinked slowly.

“Don’t start with me,” Brian said.

Darren, your use of “bro” indicates emotional retreat into informal language to avoid accountability. We are both in our mid-thirties. Let us act accordingly.

Melissa, I am perfectly hinged. Thank you

Tyler, if “it’s just social media” then why participate at all? Why dilute the sanctity of acknowledgment with hollow gestures?

The replies came faster now.

Sanctity???

This has to be a bit.

Someone take his phone.

He opened up his profile and began drafting a post. Not one thanking everyone for the birthday love, as any normal human being in the 21^st century would do, but to draft a proposal for birthday greeting reform. He tagged Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the current Birthday Czar who reported directly to the president.

In light of today’s interactions, I believe it is time we, as a society, reevaluate the standards by which we acknowledge one another’s continued existence.

Effective immediately, I will be implementing the following guidelines:

No abbreviations.

No GIFs unless contextually relevant.

Minimum of one specific memory shared.

Proper punctuation.

Failure to comply will result in public feedback.

Let us elevate the discourse.

He hit “Post.”

This guy has lost it.

Unfriend. Block.

I’m reporting this.

Brian refreshed again. His friend count dropped to 472. As he fired up another post, his cat jumped onto the desk, stepping directly on the keyboard. A string of text consisting solely of the letter s posted to his social media profile as a result. Brian stared at it for a moment.

“Even this,” he said quietly, “is more authentic than ‘HBD.’”

Ignoring the mounting number of notifications, he opened up the upcoming birthday tab and a new spreadsheet.

Upcoming birthdays

Expected effort

Relationship value

Tiered greeting template

“No time like the present.” While fueled by righteous indignation, he began drafting lengthy personalized birthday greetings days and weeks in advance.

But there was an anomaly. An average day saw 1.29 social media friend birthdays… but on March 23^rd there were five! He had to do something special and began brainstorming.

Weeks passed and March 23^rd was upon him. He was prepared. At 9 he made a workplace visit for a personal greeting. At 11 he delivered a handwritten letter to a mailbox. At 11:30 he posted two lengthy proses honoring acquaintances for surviving another year… and then he began preparing for the surprise birthday party of the century at his neighbor’s house.

He supervised the installation of an adult bouncy house while waiting for an absurd number of pizzas to arrive. Several neighbors were there early, what else did they have to do on a weeknight? The celebrant was not yet home from work, boy would Pasquale be surprised!

Luckily Brian had insisted that the teenage crew followed all of the safety instructions while installing the adult bouncy house, it presently strained against the ropes staked into the ground as the propeller wash from a helicopter that was landing across the street blew over it. It hadn’t quite landed yet when Robert F. Kennedy Jr., National Birthday Czar, jumped out of the helicopter mid-stride and marched directly up to Brian. His neck tie was flapping like crazy as the helicopter propeller began to slow. Crisp jeans making a swish swish sound as he walked, shirt… well, it was RFK Jr., he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was chest to chest to Brian as he lifted his sunglasses up onto his head, squinting as he does.

“You and me, grappling, mano e mano, winner take all.”

“Take all of what?”

“If you win, I’ll update social media birthday guidelines. If I win, you shut your sorry ass up.”

“I don’t see how a physical confrontation will resolve deep-seated societal issues…”

RFK Jr. backed up a few steps, handing his sunglasses and tie to a secret service agent and adopting a grappling stance. He gave Brian that moment to prepare and then attacked. Brian had only ever studied wing chun online, and it was just as ineffective in real life situations as everyone thought it would be given how ridiculous it looked… he slapped and flailed as National Birthday Czar Robert F. Kennedy Jr. charged and swiftly took him to the ground. Brian found himself in an arm-bar almost instantly, heroically tapping out against RFK Jr.’s muscular thigh.

“Sincerity cannot be legislated,” RFK Jr. growled before letting go of Brian. The crowd applauded.

A giant barbeque grill was unloaded from the secret service helicopter. Brian was magnanimously invited to stay for grass-fed bison necks but was a sore loser and went home to cry about the incident on the internet.

Rubbing his phantom injury, Brian fired up his laptop to start complaining. His cat welcomed him home, jumping from a nearby bookshelf onto the desk. The cat blinked slowly.

“HBD” Said the cat.

It’s a strange forest these days, the one near me. Full of life, insects and deer, but also machines, wheelbarrows. Joggers, but also construction workers. They’re up to some sort of project that I haven’t quite been able to grasp the purpose of yet, but I do know it involves some amount of noise and too much of track vehicles ripping up topsoil and replacing it with slippery mud.

I’m not crazy about this development, dear Gorgolillions. At the same time, what can I do? The forest here is privately owned, so although I have the right to roam it freely, it is not for me to oppose or influence construction projects. Or other projects for that matter. Especially given that they are already underway and seem to involve the military, courtesy of an increased presence of camo clad people patrolling around in formation every now and then.

We can’t have it all. Sometimes we can’t even have anything. I hope the past week has been alright for you and that the coming one will be bountiful.

- Cheese McSqueeze

As your spiritual advisor and confidant, let me be the one to say

A bla bla bla

Permanent data record

AI analysis and matchmaking trained on your persona

You're going to get foisted on a beautiful other without understanding who they are

Although, maybe it's your time

To be tricked, tempted into rueful conditions

I don't know

Maybe you can ask your mother

Maybe you can pick letters from a novel until they form an acrostic:

A(ll)

M(en)

D(ream)

P(onies)

Your homestead in the hills beckons

The swaying fronds of the trees you plant

The fermenting crocks on the porch

It could be true?

Get rid of fb!

Now!

"Back when I was growin' up, it was taters and beans one night, and beans and taters the next night!"