So there was that paranoid schizophrenic person, a blonde girl with a buzz cut, and somehow she was a friend of mine. She used a Linux distro called “!!!!!!!!____!!!!!”, and convinced me it was the best distro out there. But the way she used it was… very specific.

She called me. She told me the new distro was out, this time it was called “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, and _this_ was the best one. It finally allowed her to observe the area around her neighbourhood right from her PC, through some app, and make pits in the ground. It was done with a touchscreen of a Nintendo DSi connected to her PC with something that looked like an IDE cable. You touch the area of the screen, and the pit will appear outside IRL. This was needed to trap swine-looking creatures in those pits, as they infested the land and were attacking people in packs, turning them into dirty, greyish, half-transparent lumps of gel.

I went to see her, and somehow I knew exactly how it's going to end, as if I decided to replay a game level. She lived in a rotten, mouldy, dark, half-abandoned condo building. She was also a terrible hoarder. I approach the old wooden door of her flat. It was painted over 1000 times and was barely closing. She knew I would come. She rushed outside, looked at me with her moon-sized eyes, grabbed my arm and told me:
“We have to run.”

I felt a sudden crippling rush of anxiety. I woke up. My heart was absolutely racing. My sight became darker and darker. The chest pain was consuming me, and I could barely move. I almost vomited.

That was quite a night.

Announcing devRant 2.0! It is time for exciting overhaul, sponsored by our good friends at Tencent, that will bring life back to this amazing platform.
- elegant simplicity of Viber meets excellent minimalism of AWS
- custom avatars for ++ members
- exciting mini-games
- animated stickers
- ChatGPT integration for ++ members
What a time to be alive!

This morning I woke up because some light from the hallway was comming from under my door. I went on investigation. Was a bit scared. But it was just Kiki sitting there solving a rubiks cube while speaking UTF-8 to herself. I went back to bed

There was this place somewhere in the ocean called “United Paper Island”, a bit like paper towns, but a real one. You could only get there via a private jet or a ship that came only like every three months or something. the island was small and… eerie. There was a large bus stop-looking hub in the middle of the island, and it also had streets/housing, but things looked off. Some streets resembled well-known places like Fifth Avenue or Champs-Élysées, but not quite. Everything was half abandoned, and felt like Half-Life 2 maps. A small town that was just a bit too silent. The plot was that we moved there temporarily, and I went for a walk trying to convince ppl that it was okay, it was fine, just a regular place. But I had a gut feeling it was not okay at all.

Then my stupid brain decided to imagine what it would feel like to be buried alive on this island, specifically waking up inside the coffin underground. Then I felt like I was suffocating, and I finally woke up.

First thing I did was immediately grabbing my laptop, opening google maps and trying to find this island. “Paper Island” and “United Paper Island” yielded nothing, obviously. But I _knew_ the location.

As I was scrolling around the map, it felt like that knowledge was being erased. I felt that. Just like someone connected to my brain, selected certain files and hit “delete”. After 20 seconds, it was over.

Now I don’t know where this island is.

Inside Microsoft Palo Alto, the office where only women work: a surgery! The kidney is a frag grenade.
Left to right: white coat, black coat holds kidney (frag), a girl in “sleep” T-shirt, a girl that holds a gun. Meanwhile, my gun’s barrel was made from that fridge flexible magnet material. I fixed it using rainworms as glue.

Now we’re entering my uni teacher’s brain, trying to make her give me a passing grade, all while she sings.
It’s just two of us here. Inside her, we fuse into one. Now we sing too:
🎵 We are Scottish — 🎵
🎵 A batshit crazy thing to be, 🎵
🎵 Trying to be normal 🎵

Xiaomi made a torture device for home that was quite popular in Kazakhstan.

My school love. While she was laying on my bed inside two giant wallets — one for the head and one for the body — she explained the following:
- how to find the nearest McDonald’s when McDonald’s ceases to exist
- how to do a super long jump in Nintendo DS Pokémon games
- why a person turned into blur usually achieves more

I have a confession to make. I am indeed a team of entities. Yes! The only catch is all those entities live inside one brain.
My first and perhaps most important insight stemmed from not being able to overcome a persistent identity crisis. I spent seven years trying to figure out who I am and what my worldview is. I realized however that it was impossible. It makes no sense to be rational while your irrational part is hovering over, judging.

So, I split my “me” into two parts: rational and emotional. Usually, they coexist peacefully.

When presented with a complicated case, I let both speak. It doesn't matter if they contradict each other. The consensus is never reached, but at least both parts spoke their mind and are now calm.

There are two kikis. Rational kiki talks about life, insights, worldview, and occasionally tech. Emotional kiki sends leg pics and describes her wild dreams.

Also, it gets even more complex when derealization hits. Remember, autistic brains don't have garbage collectors, so as the day goes by, noise accumulates, influencing my entire being. In the morning, I'm cold and calculated, albeit a bit robotic. In the evening, I'm creative and talkative, albeit a bit unhinged.

You're welcome!

CAUTION: possibly NSFL

There was a war. We lived in a leftist camp inside an abandoned railway station. The only thing that could break the siege was BLA

[dream fragment lost]

So they lined us up. There were ten of us.
— Do you want the leftist future?
— No…, they made me say.
— Do you love capitalism?
— Yes…, they made me say.
— Ты готова присниться?, they asked my female comrade ("are you ready to come to our soldiers in their dreams to support them?")
— Yes.
— Ты готов расшибиться?, they asked me ("are you ready to work your ass off, dying in the process if necessary?". It also makes a perfect rhyme with the previous Russian sentence)
— Yes.
Then, they tied our hands and hung us onto a rack. They doused us with gasoline.
— Look. Czechoslovakia had Jan Palach. We have ten Jan Palachs now!
They set us on fire. I feel an unimaginable pain. I wake up for ten minutes.
When I fell asleep again, I found out I survived. But, my body underwent modifications: first, I now had a vinyl shell instead of my skin. Underneath it were raw muscles. Second, I no longer had vocal cords. I no longer had voice.
In this world, we were slaves ("Тяговые люди") ruled by BLA. There were no prisons. Instead, there were only two punishments: the "light" one and the "heavy" one. First one is your shell getting ripped off. You die in around 20 minutes of agonizing pain, like mink that is skinned alive in Chinese leather tanneries. But, compared to the second one, that was a slap on the wrist.
The "heavy" punishment was them injecting you with "The Ferment". Immediately, your mind is altered into total obedience. Then, your body begins to turn into corpse juice. To outside observers, you die in 30 days. But for you, it feels like forever, as time speeds up indefinitely, and you're drifting into endless sorrow. When you die, no one notices, as your shell is still there. But instead of you, there's now nothing but corpse juice inside.

I now worked in some location that resembled Duke Nukem 3D's first map. My job was to remove those plastic shells. I had no bottom — it was replaced with a concrete cube that felt pain just like damaged tooth enamel does. An endless queue of shells moved in front of me. I had to remove their shells, to peel them off like vinyl.
Some people were alive underneath. They still had their skin. They thanked me, smile at me and wander away.
Some of them were alive, but had no skin. That means I was the one to execute a "light" punishment on them.
Some of them weren't there. I pop the shell open, and it deflates as corpse juice pours out.

One of my previous dreams was the following:
"— We arrange surgeries when in-person interventions are _not recommended_.
— So…, — I press the pause button on the handrail.
— The perfect maiden. Inside a plastic shell. 80 years old underneath."

Now I understand it. The first speaker was a BLA researcher. "I" was an investor. The "perfect maiden" was me, but way in the future from my today's dream. It all fits together.
Now, here's the discovered part of kiki universe so far:
- rotten meat house
- swine gray gel battleground
- horizontal elevators network
- united paper island
- baseball bat nightclub
- anxiety-inducing multidimensional pizzeria
- NEW! BLA headquarters
- NEW! demilitarized burning ground abandoned train station
- NEW! Duke Nukem 3D people skinning ground

Celebrities were randomly offered a drug that, when ingested, teleported you to a Dark Souls-style fighting ring. Out-of-bounds 5-meter-tall abominations, one of which was Stretch Armstrong named Arnold (based on Arnold Schwarzenegger), were pounding on you really hard. If you survived, you would wake up as if nothing had happened. If you died, your reality was altered to be exactly the same, except one thing: a $100 bill now featured an actor that looked like a child of Nicolas Cage, Tupac Shakur and the guy from the PhilipSoloTV YouTube channel. His name was Dubius Building. He always wore a suit that was a bit too large for him, and had his signature half-smile. Everyone used to love him in the early 00s.

Little did they knew, the competition was rigged from the start. Abominations were invincible all along.

A chemical reaction between helium and krypton is impossible, but if you force it, the byproduct will be a single atom of barium with the diameter of roughly the earth orbit. It will blink in and out of existence, taking everything it covered with it. Yes, including the sun itself.

His backpack started to immediately get heavier and heavier, and it became apparent that lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian

Me and my aunt. We put a whole frozen chicken into the microwave. After the frost is gone, it starts moving.

“Boiling moisture”, we think. Then, the chicken awakens. “Leave it to boil, lobsters are boiled alive after all”, says my aunt. “No! We’re microwaving a live animal! That’s torture!”, I scream in panic. We switch the microwave off. Chicken — out. No skin, hellish red meat, severe burns. It tries to scream but can’t. I need to put it out of its misery, NOW.

Aunt says “hold it against the table, I’m going to break its neck”. I oblige, and she proceeds to crush its neck with a two-by-four. It turns out, the neck is basically rubber and doesn’t budge. I have a better idea: let’s do something to its brain directly. I take a pin and proceed to find its skull. But there is no skull to be found, just a capri-sun for its head, with a small pocket of something squishy. The chicken keep wheezing loudly, desperate to scream. I poke that pouch with a pin. It splits in half, spilling the insides — gray chalk.

“It’s gone”, says aunt. “Its suffering is over”.

I sigh in relief. That was quite a cooking experience.

Thank god I woke up. It was just a dream.

My university had its half-abandoned tenth floor reserved for fringe scientists. To deter onlookers from going there, the only elevator was locked out, reserved only for uni staff.
As long as you didn’t make drugs there, you were fine. It was dusty, smelled of mold and was full of old Soviet gear. Outdated, sure, but better than nothing.
If you were a student preoccupied with some fringe theory, it was a safe space for you.

I came to the abandoned stock exchange to scour the ground for valuables left behind by dead brokers who killed themselves here. Watches, golden lighters, jewelry — all wanted to no one. I didn't care about where they came from. I was okay with wearing an old watch that I pulled off a skeleton hand.

Brittany had been missing for a while now. She lost custody of her kids, but everyone knew that was because Lake Mead turned them into calcified sculptures that got progressively tinier and tinier. Her though? Not so much. She was crying while fiddling with Lego-sized figurines of what was her children. “I don't care what anyone else says, I'm gonna make it right for you, because I FUCKING have a PURPOSE!”
The detached palm of my once school friend gripped mine. Couldn't get it off with force, so I stuck it you know where — I think he was disgusted, but his palm ran away quickly.
Another friend — uni friend now — was interested in making as much gesheft as he could during the semester. He had it on his reel-to-reel recorder. He didn't want to share his insights, but $500 made him talk. He was disgusted, though, as bills had my saliva on them. In exchange, I got the ability to pump whatever music I liked in the lecture room, as it was now mine. I didn't have to study — I already had a job. My uni was my coworking.
The last floor featured the room of nineteen Neins — a foot buttons that, when pressed in the correct order — will reveal the rape bathroom. It was huge and outdoorsy.

Ranchonyx built a huge monument of himself in the city he lived in, with him as a member of the Team Rocket

Tanya died the first, in the seventies. My home that, at that point, was nothing but an Escher-escue collection of ladders with Australian backpack CCTV cameras hanging from the walls, was below their flat. First death — seventies, then eighty-four, the ninety-one, and then yesterday. All that time, without any way of exiting the apartment, they marinated in corpse juice.

It finally started dripping from the ceiling yesterday.

Steel tapes weren't a good remedy.

I found a new whisper in your tech, and now your razor won’t work because of vague religious propaganda.

In the early 2010s, at select locations, Nokia Oro phone was offered bundled with a portable IPL hair removal device. Its enclosure was made entirely of leather, layers upon layers of compacted leather of different kinds. It gave you access to Queer Mode™ — engage it and have sex with any of your thoughts. Your mind was your oyster, but it was in fact being turned into a two-bedroom all-white apartment designed by Karim Rashid.

As the tech was getting older, the only way to source capacitors was syncing your Alienware table clock with the root node using a non-laptop that had shapeshifting black goo for keyboard.

Small puppy that ran Windows 8 was always smothered in shit. The white non-kitten ran Nokia’s version of QNX.

Recep Tayyip Erdogan had a problem — after his army service, he got so used to cold that he could only sleep on a raw, cold metal grill. Usually, normal people put mattress on top, but Erdogan didn’t feel right this way. So, in one of his personal prisons, he established a social project for making a full metal bed for himself.

For starters, to calculate the shape, he took the smallest man ever (3 inches high) with his fingers and sunk him into molten plastic. “What are you doing?! It hurts!” — man screamed. “Shut up. You’re on an important mission. Your motherland won’t forget you.”
After three months, the bed was ready. It was more of the same — metal bars, but this time with some kind of structure built of metal hinges, rebar and strong springs. This was the day — this was the big reveal event. It took place in the same prison — three prisoners were ready to lay on their new full metal beds, while news crews congratulated Erdogan and celebrated his greatness. “Well, it is time!” — he said.
Prisoners laid flat. An awful screeching sound. Prisoner number two is bleeding out. The spring mechanism broke out and impaled his chest onto a large metal bar. He’s not breathing.
“Shut it down. Shut it all down. No more cameras, no more news”, — said Erdogan.
“Yes, our master”, — said news crews.

They wanted to draft me to Afghanistan.
“No!”, — a young officer shouted, misgendering me — “He doesn’t know the stages of pain. Useless.”
“Are you perhaps arguing pain with a bipolar patient?” — I replied.
“You are a rave. Nothing but a rave.”

Raves spawned near your doors at night. Sometimes, they even spawned on the inside. I can’t say you were in danger, but it certainly wasn’t a pleasant thing to happen to anyone. They looked ugly. They dressed weird. They spoke in riddles.
“How do I move to Europe?”, — a rave asked.
“I…”
“Shut up!”
Rave took a door, suspiciously painted over and over multiple times, and started to slam my door with it, using it as a ram.
My door started giving in.

Alarm system.
On a separate note, to disable the alarm system, you have to speedrun Stanley Parable. It’s the hardest speedrun ever, specifically its hidden ending. It disables all alarm systems in three-mile radius IRL. No one knows how it works, but it does. Back to the danger zone!

“The better quality time you spend sitting on your toilet, the more you’ll live.”, — an officer said.
“I once had a girl blow me while I was shitting,” — Matthias replied — “You have nothing on me.”
“Fair enough!”

It is a little known fact, but the liquid that Northern cities use to clean up snow isn’t quite what it seems like. It’s not salt — in reality, there are bases on Mars, and they store pink goo that… “iMpRoVeS” dead bodies. The liquid is biological in nature, and it expires. Expired liquid is recycled as snow melter. You learn that in high school, but now, living on a train, you should know that there are special learning rooms here, in every. single. carriage. The small gym ball with two handles on its sides is called Gandhi ball. Fun fact: if you wear headless Segways on top of your shoes, and then lay flat holding a Gandhi ball, you can reach the speed of 270 kph!

Today’s news: a Reddit moderator and a legless woman gave birth to a living sex toy for their domestic boar.

Google enslaved me to conduct their experiments on me, and now when I use a -webkit prefixed css property, I feel excruciating pain. They made me have intercourses with horses and bite my wife to death.

Skinned my mother alive. She didn’t feel a thing. Threw away everything except the skin itself, but left the head intact. She’s alive and well, albeit can’t move. I roll her up, pack her in my bag and bring her to school with me.
She wasn’t quite against it, but wasn’t happy either. Just kept talking to me condescendingly, as usual.
Meanwhile, my grandpa recreated his room in Excel and moved there.

At 4am there was some random youtuber in my head that reads reddit posts and he presents me one but it's blurry and he says hi there how you there are stupid but how stupid you are, humming hammers,
MOMMY THATS SWEET MIAMI MOMMY THATS SWEET MIAMI he's insecure go back then hayeens HIGH WINS HIGH WINS HIGH WINS HIGH WINS and he never stops
It literally feels like a broken neural network output, meaningless. But it's in my head, I never asked for this but it's there generating itself

“iPhones powered by lenin
Nice to have legs”

Another kiki dream. I wrote this down at 6 am, then fell asleep again. I have NO CLUE what it means. It made sense then, but makes none now.

A telecom engineering friend of mine asked me if I wanted Backnowýk — a strange brew made of cherries and strawberries that, if you brew it just right, is both lemonade and yogurt, depending on how you hold a glass of it. Straight angle relative to the floor makes it yogurt, but change that angle, and it fades into being lemonade. But if you don't drink it fast enough, it turns into blood.

So, I drank it and gained an ability to slam dunk leather balls, and since then, for every football game I'm in (I don't know how to play soccer though), there is a basketball hoop just for me, and when I dunk, my team scores.

Went for a walk. Met the lead singer of Death Grips — MC Ride. He wrote me a gay ballad:
🎵 Please take me to recording studio Portland🎵
🎵 Please take me to the recording place digital🎵
🎵 Aniverse🎵
🎵 Aniverse🎵
🎵 [DREAM FRAGMENT LOST]-verse🎵

After being abducted and enduring torture, I injected the serum and became blur. Translucent black, with a red heart. I can make people disappear. Me putting someone inside my heart makes them feel 10,000 years of hell before they die.

I was Squidward’s babysitter as he hatched.

— You and other scientists like you., — my sister said after tasting a half cake half cookie, made with wall mold instead of yeast. — You liked to say “no fate”, implying each one chooses their own path as science liberated them. People are equal. You’re right though: they are. They’re equally fragile and meaningless. They indeed have no fate; not because of freedom, but because the bomb you made will obliterate everyone on this planet. There will be no survivors. No fate indeed.
— Wait, but…, — I replied.
— Now go. Lay down in an empty hall somewhere its not real, generated procedurally. You dying there will maybe make me forgive you.

Very old vsauce is my grandpa. He comes to me to solve a crime of a man that made 1850000 html links by hand

Here are the parts of kiki dreams universe explored so far:
- rotten meat house
- swine gray gel battleground
- horizontal elevators network
- united paper island
- baseball bat nightclub
- anxiety-inducing multidimensional pizzeria

Which one will be your destination this Christmas?

Australia bought half of Finland to grow basil.

My very small 50k ppl hometown in the middle of russia was annexed by Toronto. Emily Haines, the lead singer of the band Metric, merged with my older sister, replaced the top of her head with a large CCTV camera, and then killed someone by throwing them off the roof using the force from Star Wars.

Tonight I've dreamed that tsoding was writing a sudoku solver. Even in my dreams I'm a nerd. Why no streamii ones or a kiki-like one? This is why I can't design anything, huge lack of imagination. I'm borderplain. It's a mental issue now. Need help and medicine

At the end of the avenue, lived its creator. Well, used to leave. The weird half-house is hoarded, and his skeleton is there somewhere.

When flying above, I noticed a small enclave with fancy but small buildings. I put on my cloak and landed.
“What is it? It’s easier to answer what it is not”.
The hatch opened. I went in, about 30 meters. The hatch closed behind me. The tube-powered holographic screen lit up. “I think the secrets of the universe is more important than knowing today's weather”, she said, smiling.

I put on a blueprint of their superbug. Incurable, it had molecular ammo on it.
“Thanks”, I said, leaving. “Forgive my autistic antics. As for my cat, well, they copy their owners’ behavior, don’t they?”
And I took off.

I finally got some tattoos. I don’t know why, but all of them were about menstruation.
“I don’t want to let _him_ into our tattoo life club!”, my cousin said.
I then connected our M1A1 Abrams to a military tablet I stole from the avenue creator. “What’s that?”, my uncle said. “It’s the fourth time already that I get us new fiber optic cable. Think about my father! He’s dying!”
I hug my cousin. She was already dead.

This is why I’m stuck here. In the middle of nowhere, in a rusted trailer, naked, eating uncooked human meat from a dog bowl.

Kiki dream log from today
5am

DREAM 1
(my comments look like this)

A kikiland metro system. It's extradimensional and shapeshifting. When you enter it, it adapts to your needs. The people inside (they're probably just vinyl shells), the social circumstances, all generated for you.
When you enter it, it knows where you want to go. It spawns exactly one train just for you. It will be the first, it will be the last. You have to catch it to go where you need. If you miss it, there will be no more trains, and you have to wait till the metro station closes for the night and reopens.
It's always you entering, catching the train that arrives just in time, going to where you need to go and exiting.
Because of its extradimensional nature, you cannot agree to meet someone there — every person has their own personal metro generated just for them every time, with exactly one train going exactly to the station you need.

It's used by BLA as a form of control. When they don't want you to go somewhere, the train won't spawn. Or, it might diverge and get you to some other place. It isn't known whether the map can be altered on the fly or not. So far, the consensus is that the map is persistent and is a public knowledge, and it's just the metro itself that is extradimensional. But, no one ever saw the real metro in its real form, and not the top layer that protrudes into the three-dimensional world you can interact with. It might be the case that they can make people disappear by creating ad-hoc stations that don't intersect with the real world, trapping them in places that are nowhere in particular.

(it took seeing BLA once in one dream to make all the following dreams include them. Sigh.)

Kikiland also has a school, and it always had it. I befriended a chemistry teacher there. His classroom is small — exactly as deep as other classrooms, but really narrow. There are no desks there, just his desk and some bookshelves. Chemistry isn't a priority there — his class exists only because it should. No one attends it. This is why he was so pleased to meet me. Despite his classroom being located on a busy floor, its door is overlooked by students, and NO ONE ever enters it. He just sits there, waiting for students to arrive, but they never do.
He has a secret, though, because of course he does. In the game Control, if you complete the main storyline before you complete some side quests, one of the main characters will be sitting in the C-suit hall, doing her things, waiting for you to come and talk to her. But at the same time, she will be waiting for you deep down the oldest house's mines, again, just sitting there, waiting for you to take the quest. This teacher is the same.

If you have a good relationship with him, and you attend his class, the classroom will change to a tunnel entrance, with him being the security guard. He's your friend, he'll let you in. It looks like Fallout's vault entrance. THIS is how you enter the REAL kikiland metro. (Dream 1 ends here.)

Episode 2
Tiny waterborne rat puppies whose mouth is their entire face unfolding like a piece of paper with teeth covering it as a grid. (I wrote about them already, but here they are again.) They are _tiny_, a bit like tadpoles. Also, like tadpoles, they die if you touch them out of water. As I was flying over some mountain resort (I routinely fly in my dreams, but it feels more like a very low gravity falling I can control, like using a parachute in GTA San Andreas), I dumped them to a location that resembled the garden level of Prince of Persia: Warrior Within for my cat to eat. It didn't want to.

Jlivejlivejlive
The formula is simple: be scared of everything
— George Washington

The default girl. A girl without name. Blonde, young, in high school. Her name is whatever the most popular female name is right now. It changes. She must dress in the most popular clothing, she must accept name changes, she must shape her entire being around zeitgeist. Otherwise, she's punished severely, and sometimes it's cruel even, by no one other than her own parents. Raising a kid like this is a part of the ritual.
— Gotcha. I caught this cat, and because it makes its own replicas, you must release the cat you caught, as we should only catch one cat one time.
— No. Look closely! I wasn't lying when I told you cats of this breed had a life expectancy of two years. There are clones of two cats, not one.
— Oh… Yes, this one is kinda… dim? Sad?
— I brought you a new cat. It's the same breed. Sorry that you're learning about their real life expectancy just now. Now get that damn girl and bring her to the facility.

This ostrich is paid to act like a blimp. That’s its sole purpose.

because I lacked a portable storing solution (pockets weren't allowed), I couldn't find anything better than using my own skull as a storage box. It turned out it had way more room than expected. The brain itself is quite small, and the whole frontal lobe & the space around the brain is completely empty. Initially, opening the skull was scary and cumbersome, but the more you do it, the easier it gets. Once upon a time, when I tried to pop an acne on my forehead, the hole was revealed, and it led to the storage space beneath. I have no idea how it happened, but apparently the skin is too thin. The bone also looks much thicker from the inside. There were two wires — red and black — leading to a standard PC speaker every old computer had. I wasn't a cyborg, mind you, I merely put that speaker there for storage. The acne hole healed with those wires exposed, leaving a permanent mark due to the wire coloring pigment dissolving in my skin.
I used that storage space to hide the contents of some parcels I was processing back then. I was stealing things. Eventually, my coworker — Bruce Willis — confronted me, and I had to strangle him. My arm became very flexible, and I was able to wrap it around his neck several times during a chokehold. It didn't end well for both of us.

read how gypsies were crawling towards the corn

After the capsule started spinning, what seemed to be a suspended copper wire unfolded like an origami. Soviet tech not only looked cool, but was easy to repair. I loved every minute of marveling at this wire kaleidoscope before it overheated and went out with a bang — a small cap popped. I’ll recap it later.
…
Yellow foam covered my lips. They were gammas.

the short for keanu is condiment
four times the democracy!
— donald trump

nft disgustifies people

They added Fail Mode to Super Mario Odyssey — a set of ridiculously hard maps where you’re expected to fall down, but your gameplay is recorded, and in-game NPCs laugh at you. But, if you jump really far using boosters from Mario Kart, you can end up in rock climbing mode. When you reach the end, you get to a half-oasis, half-purgatory where there is a poker table, and other NPCs greet you.

There are a lot of chips, but they mean nothing — you got to invent your own rules.

Among those chips, I found a surf green-colored micro SD card. I put it into my Switch, and the whole new game opened: a hybrid of Mario and Subway Surfers where I’m being chased by half-Peach, half-Thomas the Tank Engine.

When we reached the end, we lost our furry friend. But he was hiding in a dresser drawer, with a sex doll. Not an inflatable one, mind you, and not a silicone one either: the material resembled that of Barbie dolls.

She was a human-size, pretty Caucasian girl. I talked to her. Yes, she could talk, and the voice wasn’t robotic — she was definitely alive. Despite being a completely empty shell, she was conscious, albeit very dumb.

Her name was Near. This is the joke she told me:

— Knock-knock.

— Who’s there?

— Andy.
— Andy who?
— Andy who was imprisoned for sexual assault five years ago, duh!

BLA headquarters

The half-abandoned town of Chrysler, Arkansas (population of 3), was swiftly decommissioned as I noticed a characteristic bright yellow birthmark on her hand. “You have to choose” — I said, “unavoidable and painful death, or decommissioning and relocation. You live in a charred shed anyway.”

Prince The Elephant caught steelpox in 1937. It was alone in its compartment, locked out, as the evil fungus was slowly and painfully turning its body into cast iron. Rusty but ornate, 19th century metal throne was there too. The Throne was talking to Prince. When it spoke, it could put its words into your head as commands, as if there were your own thoughts. It did it so authoritatively that it seemed like the language itself was different, but it wasn’t.

The throne was coercing Prince into fusing together, cast iron to cast iron. Every day we heard Prince’s screams as steelpox was mutilating its body, as well as awful banging as Prince was stomping on The Throne, trying to silence it. The Throne didn’t budge. It just kept talking. Over the course of four months, it won Prince over.
Prince’s final agony was unbearable. As its throat and eyes were ironified, [dream fragment lost].
French public was largely empathetic. Throne-Prince was definitely still alive, although differently.

The American public, however, nicknamed it The Iron Freak.

“Everybody is full of shit until they reach a UFO bunker.”
— kiki dream

If you own a crossbow with silencer, you’re an enemy of USA, India, China, etc. mere ownership makes you an enemy of the state.

Plastic rugs.

NSFL kiki dream
Discretion is advised

Super Bowl Whatever Baseball

There are drones patrolling the Antarctic sky. When your plane gets too close, the drone fires up its jet engine and grabs you by the wing.

The drone's engine can overpower any small plane there is. It then proceeds to escort you towards the Antarctic base. Your safety during the transport is guaranteed by the drone's onboard missiles and decoy flares.

Once you reach the base, you get apprehended, imprisoned and tortured. A powerful pathological infosignal is then dispersed via the social media that makes anyone who knew you forget that you ever existed.

There were zero successful escapes.

Both suicidal children and children dying of cancer do the same thing from time to time: they mimic a bird’s last song. Three short whistles in rapid succession.
When I saw Marc for the last time, he was asleep. It seemed like I scared him: he woke up in panic, did the whistle thing, pulled the boomerang from under his pillow and started hitting that dark spot on his arm with it. The spot was melanoma, but he was too young to understand it.
He died three days later. Then, we found glass shards inside his stomach.

Became a surgeon. Because of hyper empathy, felt all the pain patients would’ve felt without anesthesia. Went completely insane. As my mind deteriorated, we opened an euthanasia hall in an old abandoned theater, somewhat near the landlocked United Paper Island. You can go to the version of the city where UPA is not actually an island through extradimensional pizzeria.

Austrian massacres of The Gray War

I called Justin Timberlake, but Aspheosis responded.

I was inside a BLA landmine factory. They use special chalk-like sulfur-infused concrete for shells — it is THE most painful thing to have under your skin. Their only goal is to maximize the pain of their victims.

Darth voor the hedgehog
Favorite drink: Red Bull sugar free
Favorite color: black
Tried to marry Cocteau twins lead singer
Carries an m14
When picked, can instantly retrofit your tv with a subwoofer that is really a guitar amp

If codeine drips from her pussy, we call her Portable Wikipedia.

kiki dreams

❌ EXTREME discretion is advised. Potential infohazard below. ❌

Line meant final surgery

Bam Margera and Macaulay Culkin levitate and rapidly stomp-kick a poor girl that spilled her beer over a ramp

Bekrakatám was ONE SIDED this entire time! Fucking bitch!

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