This is why I finally left, because the asshole started removing his volunteer moderators and replacing them with employees for the crime of protesting his lies and slander of app developers who brought in hundreds of thousands of users, many of whom are now reading this comment because they're no longer on that sinking ship of a site.

Fuck spez.

A better shot.

Everyone? You sure? Just off the top of my head, I've witnessed:

1. A fellow millennial recently calling his tower "the modem".

2. A user who thinks a computer experiencing a "crash", as in the unexpected termination of a process, means everything on the hard drive was just lost.

3. A teacher who swears their fiber optic internet connection always slows down when it rains.

4. A family member who thinks cell phones are actually miraculous.

5. An IT director who decided to save time while rewiring an entire school district's network by forgoing patch panels completely, terminating hundreds of CAT-6 cables (which he first laid directly on top of the drop ceiling grid) with RJ45 connectors plugged straight into switches, labeling each with masking tape.

6. A police officer who called his chief and supervisor over to his desk in order to explain that he discovered a massive vulnerability on the agency website, demonstrating the risk by showing them how he was able to change some text with the browser's element inspector.

7. A software developer who only used Internet Explorer (years ago when Chrome was still arguably the best option) because "Google tracks you". He was later sentenced to decades in federal prison for organizing the production of CSAM on the surface web, not the darknet, mostly over Craigslist.

A former web developer, he had been searching for something more adventurous.

When you're so sick of end users that you'd rather be stung by fucking murder hornets.

Have you tried blasting yogurt up your butt?

You're always gonna have problems lifting a body in one piece. Apparently the best thing to do is cut up a corpse into six pieces and pile it all together. And when you got your six pieces, you gotta get rid of them, because it's no good leaving it in the deep freeze for your mum to discover, now is it? Then I hear the best thing to do is feed them to pigs. You got to starve the pigs for a few days, then the sight of a chopped-up body will look like curry to a pisshead. You gotta shave the heads of your victims, and pull the teeth out for the sake of the piggies' digestion. You could do this afterwards, of course, but you don't want to go sievin' through pig shit, now do you? They will go through bone like butter. You need at least sixteen pigs to finish the job in one sitting, so be wary of any man who keeps a pig farm. They will go through a body that weighs 200 pounds in about eight minutes. That means that a single pig can consume two pounds of uncooked flesh every minute. Hence the expression, "as greedy as a pig".

Thanks, I hate it.

Thought it was just me. Used to have at least twice this many in my old office:

You've made yourself very clear.

Is it connected to this?

If anything objectionable comes up, your accountability partner gets an immediate notice. I’m proud to tell ya, my son has got a clean slate.

"Myself, on the other hand? Petabytes of CSAM."

I know you're joking but presumably this is so the distributor or restaurant can scan the whole wheel with an NFC reader or whatever before using it.

Infinite poop. You sit on the toilet to poop, but the poop never stops coming out of your butt. You have to start flushing the toilet every two minutes to keep up. You try to pinch your butt closed but that makes your insides hurt. The poop accelerates. You call 911. The paramedics call for doctors. The doctors call for specialists. The story trends on Twitter. You turn down talk show appearances. Your septic tank fails. People form a cult. Your toilet is finished. Volunteers arrive with buckets and shovels. You are completely used to the smell. The poop accelerates. You are moved to a stepladder with a hole in the top step. The poop accelerates. The shovelers abandon the buckets and shovel directly out the window. The poop accelerates. A candlelight vigil forms around your house. One of the workers falls over and can't free himself. The poop accelerates. A priest knocks over the stepladder and tackles you out the window. You land in the pile. The poop accelerates. The force now propels you forward and upward. Vigil goers grab at your legs. The poop ignites from their candles. The Facebook live event hits 1 million viewers. The poop accelerates. You are 30 feet in the air. The fire engulfs the vigil and your house. 60 feet. The poop accelerates. The torrent underneath you is deafening. 5 million Facebook live viewers. You try to close up shop but your butthole disintegrated long ago. 120 feet up. Your house explodes. The poop accelerates. 1000 feet. You are now tracked on radar. You try to change your angle of ascent but you should have thought of that way earlier. The poop accelerates. 4,000 feet. NORAD upgrades to DEFCON 3. Concentric circles of fire engulf your city. The poop accelerates. You have broken the sound barrier. 30,000 feet. You no longer take in enough oxygen to sustain consciousness. 60,000 feet. CNN is reporting on all the world records you've broken. 200,000 feet. You are no longer alive. The poop accelerates. Your body disintegrates but your poop contrail remains. NASA can no longer track you. You break the light-speed barrier and we can no longer bear witness. The poop accelerates. Forever.

Dumbest fucking timeline.

Two, in fact!

Fortunately for the FBI, and for anyone who still believes in democracy, most of these idiots brought their smartphones with them so video hasn't even been necessary to secure convictions. And lots of them recorded video themselves, OF themselves, in order to brag about their crimes online.

Depression made me want to die more than once but my alcohol use led to me almost killing myself accidentally during one of the episodes. The 9mm I had just been holding to my head seconds earlier discharged because I was shitfaced and was handling it completely sloppily. I shot the ceiling but luckily nothing else. It scared me sober instantly and I realized how close I came. I got help too and I'm doing better now.

I'm glad you're still here.

I remember taking a short test that the psychiatrist who diagnosed me used as a small part of her assessment. She kept asking every minute or two if I was done, which I would later come to realize was just part of the test. Probably fifteen minutes later, once I was done writing half a page of answers in the unusually tiny spaces between lines, I handed it back to her. She took one look at it, gave it back to me, and pointed at the instructions at the top of the page which basically said to just circle the right answer, something that wasn't at all clear from context alone unless you actually read the instructions first. It wasn't multiple choice but all I had to do was circle a word in each sentence which wouldn't have taken me much more than about thirty seconds. That was apparently the real test, not the actual questions, and so I failed (or passed?) miserably.

Nope, sorry about your luck. Nothing on anime or Star Trek, either.

I took LSD, DMT, and weed one night several years ago. This was near the end of my experimentation phase with psychedelics before I finally came to my senses and chilled out so we're talking heroic-level dosing, too. While peaking on something like 880μg, I smoked some weed to intentionally send the acid into overdrive and then took a couple big hits off a DMT vape.

Instant ego death.

At first I was just in awe of what I was seeing and experiencing, but soon I realized that I could no longer talk or even think linguistically. Language completely fails at some point when you're that far gone but I was too far gone to remember that fact, let alone comprehend it enough for it to calm me down. I didn't even know what I was, let alone who. I had a sense that I was a being of some sort who had once been able to communicate but I didn't understand why I couldn't anymore. Panic set in. Part of me was still dimly aware that I had taken something or at least done something to myself, even if I didn't understand it was the cause of what was basically a temporary psychotic break, so I came to the conclusion that I had erased my brain like a hard drive that doesn't even have an operating system anymore and that I would have to re-learn everything from scratch.

When I came down enough to find (and be able to use) my phone, I called a friend to come meet me at 3am (true bro) so that the re-education could begin immediately. By the time he got there, though, I realized that I couldn't have wiped my memory since I remembered my friend and that I was, in fact, a fucking idiot. We had a good laugh and I decided to take it easy with the drugs after that.

About the worthless UberEats voucher? Nah.

About the worthless kernel-level code and non-existent QA costing customers serious hours of labor? Now we're talking. Where do I sign?

If only there was some way she could have seen that coming.

-- Shaggy
--- Mark Robinson
---- Wayne Gretzky
----- Michael Scott

Lawyer. It's like doing homework for a living.

Welfare checks have been conducted over less.

Oh that's right, I always forget my phone can also make phone calls.

Other way around.

Does it bother anyone else that the camera isn't centered between the yellow and green or is it just me?

That's a good idea. Yeah, the trick I discovered in getting them off the mounting bracket without the chrome plating peeling is to grab each end of the bracket with vice grips and/or pliers (after you unscrew it from the drive) and just bend it down and away from the magnet. They usually come off in one piece that way, too.

Oh my god you're right, this is all I do. I have no job, no home, no friends, no family, nothing but this account and this app and my anger towards one person I've never met. Right.

And the other one is flicking a cigarette.

I love this comment because you can read it the wholesome way or the holesome way.

As someone who is in a similar place, the only piece of wisdom I have to offer is that it's okay. It's okay for life not to have some grand meaning or propose. It's okay to just keep finding things interesting for a while and then move on to other things. It's okay to not have a singular focus, even if it seems like everyone else does. That doesn't mean we can or even should, or that we never will. It's okay to be directionless, just so long as we keep moving somewhere -- even if sometimes that direction is backwards. I know how hollow and annoying platitudes are but it actually is about the journey and the quality of it, not the destination.

As difficult as mindfulness was for me to learn (and no, I'm not about to tell you to meditate), the one thing I couldn't help but take away from some teachings on the subject is that life is here, now, in this moment, and only here and now. And what grounds me in the present moment is to remember that I am basically a sentient meat robot, one that is carrying out its programming based on a 14-billion-year string of prior causes over which I had no control. Genetic, environmental, parental, developmental, and yes, even pathological factors that all conspired to lead me to this moment right now. I didn't plan to write this, I don't know what will happen once I have, and some of these words came as a surprise even to me as I wrote them. I don't know if it will mean anything to anyone, and it's fine if it doesn't. What I know is that I found a stranger's post interesting and relatable enough to spend a few minutes responding to it, and for a little while that gave me a sense of connection. Next I'll probably either upvote a meme, write a shitpost, or go to sleep.

And that's okay.

This is pedantic but it annoys me every time I hear someone say it, let alone see it in writing: amphetamine can be plural; methamphetamine never is. Meth is an amphetamine, technically a substituted amphetamine, one of several such amphetamines.

I was told by a highly trustworthy source that it was, in fact, Ted Cruz's dad.