He voiced much of my childhood.

I’m going to say that keeping and ignoring #ReplyGuy is the ultimate Chad move.

GM. Here’s Kipling’s London Town to start your morning: There's no God in London, Weary, wicked London. For, look you, I've lost my friend— Lost her in London. My heart's best friend Is astray in London, Your terrible London! You've miles of granite streets In stony London; And millions toiling in London, Crowded London; But I cannot find my friend, My poor lost friend, For the tumult and traffic of London, Pitiless London! It's cruel seeking in London, Boundless London, For a face that'll never come— For the face of a friend, The face of my lost, lost friend, Lost in London. There's no God in London, Your terrible London! #nostr #apoemaday #coffee #coffeechain #londontown

There will be a ton of businesses built on #Nostr before anyone shows up. It’s going to be like walking into a world ready to serve you with goods and services you’ve always needed and not known it. The shock will be immense.

The American mall experience is dead. Good riddance.

So I guess muting Reply Guy doesn’t work like I thought it did. What’s the real solution?

GM. What are we adding in our coffee this morning? #coffeechain

GM. Here’s some Rudyard Kipling to start your morning. The Last of the Light Brigade There were thirty million English who talked of England's might, There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night. They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor trade; They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade. They felt that life was fleeting; they knew not that art was long, That though they were dying of famine, they lived in deathless song. They asked for a little money to keep the wolf from the door; And the thirty million English sent twenty pounds and four ! They laid their heads together that were scarred and lined and grey; Keen were the Russian sabres, but want was keener than they; And an old Troop-Sergeant muttered, "Let us go to the man who writes The things on Balaclava the kiddies at school recites." They went without bands or colours, a regiment ten-file strong, To look for the Master-singer who had crowned them all in his song; And, waiting his servant's order, by the garden gate they stayed, A desolate little cluster, the last of the Light Brigade. They strove to stand to attention, to straighten the toil-bowed back; They drilled on an empty stomach, the loose-knit files fell slack; With stooping of weary shoulders, in garments tattered and frayed, They shambled into his presence, the last of the Light Brigade. The old Troop-Sergeant was spokesman, and "Beggin' your pardon," he said, "You wrote o' the Light Brigade, sir. Here's all that isn't dead. An' it's all come true what you wrote, sir, regardin' the mouth of hell; For we're all of us nigh to the workhouse, an' we thought we'd call an' tell. "No, thank you, we don't want food, sir; but couldn't you take an' write A sort of 'to be continued' and 'see next page' o' the fight? We think that someone has blundered, an' couldn't you tell 'em how? You wrote we were heroes once, sir. Please, write we are starving now." The poor little army departed, limping and lean and forlorn. And the heart of the Master-singer grew hot with "the scorn of scorn." And he wrote for them wonderful verses that swept the land like flame, Till the fatted souls of the English were scourged with the thing called Shame. They sent a cheque to the felon that sprang from an Irish bog; They healed the spavined cab-horse; they housed the homeless dog; And they sent (you may call me a liar), when felon and beast were paid, A cheque, for enough to live on, to the last of the Light Brigade. O thirty million English that babble of England's might, Behold there are twenty heroes who lack their food to-night; Our children's children are lisping to "honour the charge they made - " And we leave to the streets and the workhouse the charge of the Light Brigade!

Anthony Bourdain now knows that they serve statins in Hell.

Voluntary hardship is the way. View quoted note →

I have no aspirations of being a home miner, but I really enjoy videos of everyone’s home rigs on #Nostr.

Reply guy is good actually.

If your boss uses the epithet of “ghey retard” on a semi-regular basis to critique your work and there’s no HR department, is being canceled in the realm of possibility?

If we get Kamala, will Joe still get his ice cream or will that be too bourgeoise?

Female rappers are all grain-fed and finished.

I cluster post on #Nostr. Nit good for engagement, but I should just be here to boost others anyway.

Reply guy was sent to distract you from stacking.