Ah yes, Mother's Day. Father's Day. Our annual display of gratitude... that one day a year when we're expected to perform love on command... with flowers, gifts, and guilt as a bonus. Because nothing says "I care" like a reminder on your calendar. We're not celebrating mothers or fathers; we're celebrating the illusion society sells and flaunts on social media. It's not love... it's theater. A staged performance of virtue and obligation. And those who don’t play along? Branded cold, ungrateful, or broken. But how sincere is a love that needs a scheduled date before it’s seen as real?

The call to remove the OP_RETURN size limit is not a cry for freedom... it’s the whimper of those too timid to defend meaning. It’s weakness parading as inclusivity, mediocrity demanding validation. These are not stewards of Bitcoin; they are clerks of decay, mistaking permissiveness for principle. They mask their cowardice in protocol purity, as if obedience to syntax justifies the erosion of purpose. But what they truly lack is will... the will to say, this has value, and that does not. Without that, Bitcoin is no longer a tool of liberation but a landfill with a ledger. The blockchain is not sacred because it records; it is sacred because of what it records. To allow spam in the name of neutrality is not strength... it is surrender to the lowest, loudest, and least deserving. They don't protect Bitcoin. They dilute it. Let the weak seek approval through endless compromise. The future belongs to those who can still draw lines.

Most people don’t celebrate Easter because they’ve thought deeply about life, death, or rebirth. They advertise it. A stage play of virtue for likes and approval. It’s not about truth or transformation, just another way to look holy without being honest because it makes them look good. It’s not about belief, it’s about belonging. A kind of moral costume party, where everyone pretends to be pure for a day before going back to their usual routine.

Animals are what they are. Only humans pretend to be what they are not. That's why I prefer animals.

Nietzsche is describing what we now call the NPC... not as an insult, but as a tragic condition: the person so programmed by duty, expectation, and routine that they’ve never asked why they do what they do. If your day is spoken for by systems, roles, and obligations you didn’t consciously choose, then you’re not living your life... you’re performing someone else’s.