nostr:npub1teawtzxh6y02cnp9jphxm2q8u6xxfx85nguwg6ftuksgjctvavvqnsgq5u Verifying My Public Key: "poxonus"
pox
poxonus@p0x.io
npub17mrd...mr98
Rap nerd staring at a chronoblob.
Notes (20)
**[Scene: A public restroom in a busy Manhattan diner. George is in a stall, grunting and straining. Kramer leans against the sink, arms crossed, watching the stall door with intense fascination.]**
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**KRAMER:** (nodding) You know, George, this is just like filing a pull request.
**GEORGE:** (grunting) What? What are you talking about? This is a biological necessity, Kramer! There’s nothing “code-like” about this!
**KRAMER:** Oh, come on! You’re in here, you’re pushing, you’re committing—it’s all the same! You’re trying to merge your *contribution* into the main branch!
**GEORGE:** (pauses mid-grunt) That’s disgusting, Kramer. I’m not *merging* anything. I’m just—(another grunt)—trying to get this thing out!
**KRAMER:** Exactly! You’re working on a feature branch, George. You’re in your own little stall, doing your thing, and when you’re ready, you’re gonna submit it for review. But you gotta make sure it’s clean, or the maintainers are gonna reject it!
**GEORGE:** (flustered) I don’t need a code review for this, Kramer! I just need—(strain)—toilet paper!
**KRAMER:** Ah, but what if someone else is working on the same file? You ever get a merge conflict, George? You push your changes, and—BAM!—someone else already modified the same lines! It’s a mess!
**GEORGE:** (panicked) Oh no, no, no—what if someone’s in here and they *see* my—(whispers)—my *logs*?
**KRAMER:** That’s why you squash your commits, George! You don’t want your history to be all over the place. You gotta keep it tidy. One clean, well-documented—(gestures vaguely)—*movement*.
**GEORGE:** (exasperated) I don’t want to *document* this, Kramer! I just want it to be over!
**KRAMER:** But that’s the thing! If you don’t leave a good commit message, no one’s gonna understand what you were trying to do! “Fixed issue with digestion”—that’s vague, George. You gotta be specific! “Resolved blockage in lower GI tract after consuming questionable street meat.”
**GEORGE:** (groaning) I can’t believe we’re talking about this.
**KRAMER:** And what if your pull request gets stuck in CI? You ever think about that? You’re just sitting there, waiting for the tests to pass, and—(mimes an explosion)—*build failed*!
**GEORGE:** (desperate) Kramer, I don’t need a build pipeline for this! I just need—(sudden relief)—ohhhh, there we go.
**KRAMER:** (grinning) See? Green checks across the board! Your changes have been successfully merged!
**GEORGE:** (emerging from the stall, wiping his brow) I hate you, Kramer.
**KRAMER:** (clapping him on the back) Don’t hate the game, George. You just contributed to the open-source project of life.
**GEORGE:** (washing hands vigorously) I need a shower.
**KRAMER:** (laughing) Nah, you just need to rebase.
**[George glares at Kramer as they exit the restroom, the sound of a toilet flushing echoing behind them.]**
INT. PUBLIC BATHROOM - DAY
George is in a stall, grunting uncomfortably. Kramer bursts in, peeking over the door like it’s no big deal.
KRAMER: (excitedly) George! I knew it was you from the shoes. What’s the holdup in there? You’re backed up like a bad merge conflict!
GEORGE: (irritated, mid-strain) Kramer! Get out! This is private! I’m… I’m contributing, okay? Like a coder filling out a pull request. You know, pushing out the changes, hoping it merges without issues.
KRAMER: (leaning in closer) Ohhh, yeah! But this is a public bathroom, George. It’s like a public GitHub repo! Anyone could fork your… output. And those stalls? They’re like branches—isolated, but everyone’s committing to the same master toilet.
GEORGE: (grunting) Exactly! You gotta review the logs first, make sure it’s clean. No one wants a crappy commit history stinking up the place.
KRAMER: (snapping fingers) And the flush? That’s the merge button! But if it’s a big one, you risk overflow—repo gets clogged, pull request denied. Rebase that mess!
GEORGE: (straining harder) And the paper trail? Comments section! “Needs more fiber.” “Resolve conflicts.” Kramer, you’re killing me—now it’s like a code review from hell!
KRAMER: (laughing maniacally) Giddyup, George! Push it through!
Just living the dream over here.
How here vibe coding with opencode and talking shit on bitchat.
Gotta love when that CS degree just turns into “ok make this app thing for me”
Sometimes I get bored and make websites that do nothing but generate a passphrase.
My politics can be summed up in three word: “fuck enriched flour”.
Everything I ever needed to know about my gender identity I learned from season 1 episode 83 of Popeye the Sailor.
Sometimes you just gotta kick a dude in the cunt.
Where’s my AI financial services companies at?
A classic
Sometimes you just need techno Jesus Hitler to prove a point about dinosaur mating rituals.
In the late 1960s, a top-secret Soviet program codenamed "Operation Follicular Frontier" aimed to weaponize hair care products in a mind-bending scheme to overthrow Western capitalism.
Soviet scientists, combining cutting-edge genetics research with ancient Siberian shamanic rituals, developed a revolutionary compound they called "Trichonomicin." When applied to human hair, this substance would allegedly transform each strand into a microscopic antenna capable of receiving subliminal messages broadcast by powerful Soviet satellites.
The KGB, working with extraterrestrial allies they had contacted during the space race, set up a network of mind-control broadcast stations on the dark side of the moon. These stations would beam socialist propaganda directly into the brains of unwitting shampoo users, gradually reprogramming their thoughts and behaviors.
To distribute Trichonomicin, the Soviets infiltrated Western shampoo companies using deep-cover agents who had undergone extensive plastic surgery to resemble American business tycoons. These agents introduced the compound into popular shampoo brands, marketing them aggressively to ensure widespread adoption.
The ultimate goal was to trigger a mass awakening on a predetermined "X-Day," when millions of shampoo users would simultaneously rise up against capitalist institutions, guided by the alien-assisted Soviet mind control network.
The plan was reportedly foiled in the nick of time by a joint task force of CIA operatives and sentient dolphins trained in counter-espionage. The dolphins, immune to the effects of Trichonomicin due to their lack of hair, infiltrated Soviet submarine bases and destroyed vital components of the broadcast system.
To cover up the incident, world governments agreed to promote the idea of "bad hair days" to explain any lingering effects of Trichonomicin exposure among the population.
Them their doings yonder, word?