Sometimes we all need a little tough love. When the truth hurts, it's okay if it leaves a scar.

In this edition of noise we're giving tough love and spitting straight facts by reaching out digitally to our friends. If you're reading,

you're in luck

because these are the tips, tricks, and insights that you'll need to win money in the stock market and stuff.

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– yӭ𐦤⚇⍕⍑ ⅋ ƴΐ⍧ի⍲e⌊

I want a sugar mommy

A tale from a family vacation

Recently I sat down to write while chilling on an Alaskan cruise with my family. This is some of what I wrote:

Yeeeehhaaawww bbeeennn oonnnn aa bbboooaaaatttt fffooorrrr toooo lllooooonnnnnnggggg mmmaaaaannnnn

This writing session has been pathetic

Wow, I was really lost, definitely suffering from a Jamaican hangover.

Ja•mai•can hang•ov•er /dʒəˈmeɪkən ˈhæŋˌoʊvɚ/ (noun)

A weed induced morning brain fog.

My boss could totally tell I was totally spaced this morning from a gnarly Jamaican hangover.

My sister brought 700 mg of edibles onto the boat. These lil edibles were absolute bombs; small pressed pills with small pockets of potency. Unpredictable, a small chunk could produce a mild buzz or a wild trip only explainable by religious insights.

I found myself in the bowels of fatigue and slobbery. Six days on a cruise ship is enough to turn the most dedicated type-A ultramarathoner into a slow, hungry slug. I should have thrown in the towel with the writing and gone to the bar instead. There, I would have had a fine selection of leathery octogenarians to make a move on. I don’t have any retirement plans because most of the money I make goes straight to booze, weed, hookers, and cocaine.

Getting a sugar mommy would be ideal but it’s tough to find the right one.

Ideally, I want a woman in the twilight years of her life, someone with a life expectancy of two to eight years. Think about it relative to a career: the most successful early retirees put in a few years of hard work then reap the rewards for the rest of their lives. I’m trying to do the same thing, but emotionally. Put in a few years of love and tender care, just enough to get that bag, then live up the rest of my life work free when she croaks!

People are susceptible to recency bias – the tendency to overemphasize recent events when making decisions about future ones. I want to take advantage of this natural bias (in conjunction with at least a mild amount of amnesia) to deceive an old woman into loving me and deciding to give me all of her money at the time of their death.

In the sugar baby business, we refer to a sugar mommy death as an IPO: Instantly Profitable Offing. We only deal with people who kick buckets of cash. If you haven’t seen a bank account or material evidence of at least $10M of assets within the first six months of courting, divest. You want your IPO to be the best day of your life! After all, you won't have to play bingo every Thursday anymore and you can finally lean into your expensive designer drug hobbies. Make sure to take a moment and breathe in the humanity when you’re freaking out on phencyclidine, smoking a cigar on a tropical beach.

I want the life of my dreams, the sparks of a better future, and I don't want to work for it. Inheritance money from my 90 year old sugar mommy will give me the freedom I need to thrive. In order to secure the hag bag, we would definitely need to have had a romantic kiss:

After Gertrude pointed out the strangely pale strawberries, we succumbed to a fit of laughter. Uncontrollably wheezing, huffing, and puffing, our eyes met. In that glance, I saw a warm gaze, her head pointed towards mine, her eyes looking up through her long eyelashes. A twinkle in her eye caught the light under her wrinkly forehead and I realized that her mascara was very expensive. I pulled down the oxygen tubes from her nostrils and said, “I’m going to need this more than you because you take my breath away.” We leaned in and slobbered on each other’s lips for a minute. It was hot.

Getting a sugar mommy is an intrinsically communist activity. If you're not sucking wealth from the top of the pyramid then you're complacent with a moral hellhole called capitalism. Do your duty, comrade, and find a nice old lady to hang out with for a few years until she dies.

I could have had all of this if I had just moseyed my way over to the bar instead of writing hot garbage on a pool chair for two hours. Don't be like me friends, get yourself a sugar mommy and reap the rewards. Life is too short to work for it.

WhatsApp, dude?

Founded in 2009, WhatsApp is the oldest messenger of the modern era and the biggest one among all of them, enabling more than 2 billion users to exchange vapid greetings and meaningless GIFs every day.

What this great success belies is the great travesty against humanity, namely, that 25% of the world's population is uttering its stupid name as if there's nothing to it, WhatsApp.

You may not think much of it anymore, but not all hope is lost.

Indeed, every living soul – whether one is old enough to remember the days before smartphones and feeling excited about the fact that "there's an app for that" (which, by the way, Apple has registered as its trademark in 2010), or whether you are young enough to never have used an emoticon (which, if you've never heard of it, is a symbol-based imagery that sometimes doesn't work well with parentheses :)) – can dig deep into their repressed memories and remember the subconscious from the first moment downloading the app:

WhatsApp? Is that a pun on what's up? But the pun is about it being an app? That's not even a pun about messaging. What kind of an app names itself as a question? I can't believe I have to download this. What a stupid name.

Now, do you remember? WhatsApp is a stupid name, and we should not normalize it. We all hated the name when we first had to download it in 2010, and we should all hate ourselves for not hating it more often.

my fashion

My fashion is too evolved for you

All of you wouldn’t know any of me

You don’t know the things that I’ve gone through

How can you perceive what you will not see?

quantized_quotes

Every concept ever is like, a fuckin' dimensionality-reduced information-lost statistically-observable generalizable pattern. Whenever you say anything, people are always like, 'it’s on a spectrum!' 'It depends on the person!' like, can we just assume that everything is on a spectrum?

– ƴΐ⍧ի⍲e⌊

sound.wav

Nujabes is an all-time classic, he's often referred to as the "godfather of lofi hip hop," and for good reason. The name is actually an anadrome (why are there so many words to describe weird words? Why not just call it a 'reversed word'?) of Sebajun, the actual name of Nujabes. Nujabes tragically died in a car crash at age 36, today we honor his memory with one of his dopest songs.

prompts.bib

• [1] Header Image
  /imagine the most perfect, clean sterile kitchen. A well organized, well light, bright kitchen. The kitchen is erganomic, and has a little grit to it. There are lots of homemade corners filled with supplies, every nook has a purpose in this kitchen:: realistic psychedelic hallucination:: replication:: --c 5 --v 5.1
• [2] Ex(hib)it 1 - Gold Mine
  /imagine a bunch of old ladies hanging out at a bar on a cruise --v 5.2
• [3] Ex(hib)it 2 - The cosmic beetle demands attention
  /imagine a hercules beetle with a crystalline shell. the hercules beetle has a bright crystals for its shell:: photorealistic::0.3 --v 5.2 [REMIX] a hercules beetle:: an intricate crystal shell beetle:: crystalline beetle:: --v 5.2