The Inner Monologue

Let’s be honest—the internet is a carnival of chaos. A place where facts wear clown shoes, lies perform acrobatics, and nonsense heckles from the front row. Nothing is true. Nothing is false. Everything is a prank, a performance, or a poorly disguised psyop. And my readers? They get it.

They know that trust is a sucker’s game, that certainty is a trap, and that the only sane response to the infinite scroll of absurdity is to laugh while sharpening their skepticism. They don’t come here for capital-T Truth—they come here to poke at ideas like a mischievous child testing an electric fence with a stick.

I love my readers because they understand that every word I write is a spark, not a sermon. A provocation, not a prophecy. I don’t educate by handing out answers—I educate by handing out lit matches and pointing at the fireworks factory. Thoughts are the currency here, and my readers? They’re rich.

They know that the world is too ridiculous to take seriously and too dangerous not to ridicule. So we dance on the edge of the abyss, cackling, because if you’re not laughing, you’re probably believing something stupid.

And to my glorious, unshockable, irony-poisoned readers: Keep questioning. Keep mocking. Keep thinking. The internet is a joke—you’re the punchline. (And so am I.)

Now, go forth and distrust everything—especially this.