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Ugly NFTs are the shame of Civilization

INTERNET — I’m fucking tired of the apes. The flat, pointless pixelpunks. Crypto fans tell us this is ‘non-fungible art’, yet employ all possible means to mass-produce maximally derivative icons and make sure they’re seen by everyone, at least fourteen times a day. To any mind not addled by the inherent futurology (astrology by means of scifi), these awful fucking icons are instantly recognizable not as the future, but as the dead end of the era’s overoptimistic, technology drained imagination.

The Maximally Fungible Ugliness of NFT art acts as mascot and pretext for a wide array of unregulated speculation markets. The icons bear a striking resemblance to Fred Flinstone, Tony the Tiger, and other cartoon characters used in marketing sugar-laden children’s cereal. Maximally Fungible Ugliness isn’t only unhealthy for children, the economy, the electric grid, or the environment. It’s the morbid sick at the heart of our civilization.

Nadya Tolokonnikova of Pussy Riot stated that NFTs facilitate an ideal relationship between artists and patrons. This is built upon the futurological premise that traditional banking and currency will inevitably be replaced by crypto. Never mind the absurd computing expenses, slow transfers, and third-rate security that makes the premise laughable. Tolokonnikova’s art is the kind of minimum effort bespoke icons that viewers will pound to death while watching a Twitch stream because their thoughts are too repetitive and tiring to actually type out. Backgrounded in these icons are Tolokonnikova’s prison papers, an ugly detraction which serves only to underline the fact that this is an ideal relationship with patrons, for sure, but also, nothing has changed. Financial support of this kind is still only for the few artists who are sexy, fabulous, or lucky.

The smell of rot is unbearable, but Maximally Fungible Ugliness did not begin with NFTs. The Ugliness pervades public spaces, invades devices, imprints itself on labels, cycles through permutation after permutation, fills the few gaps left in economic suffering by berating everyone everywhere with a stream of ceaseless insults to their intelligence, dignity, and humanity. The Ugliness has been distilled and refined for decades and the NFT is the penultimate expression: Marketing has become self-sufficient, and no longer relies on meatspace goods or services. While we were distracted with the potential for some AI apocalypse, marketing has slowly eaten us up from the inside, some aesthetic singularity passing by unnoticed, and only Rip Van Winkle, awakening from his slumber, can see quite how ugly life has become. Ha-ha.

It is so often said that the simple appreciation of Beauty for its own sake is shallow or narrow minded. But if there were an essence to Beauty, it should be fantasy. The opening of all potential, the emptiness of a blank slate and its laughable projections, pathetic daydreams, the experience of eternity, of oceanic depth. This inspires ridiculous behavior, love, which is an intolerable thing, and can be dealt with easily. Just ignore it!

But if it doesn’t go away, it can be enclosed within a marital contract, secured in bland familiarity, withheld in casual usefulness. What is left of love may be allowed to linger for a time, before being choked out by the all-pervading Ugliness and the perfectly acceptable, low-risk, business-like behavior of partnership.

This madness for trading trashy marketing materials representing no services or goods is the most pure partnership possible, an ideal relationship like out of some childish romance anime, a perfect transaction in the Ugly mold, and the next technological improvement over the purchase of a box of Fruity Pebbles. Enjoy your Maximally Fungible Uglies while they last!

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Entertainment Special Interest

Anonymous Hackers reveal demonic human sacrifice at Babylon Bee office Halloween Party

INTERNET – Wednesday, the hacker collective Anonymous unveiled documents and video footage from inside the offices of the conservative satire website The Babylon Bee. Editor-in-Chief Kyle Mann was photographed in costume as Hunter Biden, snorting cocaine and smoking crack while exposing himself to staff.

“We can get away with it, because people will just think it’s props, that it’s fake, because we’re a comedy web site. Normal security measures do not apply,” Mann reasoned, in an e-mail memo distributed to staff. “Our readers will forgive us for anything. They love us.”

But crack cocaine was not all that was on the menu for the Halloween party at The Babylon Bee. “Look at me, I’m a Biden. I’m a Clinton!” Mann exclaimed, compulsively licking at his mouth, and producing a sack of pineal glands. “I can eat them straight, just like Hillary.”

Mann put the bag to his mouth, sucking in so many of the adrenochrome containing “soul” glands that he choked and spilled the extra glands all over the floor. The writers dove at the leftover glands like greedy pigs, biting at one another and fighting over every last drop of fluids while their editor-in-chief began to convulse, draped over his desk.

An excerpt from an e-mail between Jeff Rice, Babylon Bee writer, and his wife, explained the depraved scene at their demonic Halloween Party.

“When the wild high of the pineal gland feeding frenzy broke, I noticed Kyle convulsing and I was afraid he’d gone the way of Hillary. I mean they obviously weren’t first-world indigo children pineal glands, but he doesn’t usually indulge like this either. I’ve never seen him eat so many like that. It used to be even the Clintons would eat just a few, cooked on a pizza, but now even an editor of some joke web site is suckin’ them down like oysters, fillin his whole stomach with ’em. That’s the real story on Corona they don’t want you to know. It’s a soul harvest. No problem in the pineal gland supply chain, this year.”

No charges have been filed, and after contacting the Jupiter, Florida Sheriff, the Internet Chronicle received a nasty message saying that “You globohomo Anonymous freaks can tear the pineal glands out of our cold dead hands!”

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Chef Troubador’s Michelin Star Clickbait Recipes

You wanna cook a Michelin Star meal? Get with the program, numbnuts, and get Dr. Troubador’s Clickbait Recipe Book: The bullshit that gaurantees your plates will be trending in minutes.

Here’s a simple menu you may try out, one night, when you’re wanting to burn through some cash in order to draw in some clicks.

For a starter, try Troubador’s Michelin Star Sous Vide Wagyu Smashburger sliders, doused with Japanese Hentai Sauce and topped with specially homemade $2,000 American Style Cheese, using only the finest imported Parmiagiano Reggiano.

No slider is complete without Michelin Star Chopped Onions. You just chop them up small as fuck. Chop those fuckers so small you might as well use a food processor. Just wait until your fans see them melting away to nothing inside of the pan. That’s Michelin Star winning small onions, right there.

Tease your guests, and your followers, with Bacon-wrapped Wagyu Chicken Poppers served with Ghost Pepper Ranch dipping sauce. It’s the Wagyu of Chicken, with bacon. And it’s so spicy, it’ll leave them begging for more. Anything more.

For a hip and refreshing deconstruction of postmodern haute dining trends see if you can slurp down some Fermented Lucky Charms Pasta served in a Wagyu Sausage Sauce made by a reduction of our special brew. First, a primary beer is made with 20 year aged Smack-Em’s Cereal, then doubled brewed with a peat-roasted Count Chocula mash, and finally dry-hopped with $10,000 worth of a Sativa-Indica Hybrid that was rated so well by High Times magazine, they couldn’t even remember the strain’s name. This dish is Chef Troubador’s favorite, and it will get you High as Fuck while you’re imagining that you’re eating the food of Gods.

There’s almost no way to follow up an entree such as that, unless you’re Chef Troubador. By using one secret and hilarious trick, you might fix up Michelin Star Fried Browned Butter, itself fried in clarified butter, and glazed in a Manuka honey butter sauce. It’s also known as the Triple James Beard Award Winning Butter Blast, and it goes great a la mode.

“Vegemite Ice Cream doesn’t sound good,” the haters in the comments will say, as you own them by creating something they couldn’t even imagine. This recipe cuts through the salt and flavor with a heaping portion of liquor. Using a $2000 jug of original Popcorn Sutton moonshine, a jar of vegemite, raw milk, and fermented “1,000 year old eggs” you will be shocked to see a thick and appealing custard set instantly, and then freeze into a smooth and edible ice cream in seconds with the magic of molecular gastronomy and liquid oxygen. Science youtubers and millions of slobs gawking at their phones will at once stand at attention, saluting the power of your Flaming Michelin Star Vegemite Ice Cream as it burns and freezes at the same time.