"Mad at the Internet" - a/k/a My Psychotherapy Sessions

Personally, I think it's only right for Null to have a DSP phase after rightfully pointing out his propensity for bodily noises so I am in favor of a stream should he feel well enough. Good luck with the allergies, though, this year has been terrible here as well.
 
Do they not sell antihistamines in Null's Siberian bunker?

This might be another thing to consider for Josh in his house hunt. I always get really bad seasonal allergies where I live but spent a summer in asia a few years back and I swear I didn't sneeze once. Apparently because of the different plant life and differences in pollen your seasonal allergies are impacted by your geographic location.
 
Whatever the fuck I've been taking doesn't work. I feel like shit.
Take the potpill

Neti-Pot-1600x900.png
 
Hey Null, do you feel about former Monero lead mantainer Riccardo Spagni, aka "fluffypony" the same as about every other South African? Good outro song, btw.
 
It's sporing season for Boogie which is how he reproduces. Whenever you see a morbidly obese child being jettisoned from a faulty theme park ride, by G-forces that are ordinarily only experienced by NASA trainees, you can console yourself that it was probably one of his fungal offspring.

It speaks favourably of the innate sense of dignity invested in all living things, that despite Boogie's spores containing over three-times the recommended daily calorie intake for blue whales, no animal will eat them, even in this era of famine and food chain supply issues. Obviously it can be hell for allergy sufferers. I have yet to find an antihistamine that doesn't make me feel like my head had been pumped full of drying cement and completely shut me down mentally. I have learned to communicate by sneezing.

Back in the 1980s,a satirical puppet show called Spitting Image released a song titled (I've Never Met) A Nice South African which was aimed at F. W. De Klerk and the apartheid. In the lyrics a succession of implausible claims are made - tales of dancing with 10 foot tall pygmies, lunching with (the Mr Bean actor) Rowan Atkinson where he paid and wasn't late, and sighting a flying pig in a fairly convincing wig. Even in the context of a song where it is possible to meet a fairly modest German, the mere concept of a nice South African strains credibility. It often plays in my head when Elon Musk's name comes up; though I am enjoying him gleefully tearing down the dumpster-dived hopes and dreams of people, who subsidise their addiction to blue hair dye with an afternoon shift at a coffee shop where poetry slams are still considered the highest of form of art.

Christ is King!
 
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