Surreal digital collage depicting an enormous orange cat at the center of a swirling storm made of fur and clouds. Around it, Mount Everest climbers, soldiers, a political figure, and social-media icons are pulled into the vortex. The scene glows with orange light against a midnight-blue background, symbolizing modern absurdity and collapse.

in Activism, Empire Ledger, Make It Make Sense, Resistance, Satire

The Singularity Has Settings (I just can’t find them)

Itโ€™s 3 a.m., or 4 a.m., or maybe 5 a.m. Time has lost structural integrity. โ˜•๐Ÿ˜ตโ€๐Ÿ’ซ

My state is under siege.๐Ÿš”
It feels like a cold-war situation as I heard someone say. ๐ŸงŠ
An orange army rolled in from Texas ๐Ÿ›ข๏ธ wearing fatigues and rifles; the other orange invader sits smugly on my counter, shedding domination everywhere.

Recently, we were occupied by an orange stray cat. ๐Ÿˆโ€๐ŸŠ
Let me repeat: an orange cat. In this timeline. In this economy. Yes, the universe, in our lazy cosmic writerโ€™s room, has decided irony is cheaper than subtlety. This, while the other orange entity livestreams fascism and propaganda, seemingly from his golf resort bunker?
Are they even allowed to say the things they are saying on teleprompters at the airports?

Come on, Universe. Put some work into the bit. ๐Ÿ‘


Meanwhile, nearly a thousand people are stuck on Everest. Proof perhaps, that money can buy Sherpas, oxygen, and hubris, but not weather control or common sense. ๐Ÿ”๏ธ๐Ÿ’ธ
Does it seem to anyone else, if you can afford to climb Everest in October, you should be able to afford to get down, no?

Call your friend with the jet. Donโ€™t make the locals risk frostbite for your enlightenment arc. I mean wow! Submarines, ice-covered mountains, what’s next bungee jumping volcanoes or something? ๐ŸŒ‹


Back home, Iโ€™m in a cold war of my own. It’s me versus Smelly Majelly, the orange anarchist formerly known as Ferdinand Magellan.
He has peed on everything but my will to live, though that, too, is damp. ๐Ÿซ 

And then thereโ€™s TikTok Live, where I tried to โ€œpractice journalism.โ€
Some random guy appeared on my screen just to tell me not to get run over at the protest? ๐Ÿ˜ฒ
Apparently I accepted him? Or the algorithm did. Or maybe the singularity itself just wanted a cameo. ๐Ÿ“ฑ๐Ÿ‘ป

These days, every app I open is a Russian doll of Settings menus; settings for the settings for the settings.
I spend more time hunting for privacy toggles ๐Ÿ•ต๏ธ than I do scrubbing cat crimes. ๐Ÿงฝ
At this point Iโ€™m convinced the digital labyrinth and the litter box are training simulations for the same final boss.


The cat yawns. I breathe through my mouth. Somewhere between the catโ€™s bladder, the mountain, and Kristi Noem’s oblivious understanding of language (anti = not), and the administration’s shameless airport propaganda strategy, I realize: the singularity isnโ€™t coming; itโ€™s already here, and it smells vaguely like ammonia and fascism.

And I guess, we here at SSIOL are meant to just document the absurdity, one satirical dispatch at a time, trying to keep the litter and the smell of corruption, both literal and metaphorical, from overtaking the timeline. โŒ›

Good morning, world.
โ˜•๐Ÿ˜ตโ€๐Ÿ’ซ๐Ÿพ Front-line journalism from the kitchen floor?


๐Ÿงพ Source Material

Dispatch by Cassandra Speaks w/ G
AI-Enhanced Authorship: Acknowledged

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