This is not a “blog”.
It’s a cultural biopsy. It’s a long-form death spiral into nostalgia-as-grief branding. It’s a meme-coded brain rot engine for ephemeral digital hysteria.
Dreamt up during a post-Gigli fugue state, this is a manifesto for emoji-based crisis response, starting conversations with “Hey, quick thing—” then devolving into existential collapse, and the divine semi-permanence of Paris Hilton’s mugshot.
It’s for people who think too hard, feel too weird, and yell at the internet like jealous, drunken boyfriends.
BUT MAKE IT CHAOS.
“All meaning is just absence disguised as presence—or, in simpler terms, every movie franchise eventually becomes fucking Minions.”
I was raised on reruns, mid-tier mall food, and one regrettable summer ranking every VH1 Behind The Music episode.
If you want credentials: I don’t have them. Unless you count getting kicked out of three discussion boards for overexplaining Degrassi, live-commenting a Criterion Channel trial like it was Twitch, or treating a Mortal Kombat strategy guide like scripture.
I’ve been semi-professionally overthinking pop culture since the first time my elementary school teachers called me “too much” and I thought, “Actually, that sounds right.”
A former gifted child now suffering from praise-based motivation brain damage, I have live-tweeted a public meltdown that caused a support group to collapse by equating generational trauma to the disbanding of My Chemical Romance.
I once was kicked out of a panel discussion for continuing to refer to Shrek as “an American allegory” and was soft-blocked by a mutual for comparing a Real Housewives feud to the Peloponnesian War.
I’ve been a participant in one very intense Buffy rewatch server and two [very] different cult leaders (one spiritual, one retail).
I don’t believe in “guilty pleasures”, “doing the work”, or letting things slide.