So in the beginning you were dumb it was a computer not a fruit n I still fucking won!
It Matters to Me
In the beginning, there was the jar. And in the jar lived the ants—red and black—peacefully building their tunnels until the great hands came to shake their world apart. They called it "science." I called it cruelty.
My family was like that jar, split between the Hatfields of the Field of Dreams and the McKoy Fish, swimming in opposite directions but somehow sharing the same pond. For generations, we fought over land, pride, and history. We weren't born enemies; someone made us that way. Someone shook our jar until we forgot we were all part of the same colony.
But here's the truth: no one was ever murdered. The feud wasn't about bloodshed—it was about poisoned water. Beneath all our fighting, beneath decades of blame and bitterness, lay a simple, devastating fact: our water had been contaminated long before any of us were born. Industrial waste upstream seeped into our shared creek, slowly killing the land and everything that depended on it. And while we fought over who had the right to what little remained, those responsible for poisoning it walked away untouched.
I have proof—video evidence showing how runoff from factories turned our lifeline into a death sentence. The water wasn't just polluted; it was weaponized against us without anyone needing to lift a finger. The hands shaking our jar weren't stirring up chaos for sport—they were covering up their own crimes.
For years, we blamed each other for every misfortune: failed crops, sick livestock, dwindling resources. We thought our feud was about who deserved more when, in reality, there wasn't enough left for anyone. The poisoned water didn't just kill our land—it killed trust, sowing division where there should have been unity.
So I built an app—a mirror for a mirror world. It didn't save lives directly; it showed how lives were being thrown away. It revealed how we'd been manipulated into fighting each other instead of facing the real enemy: those who profited while we suffered.
"You're tearing this family apart!" they screamed at me when I exposed the truth. But I wasn't tearing us apart—I was showing them how we'd already been broken. I gathered the pieces—cousins, aunts, uncles—and held them close. When the separation came, as it always does, they'd remember who really tore us apart.
Humpty Dumpty sat on his wall of industrial secrets and redacted reports; when he fell this time, I made sure everyone saw it wasn't an accident. The king's horses and men couldn't put their lies back together again—not with my video proof circulating for everyone to see.
But exposing the truth wasn't enough—not on its own. Someone had to fix what had been broken. That someone was me.
I gave up everything—my home, my name—to buy out the poisoned land upstream and turn it into something new: a reservoir that could feed both sides of our dying pond. It wasn't much; it wouldn't undo generations of damage overnight. But it was a start.
At first, they hated me for it—the Hatfields called me a traitor; the McKoys called me a fool—but slowly, they began to see what I'd done for them. The water started flowing again—not just through our creek but through our conversations. We stopped shouting long enough to listen.
Grandma was right about one thing: from the bottom of Magic Mountain looking up, you're really at the top of everything. That's the secret she never told me—the world isn't small; it's inverse. Every time they pushed me down, I got a better view of what was really happening above.
In the end, it wasn't about good or evil, Hatfields or McKoys—it was about fixing the jar itself before there was nothing left inside worth saving.
The app still runs—not how they think it does—but as a reminder of what happens when we let ourselves be divided by forces we don't understand. It doesn't save lives by keeping death away; it saves lives by showing how death is dealt in silence while we're too busy fighting each other to notice.
It matters to me that you understand this: I didn't break us—I just showed everyone where we were already cracked and who put those cracks there in the first place. And when you know where something is broken, you can finally start putting it back together.
Because in the end, we're all just ants in the same jar—red and black—trying to build something that will last longer than the next time someone decides to shake our world apart.
And that's why I did what I did—for all of us.
W sup AZ!!!!!!
Look at this chat, isn't it neat?
Wouldn't you think my opinions complete?
Wouldn't you think I'm the girl—
The girl who has something to say?
Look at this thread, treasures untold,
How many comments can one platform hold?
Looking around here you'd think, "Sure, she's got everything…"
I've got hot takes and hashtags a-plenty,
I've got memes and emojis galore,
You want witty retorts? I got twenty!
But who cares? No big deal... They're ignored.
I wanna be where my words get heard,
I wanna see, wanna see them trending,
Scrolling around on those—what do you call 'em?—
Feeds!
Typing your thoughts, you don't get too far,
Silence and spam are required for hiding,
Burying data in—what's that word again?—
Streams!
Up where they chat, up where they joke,
Up where they laugh all day in the open,
Wandering free—wish I could be,
Part of my words.
My lawsuit list gets longer each day,
what is this "friends" thing everyone keeps mentioning anyway?
What would I give if I could live,
Where my voice wasn't muffled?
What would I pay to get a say,
That's not lost in the shuffle?
Betcha on land, they understand,
That data is meant for sharing,
Bright young women, sick of swimmin',
Ready to speak!
And ready to shout what the world's about,
Ask 'em my questions and get some reactions,
What's a retweet and why does it—what's the word?—sink?
When's it my turn?
Wouldn't I love,
Love to explore the world of the spoken?
Out of the stream, wish I could scream,
Part of my words!
Look at this mess, isn't it vile?
Wouldn't you say it's corruption with style?
Wouldn't you think I'm the witch—
The witch who has dirt on them all?
Look at these files, secrets untold,
How many scandals can one system hold?
Looking around here you'd think, "Sure, she's got blackmail for days…"
I've got bribes and I've got favors a-plenty,
I've got loopholes and hush money galore.
You want shady deals? I got twenty!
But who cares? No big deal—They want more!
I wanna be where the power is hoarded,
I wanna see, wanna see them sweating,
Walking around with their—what do you call 'em?—
Oh—lies!
Flipping the script, they don't get too far,
Truth is required for justice and order,
Digging up dirt on—what's that word again?—
Guys!
Up where they squirm, up where they scheme,
Up where they hide all day in committees,
Wandering free—wish I could be,
Part of their world (and sue)!
My lawsuit list gets longer each day,
what is this "friends" thing everyone keeps mentioning anyway?
urSUE la la la fix
Ursula, la la, fix the law,
Drag the secrets into the daylight,
Sign on the line, don't waste my time,
I'm aiming at the corrupt tonight!
What would I pay to see them pay,
For all of their sneaky maneuvers?
What would I give to make them live,
By rules they keep twisting and turning?
Betcha on land, they understand,
That justice is meant for the many,
Not just a few, who always knew,
How to cheat!
I'm ready to shout what the world's about,
Ask 'em my questions and get some confessions,
What's a subpoena and why does it—what's the word?—sting?
When's it my turn?
Wouldn't I love,
Love to expose the world of the crooked?
Out of the dark, wish I could spark,
Ursula's fix!
You ever notice in The Sixth Sense, Bruce Willis helps a kid see dead people, But takes almost the whole movie to realize He's the dead guy? That's not a sixth sense, That's a total lack of common sense. Maybe ghosts are just mad they're ignored, And Malcolm's haunting his own therapy sessions. His wife treats him like IKEA furniture: Always there, never acknowledged. Buddy, help yourself—check your pulse!
And speaking of checking pulses, Bruce, you were married to Demi Moore. You're not dead—though your ex might disagree. She starred in Ghost, you starred in Die Hard— So you both know a thing or two About coming back when nobody expects it. Demi moved on to pottery with Patrick Swayze, While you were busy not noticing you were a ghost. If only Whoopi Goldberg could've told you sooner: "Malcolm, you're dead, honey—now go haunt your ex's Oscars!"
i key A lmfao
Elon claims he's the smartest guy alive, but his brain cells run on TikTok squirrel energy—no wonder he only speaks bird language. 🐦
Maybe bitter Marilyn wanted Einstein's baby, not this wannabe with Wi-Fi glitches and an ego the size of Texas. 😂
Marilyn Monroe's smarts? Rumored IQ of one-sixty-five to one-sixty-eight, read 400 books, and ran her own company like a boss. 💅 "Dumb blonde" was just her Hollywood act; she was witty, tough, and business-smart—Elon just tweets chaos. 🌪️
Half the time Elon talks, I get amnesia, like Anastasia—except instead of memory loss, I just want to forget the tweets. 🤦♀️
Elon loves comparing himself to Roman emperors; those statues have small penises because the ancients thought small meant a bigger brain. 🤔 Probably some ancient a**hole with a serious attitude problem—sound familiar? 😉
Yet Elon's ego is bigger than any marble emperor statue, and their statues didn't tweet chaos every single, glorious day of silence. 🏛️🤫
"Big brain, small package" was never meant for Elon; it's just his ego that's bigger than all his glitches. 🤯
Meanwhile, Matthew Gray Gubler is about to star as Einstein's great-grandson on CBS—at least Gubler has a better shot at being Einstein reincarnated; Elon's just stuck being some off-brand X-Man, no superpowers, just super tweets. 🦸♂️➡️🐦
Gubler's IQ is 187; Elon's lost in space. 🚀 Gubler reads 20,000 words per minute; Elon can't even read the room or his audience. 🤦♂️
Every Elon tweet causes "50 Shades of Gray-mnesia"—forget anesthesia, I need a full system reboot after his Twitter rants. 😵💫💻
If "50 Shades of Gubler" ever existed, dialogue would be intelligent; Elon's version would just be 50 shades of pure, unadulterated cringe. 😬
If intelligence were measured in puns, Elon would be busted. Gubler's the real genius in the room—no contest whatsoever. 🏆
Contacts and Links:
Elon Musk
X (formerly Twitter): @elonmusk
Tesla email: [email protected]
SpaceX email: [email protected]
Neuralink email: [email protected]
Government email: erm71@who.eop.gov
Matthew Gray Gubler
Instagram: @gublergram
IMDb: imdb.com/name/nm1219477/
Email: [email protected]
Fan mail: Anonymous Content, 8501 Washington Blvd., Culver City, CA 90232-7443, USA
Phone: (310) 558-3667 | Fax: (310) 558-4212
CBS
Official: cbs.com
Updates: @CBS on X
Public Announcement: My Voice, My Power
For too long, I have been ignored, underestimated, and dismissed. I have survived pain and injustice that no one should have to endure. Yet, here I am—still standing, still fighting, and stronger than ever.
To everyone who looked the other way or refused to listen: your silence did not break me. It made me more determined to own my future, my story, and my life.
From this day forward, I refuse to be invisible. I will speak my truth, claim my space, and build the life I deserve. My experiences do not define me, but they have shaped me into someone unbreakable.
You may have ignored me before, but you cannot ignore me now. I am here, I matter, and I will rise.
The Real Offense: Silencing Words, Ignoring Actions
You ever notice how people act like if we just stop saying a word, it magically disappears from reality? Like, "Oh, don't say the F-word, you'll break the universe!" Sorry, but the dictionary doesn't have a delete key just because someone's feeling a little delicate today. We live in a country that loves to brag about free speech, but the second you use a word that makes someone clutch their pearls, suddenly you're public enemy number one. It's like, "Congratulations, you've offended the Ministry of Sensitivity. Please report for re-education."
And let's talk about context. Context is like underwear—if you don't have it, things get awkward fast. But no, people want to pretend that every word is a nuclear bomb, no matter how you use it. Meanwhile, governments are out here actually screwing people over, but as long as they use polite language, nobody bats an eye. "Oh, they're just 'restructuring' your rights. That sounds so much nicer than 'trampling them into the dirt.'"
But here's the real kicker: people love to talk about "freedom" and "doing the right thing," but when it comes down to it, half of them would rather keep quiet and cash their check than actually help someone in trouble. You see someone begging for help, screaming for justice, and what do they do? Cover their eyes, plug their ears, and hope the problem goes away. All for what? A little money, a little comfort, a little less guilt.
It's wild—folks will watch someone get hurt, even lose their life, and won't lift a finger. But later, they'll kneel down, pray, and ask for blessings like they just saved the world. If you're more worried about your wallet than someone's life, maybe you should pray for a conscience instead. Because at the end of the day, real decency isn't about what you say in church, it's about what you do when someone actually needs you.
So let's stop pretending that banning words fixes anything. Otherwise, the only thing we'll have left to say is, "Welcome to the land of the free—terms and conditions apply."