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Created
Sat, 10/01/2026 - 05:38

1. The Silent Convulsion
The gold standard. A violent bodily shudder contained entirely within the torso. No noise or spray. Just a brief, grimace-induced aneurysm. You are a person of discipline. You would do well in a gulag.

2. The Double
One to loosen the debris, one to eject it. It follows a logical arc. You pay your taxes. You rotate your tires. You are boring, but you are necessary.

3. The Triple
You are now demanding attention. The first “bless you” was a reflex; the second was a courtesy; the third is wearing on our patience. You are the equivalent of an unskippable YouTube ad.

4. The Pixie Squeak
You suppress the vocalization until it sounds like a mouse being stepped on by a stiletto heel. You think this makes you dainty. It actually makes you sound like you are performing a mating call for a very specific, perverted demographic of anime fans. Stop infantilizing your mucus membranes.

Created
Sat, 10/01/2026 - 00:00

How do I live longer?
Stress is a leading cause of early death. Avoid stress by spending every single day thinking about what you need to do to not die. If that doesn’t work, try meditation. Close your eyes, take deep breaths, and remember that each second of meditation is a battle in the war on Father Time. Good luck, soldier.

How important is sleep?
Nothing is more important than a good night’s sleep. So-called “friends” will invite you out for long nights of drinks, dancing, and “companionship.” Recognize this danger and return to your cryochamber.

So what’s a good sleep schedule?
Wake up at 4:30 a.m., no exceptions. The smug satisfaction of telling everyone you wake up at 4:30 a.m. will power you for at least one hundred years.

What’s your best biohacking tip?
Research shows nasal breathing is healthier than mouth breathing. Duct tape your mouth shut and only breathe through your nose. When someone asks if you’re being held hostage, blink twice to let them know you heard about this on a podcast.

Created
Fri, 09/01/2026 - 20:02

I remember my disappointment boarding a Greyhound bus for the first time in the mid-eighties. I had inherited a vague mythology of epic journeys and vistas, artists escaping small-town America — Warhol, Dylan — and a very English, self-deprecating assumption that a Greyhound had to be bigger, shinier, and swifter than a National Express coach. […]