Welcome, soft idiot. You’ve been issued a Human Body, the most fragile, overpromised, poorly updated model in the known universe. It arrives preloaded with ten to fourteen irrational fears, a vague longing for something you can’t name, and knees made of soup.
Please review the following terms and conditions. You agreed to all of them by being born without asking.
SECTION 1: BASIC OPERATIONS
To operate your Human Body, please consult no one. Everyone is making it up. Even the experts are crying in public bathrooms. That said, here’s a brief guide:
- To walk: Shift your weight and hope.
- To speak: Open your mouth. Regret everything.
- To cry: Happens automatically when watching underdog sports movies or looking at your own reflection too long in a subway window.
- To love: Apply pressure directly to the wound. Repeat until numb or until the object of affection becomes unavailable, indifferent, or worse—sincere.
WARNING: Excessive self-awareness may void your warranty.


