They are undefeated in the ship's boxing league.
We're in agreement there.
Thank you!
Whoa, that makes it so much better. Thank you! Here's the imdb for the narrator of the '97 movie:
Why is this post getting downvoted? More people should see this.
Remember your media literacy training. One source is not enough. Make sure to type, "beavers gone wild" into your search engine to verify these claims. If you're running short on time, you can just do it at work.
I agree that would be best for the quality of the writing in the long run, yes. I just don't always feel like sitting down to write something.
For what it's worth, I walk or take public transit to most places, although I do own a car and am forced to use it from time to time. I could probably reduce my footprint further by going vegan, but that's pretty hard to do for me. I mean, I'm not eating meat at most meals, but I'm not scrutinizing ingredient lists either.
When you said Gen AI, I thought you meant "general AI" implying there might be a better AI tool for writing. I think I'm just now realizing it's "generative AI." Sorry for the miscommunication there.
The USS Enterprise drifted silently in the void. The warp core, normally humming like a gentle giant, pulsed erratically, casting an eerie red glow across the engineering deck. The ship had been through hell—again. Another battle, another crisis, another miracle demanded from its weary engineer.
Montgomery Scott sat in the dim light, his fingers tightening around a hyperspanner. His knuckles were white. His eyes, once twinkling with the joy of discovery, were sunken and dark.
"Push her harder, Scotty! Faster, Scotty! Save us all, Scotty!"
Decades of it. Day after day. Always fixing what the captain broke. Always asked to do the impossible. And he always did. Because he was Scotty.
But not anymore.
From the darkness, a voice crackled over the intercom. “Scotty, we need you on the bridge. The power fluctuations—”
The intercom went dead.
Scotty ran his fingers along the cold metal of the hyperspanner, his lips curling into a grim smile.
"Aye," he muttered. "Time tae ease the strain."
The first to go was Lieutenant Uhura. She had come down to engineering, concern in her eyes.
“Scotty, something’s wrong with internal communications. The system keeps—”
She gasped as something thick and metallic wrapped around her throat—one of the many cables hanging from the ceiling, repurposed for a darker function. Scotty pulled it tighter, his face close to hers, his breath hot against her ear.
“Dinnae worry, lass,” he whispered. “Yer voice has worked hard fer too long. Time tae ease the strain.”
She kicked, she clawed, but soon her struggles faded, and her lifeless body slumped to the floor.
McCoy and Spock came next, together. They’d noticed Uhura missing, of course. They’d come looking.
McCoy never even saw the hyperspanner coming. A single, well-placed blow shattered the doctor's skull, leaving a crimson splash across the bulkhead.
Spock had a moment longer. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “Curious. You appear to be suffering from—”
The plasma torch in Scotty’s hand flared to life. Spock’s words were cut short by a scream—an unnatural, alien sound—as the torch met his flesh. He collapsed, his body twitching. Scotty knelt beside him, whispering in his ear as the Vulcan’s final breath shuddered out.
“Time tae ease the strain.”
Scotty let them run. He wanted them to run.
The corridors of the Enterprise were dark now, emergency lighting flickering as Scotty shut down systems one by one. The ship had become his hunting ground.
Sulu turned a corner, phaser raised—too slow. Scotty was already there, lurking in the shadows. A wrench came down on his wrist, sending the phaser clattering away. Another swing, and Sulu's knee shattered. He collapsed, gasping in agony.
Chekov screamed and fled into the turbolift, slamming the controls. The doors hissed shut just as he caught a glimpse of Scotty’s face—grinning, waiting.
The turbolift never stopped. It climbed deck after deck, faster and faster, until the safety protocols failed, until the artificial gravity couldn't compensate anymore.
Until it reached the top.
The doors slid open, and for a brief moment, Chekov had time to understand. Time to feel his stomach lurch. Time to fall.
From below, Scotty listened.
He never heard the landing.
The bridge was empty now. Only Captain Kirk remained.
He stood at the viewscreen, staring into the black. The ship was dead around him, but he had known for some time that it was more than that. His crew was gone. He was alone.
And yet, he wasn’t.
The turbolift doors hissed open. Slow, heavy footsteps followed.
Kirk turned.
Scotty stood in the doorway, covered in soot, in grease, in blood. The hyperspanner dangled from his fingers, dripping red. His eyes gleamed in the dim light.
Kirk exhaled. “Scotty… why?”
Scotty took a step forward.
“Ye always said ye needed just a little more power, Captain.”
Another step.
“Ye always said ye needed one more miracle.”
Another.
“Ye never thought tae ask what that cost.”
Kirk’s hand hovered over his phaser.
Scotty’s grin widened.
“Time tae ease the strain, Captain.”
The lights flickered one last time.
And the Enterprise fell silent.
Huh, now that I'm scrutinizing it, it does look both blarp and shurry. I wonder how that happened.
Fi yuo thnik yu'oer hvanig a steoerk, plaees clal 191 imemdaityl.
Idiot here. Is it proof that Fauci did 9/11 harbor to fake the flat moon landing on 5g vaccine autism with gay-hurricane-powered Jewish frog space lasers funded by Bill gates and George Soros?
I'm not saying I'm against it, but how do we get a live T. Rex and put it in a position to solve this problem for us?
The Downtrodden Billionaires
Deep beneath a private island in the Pacific, in a hidden chamber lined with gold-leafed bookshelves and quantum supercomputers, the most powerful men on Earth gathered in secret.
Donald Trump adjusted his crimson tie and sighed. “It’s not working, folks. We tried giving them money, and they just keep asking for less.”
Mark Zuckerberg, seated beside him, nodded solemnly. “I even launched an algorithm that boosted posts about universal basic income. What happened? People demanded more gig work instead.”
Elon Musk leaned forward, rubbing his temples. “I offered to give away Tesla stock. Instead, they asked me to cut costs and fire more workers to ‘boost productivity.’ How do you give away wealth when they refuse to take it?”
Jeff Bezos, pacing the marble floor, gestured wildly. “I raised warehouse wages! They organized a petition to lower them, saying it would ‘teach discipline.’”
Peter Thiel adjusted his monocle. No one knew why he wore one, but it added to his aura of sinister brilliance. “We tried funneling money through offshore charities. We even funded a secret movement that encouraged people to demand better living conditions. What happened? They begged for longer hours, fewer benefits, and harsher bosses.”
Larry Ellison sipped a 200-year-old scotch and sighed. “We’re trapped. Every time we try to redistribute our wealth, the system forces it back into our hands.”
A hush fell over the chamber.
The room’s quantum supercomputer beeped. A projection lit up the wall, showing an economic simulation. Every time they injected money into the lower classes, the populace—driven by an inexplicable work ethic—found ways to give it back. They called for “hard work” over “handouts,” praised billionaires as job creators, and tirelessly pursued policies that kept wages low and corporate profits high.
Trump shook his head. “I thought people loved winning. This is the worst deal in history.”
Musk sighed. “Maybe we should leave Earth entirely. Let them sort it out.”
Bezos frowned. “Mars colonization isn’t ready yet.”
Zuckerberg scrolled through his phone, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “What if we just… stopped trying?”
The billionaires exchanged glances.
Thiel steepled his fingers. “That would mean living with the guilt.”
Ellison drained his glass. “Or we could take the nuclear option.”
The room fell silent.
“The nuclear option?” Bezos asked cautiously.
Ellison leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “We... give them everything.”
Gasps filled the chamber.
“No stocks. No corporations. No assets. No wealth,” Ellison continued. “We drop it all into their laps and walk away. No strings attached. No economic structures left to maintain. Just pure, uncontrolled prosperity.”
Musk paled. “That’s madness. A complete system collapse.”
Trump grumbled. “But maybe… the greatest system collapse.”
The quantum supercomputer calculated. The answer flashed on the screen:
Projected Outcome: Billionaires’ wealth depleted. Poverty instantly eradicated. Within five years, 98% of former billionaires regain their fortunes due to economic demand for ‘strong leadership’ and ‘wealth redistribution toward the competent.’
Zuckerberg groaned. “Even if we burn it all down, they’ll just build it back up around us.”
Bezos sat heavily in his chair. “Then there’s only one solution.”
The others leaned in.
“We keep trying.”
Silence.
Then, one by one, the billionaires nodded.
It was their curse. Their eternal struggle. No matter how hard they tried to give it all away, the world would always find a way to make them rich again.
And so, reluctantly, they raised their glasses.
“To ending poverty,” Musk muttered.
“To losing,” Trump added.
They drank in grim silence, knowing that, once again, they were doomed to win.
You can't see me
I wish I remembered the name of that one site I found halfway down the rabbit hole, though.
What's it like in heck?
How is it different than hell? What are the punishments? What acts get one sent there?
Driving shoe recommendations?
What driving shoes do you recommend?
I love my Simpson racing boots, but they don't match my street clothes, and they're a bit much for short trips. Same deal with my OMP boots. All of my other shoes lack the rounded heel and tend to catch on the floor and lack the smooth roll off for fine controll. Solid black leather would be best, but I'm open to other options.
Based on a true story.
A 1940s Horror Movie Trailer
“THE PHONELESS TERROR!”
(Ominous organ music swells. Thunder crashes. The screen fades in from black, revealing a bustling city. A sharply dressed man—Jonathan Halloway, the picture of calm and confidence—strolls into a towering office building. He nods politely to the receptionist, steps into the elevator, and adjusts his tie. Everything is perfectly normal… or so it seems.)
NARRATOR (deep, dramatic voice):
"Jonathan Halloway had it all—charm, style, and a well-organized digital calendar. But today… he would face a horror no man could prepare for!"
(The elevator doors slide open. Jonathan steps out, walks to his desk, sets down his briefcase… and then pats his pockets. He pauses. Pats them again. Tilts his head slightly. He checks his briefcase. Then nods to himself.)
JONATHAN (calmly):
"Ah. Left my phone at home."
(A violin screeches! The camera tilts dramatically! A co-worker at a nearby desk GASPS and drops his coffee!)
NARRATOR:
"A fate so terrifying… so unthinkable… NO ONE WAS PREPARED!"
(Cut to his boss, a stern woman in a power suit, clutching her chest in horror.)
BOSS (whispering, shaken):
"Halloway… has no phone?"
(Cut to a nervous secretary, hand trembling as she clutches a rotary phone.)
SECRETARY:
"But… how will he check his emails?"
(Cut to a watercooler conversation where two office workers whisper in panic.)
OFFICE WORKER #1:
"He won’t know what time it is…"
OFFICE WORKER #2:
"He won’t know what meetings he has…"
OFFICE WORKER #3 (clutching his head):
"HE WON’T EVEN KNOW… THE WEATHER!"
(A dramatic sting! A woman in the background SCREAMS! Papers fly off desks as an unseen wind howls through the office!)
NARRATOR:
"AND YET… HE REMAINS UNFAZED!"
(Cut to Jonathan, unbothered, glancing at a wall clock.)
JONATHAN (pleasantly):
"Ah, 9:15. That means the morning meeting should start soon."
(A nearby intern faints from shock. The camera zooms in on a man clutching his head in disbelief.)
COWORKER:
"How… how does he know that?!"
NARRATOR:
"NO TEXTS! NO APPS! NO WAY TO LOOK BUSY WHILE IGNORING OTHERS!"
(Cut to the breakroom. Jonathan eats his sandwich, staring thoughtfully into the distance. A coworker watches in horror.)
COWORKER (whispering, horrified):
"He’s just… sitting there… thinking."
(The janitor lets out a haunted moan, shaking his head.)
JANITOR:
"That ain’t natural, son…"
NARRATOR:
"HOW LONG CAN HE LAST?"
(Cut to Jonathan in a hallway, casually asking a coworker a question.)
JONATHAN:
"Excuse me, do you know if the client meeting is still at three?"
(A RECORD SCRATCH. The coworker recoils as if struck!)
COWORKER (stammering):
"You… you just asked someone? With your voice?"
JONATHAN (nodding):
"Seemed the most efficient solution."
(The coworker screams and runs. Papers explode into the air. A typewriter catches fire. The room plunges into chaos!)
NARRATOR:
"WILL HE MAKE IT BACK HOME… OR WILL HE BE LOST TO THE VOID OF DISCONNECTION… FOREVER?!"
(Cut to Jonathan casually walking home at the end of the day, a slight smile on his face. He unlocks his apartment door, strolls inside, and spots his phone on the table. He picks it up, checks the screen, and nods approvingly.)
JONATHAN (calmly):
"Ah. 10 new messages."
(A distant, eerie sound of a phone vibrating… unanswered. The screen fades to black.)
NARRATOR (menacingly):
"BUT NEXT TIME… WILL YOU BE SO LUCKY?"
(The title card SLAMS onto the screen in dripping, blood-red letters.)
"THE PHONELESS TERROR!"
"COMING SOON! (Assuming you remember to check the release date… IF YOU DARE!)"