Tell me about it! A wise man (me, last Tuesday, while being escorted out of a Chuck's for "conduct unbecoming of a bipedal organism") once said, "If you stare long enough into the first core, it begins to sweat something that voids the warranty and possibly your bladder." Today it is this. Hi I'm Krebs Gorlon and I'm currently a temporary night shift supervisor at a factory that appears to exist solely to injure us. Some poor soul asked management what our product was and was reassigned to the crusher pit, which is where they put people who ask questions, which is why I don't ask questions just consume product and then get excited for next products. Through means I can only assume involved a clerical error in the Department of Sadness, a pink JIGGLER™ tracked me down and commissioned me to prepare a legally ambiguous summary of an experiment that makes me want to pre-sign my own incident report in a Sharpie that ran out halfway through my name: Kreb. Another poor soul with too much time decided to take clips of these three Milwaukee circus gargoyles Mike, Jay, and Rich "Code Brown" Evans, who wore three diapers for this video because he was experiencing what his gastroenterologist calls "pre-traumatic stress diarrhea", and duct tape them into harmony with that trench-coated Matrix-reject and Kelso Grumbler in "Money Plane", which I watched on Tubi while eating a Taco Bell Crunchwrap Supreme, which my doctor calls "the wrapper of regret" and which I call "lunch". The background noise may in fact be the most offensive part. I played it near a hazard cluster and it hesitated. I made the mistake of letting one of the factory cats experience it, and now the cat speaks. It says only my name, and it says it like an accusation. HR says it "self-terminated". We reused its litter box to hold my daily pills, which is several things crushed together, which I call "lunch", which is not accurate but which is what I call things, which is how I maintain what my doctor calls "a blood alcohol level that would kill a lesser man", which is why I am not a lesser man, I am Krebs Gorlon. But what is this really? Rich Evans travels vast distances in his cube while the Grand Council of Interdimensional Morons™ plays unfitting music? Is it a digital reconstruction of Mike's deteriorating liver, which I have seen, it looks like a map of a river system from Hell, all swollen and angry like it owes money, or a depiction of Jay's soul split into three, which is impressive since it implies not only does Jay have one, but he had a semblance of personality that isn't mostly spent on looking tired in a way that suggests cinema did this to him? The answer is none. The question was also none... One person's inanities are another's great works. I type this while a forklift backs over a crate labeled "Do Not Back Over". The crate contains what I can only assume is more copies of this video, which is less than three years old, which in internet years is basically the Cretaceous period. Time has moved forward. My hairline has not. Rich Evans' diaper count has. That, I am told, is what they call a YouTube Poop Music Vadio. From my extremely reluctant research, a YouTube Poop is a sh*tstain on the silk underwear of the internet, seen only when the light hits it wrong and impossible to fully explain to your parents. I am told, in the subspecies of this disease, that the numbers begin to stack like sandbags if you pair the correct music to the correct face. The stink is interchangeable. The flood is not. There are factions. Worse practices. Some preach the easy laugh. Others swear by the deep cut. Both speak as if the future hinges on editing ethics (they're getting stoned AND using iMoopie) and whether or not snare is fake? But the numbers do not care. Point the camera toward MrBeast's gravitational field and the views arrive whether you tried or not, which is why I have started a channel where I simply point a camera at a wall and scream "SUBSCRIBE" until I pass out, which is not a call to action as defined by the Federal Trade Commission, which I learned about from a letter I did not open. The lights flicker as I finish this report. When the power grids fail and the servers go dark, archaeologists will dig through the rubble, find this video, and they will play it. The mechanism will hesitate again, and that will be how they know why we all died. Rich Evans is crying right now, into his diaper, which is full of human eggs, which he laid, which is not how biology works, which is why he is crying. Please enjoy this #ytpmv or whatever string of letters you are using, which I will forget, which I have already forgotten, which is when I still had hope, which was a Teusday, which is unrelated, or possibly related, I no longer know the difference. I have to go. The walls are sweating again. download link: https://file.garden/Zp6lvuAeqTJ1hsEe/ytpmv/public/LOL.wav BGM: Space Cube - Session no bgm: _switch audio track to "Afar" in player settings_