The Last to Comment Wins
- Thread starter mrsimple
- Start date
DonHon
Cat enthusiast
- Joined
- Aug 21, 2022
- Messages
- 224
- Points
- 133
That is truly beautiful
Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
- Joined
- Mar 22, 2023
- Messages
- 1,843
- Points
- 153
?
JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
- Joined
- Jul 31, 2024
- Messages
- 1,711
- Points
- 128
CHEEEEEEEEEEEESE!
Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
- Joined
- Mar 22, 2023
- Messages
- 1,843
- Points
- 153
?
Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
- Joined
- Mar 22, 2023
- Messages
- 1,843
- Points
- 153
?
JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
- Joined
- Jul 31, 2024
- Messages
- 1,711
- Points
- 128
Tempokai
The Overworked One
- Joined
- Nov 16, 2021
- Messages
- 1,396
- Points
- 153
maybe the real moo were the overtimes we did along the way
JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
- Joined
- Jul 31, 2024
- Messages
- 1,711
- Points
- 128
It's time and a half, so you'll need a server farm just to store all the bit coin flowing into your account. lol jk
Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
- Joined
- Mar 22, 2023
- Messages
- 1,843
- Points
- 153
Tempokai
The Overworked One
- Joined
- Nov 16, 2021
- Messages
- 1,396
- Points
- 153
Ah, democracy: that shining beacon of collective madness disguised as reason. It was the abstract ideal that made men brave, politicians rich, and Mike Ardmore... remarkably functional.
Our story begins with Mike at the tender age of 18—an age when most are busy trying to locate their dignity after vomiting on their sneakers at a frat party. Not Mike. No, Mike was deep in the belly of a psychotic episode, the kind that really makes a man. One moment he was studying constitutional law, the next he was arguing with Thomas Jefferson in the campus library over the interpretation of the Necessary and Proper Clause.
To be clear, Jefferson was not there. Not physically. But in Mike's mind, Tommy-boy had taken up permanent residence next to a snarky British MP named Harold Wensley-Mott and a Venezuelan revolutionary named Rosa del Fuego, who kept trying to nationalize his thoughts.
It was during the 72-hour caffeine-fueled psychosis crescendo, somewhere between outlining the supremacy clause and chewing on a copy of The Federalist Papers, that Mike had what professionals call a “break from reality,” but what Mike would later call “The Great Constitutional Convention of the Mind.”
The Rise of the President of Mike
Mike Ardmore’s main personality, the core identity clinging desperately to the sinking life raft of reason, took a long hard look at the chaos within. There were voices—oh yes—far too many voices. Some screamed. Some whispered. One just wept softly and continuously like a Victorian child abandoned in the fog.
And in a moment of unprecedented lucidity, Mike stood up on the stage of his inner mind—the grand hall of his cerebellum, adorned with velvet banners of cortical conviction—and proclaimed:
"Enough! You insufferable echoing bastards! If you want me to keep listening to you, you're going to have to form a parliament. A proper one. Bicameral. Legislative procedure. Majority votes. I am your President-for-Life, and this is now a goddamned democracy!"
And lo, like Moses delivering a schizophrenic Ten Commandments unto Mount Delusion, he laid down the law.
The Formation of the Internal Government
From the chaos of unfiltered psychosis emerged the Mindspace Parliament, an institution that would’ve made the UN blush with its inefficiency and drama.
There was the Lower House, composed mostly of loud, unruly voices that specialized in interrupting Mike during exams and suggesting that squirrels were watching him from the bushes. These were the everyday, run-of-the-mill hallucinations, constantly proposing absurd legislation like “Mike should walk barefoot on broken glass” or “Let’s mail an envelope full of hair to the president.”
Then came the Upper House, an aristocratic clique of refined delusions. They quoted Nietzsche out of context, spoke in riddles, and insisted on wearing powdered wigs. Their favorite hobby was vetoing everything the Lower House passed, purely out of spite and because, quite frankly, it amused them.
And overseeing them all was Mike, The President of Mike. A dictator by necessity, a constitutional monarch by aesthetic, and a mental health miracle by sheer irony.
Legislative Sessions of Madness
Each day began with roll call. No, really. Inside Mike’s skull, at approximately 8:00 AM sharp, a session was called to order. A mental gavelling would echo through his mind as the Clerk (a hallucinated badger in a suit, for some reason) read out names:
“Harold Wensley-Mott?”
“Present and fully caffeinated.”
“Rosa del Fuego?”
“The revolution does not sleep.”
“Gerald the Whispering Accountant?”
“…yeeeesssss…”
Motions were presented. For example:
But the genius of Mike’s internal structure lay in negotiation. See, by forcing the voices to squabble among themselves, Mike managed to distance himself from their content. They were no longer intrusive commands—no, they were policies. And policies needed debate. Consensus. Compromise.
Democracy, it turned out, was the best thing to ever happen to psychosis.
Mental Health Professionals and Other Hilarious Observers
When Mike eventually went to therapy, he explained his system to the psychiatrist with the calm authority of a man explaining how he rearranged the furniture inside his hurricane.
At first, they considered hospitalization. But then… Mike passed his law exams. He held a job. He filed taxes on time—something two-thirds of sane America fails to do. And most importantly, he no longer followed every voice he heard—he only followed those that made it through both houses of parliament with a majority vote and presidential assent.
His therapist called it “an adaptive delusional framework.” Mike called it constitutional sanity.
State of the Mind Address
Every year on the anniversary of his first breakdown—affectionately dubbed Mental Independence Day—Mike gave a “State of the Mind” speech in his inner chamber, broadcast live to every mental representative.
He'd stand on the podium in front of a union of ideologically-opposed figments of his imagination and declare things like:
"The Mindspace Economy is growing. Our Emotional Reserves are stabilizing. The Anxiety Department is under audit. And most importantly, the Hallucination Oversight Committee has voted 27 to 13 to not make me jump into the river just because a duck winked at me."
The chamber erupted in applause. Gerald the Whispering Accountant sobbed with pride.
Legacy of a Madman
Mike Ardmore never got “cured,” because frankly, who wants to ruin a good democracy with silence? But he lived. He thrived. He even ran for city council once—he lost, of course. Real-world voters were tragically unappreciative of his “I already govern a nation of thirty-two in my head” slogan.
Still, his life became a case study in psychological circles. He wasn’t just a high-functioning schizophrenic. He was a self-governing schizophrenic.
Some call him mad. Others call him a miracle. But to the voices inside his head, he was something far greater:
Mr. President.
Our story begins with Mike at the tender age of 18—an age when most are busy trying to locate their dignity after vomiting on their sneakers at a frat party. Not Mike. No, Mike was deep in the belly of a psychotic episode, the kind that really makes a man. One moment he was studying constitutional law, the next he was arguing with Thomas Jefferson in the campus library over the interpretation of the Necessary and Proper Clause.
To be clear, Jefferson was not there. Not physically. But in Mike's mind, Tommy-boy had taken up permanent residence next to a snarky British MP named Harold Wensley-Mott and a Venezuelan revolutionary named Rosa del Fuego, who kept trying to nationalize his thoughts.
It was during the 72-hour caffeine-fueled psychosis crescendo, somewhere between outlining the supremacy clause and chewing on a copy of The Federalist Papers, that Mike had what professionals call a “break from reality,” but what Mike would later call “The Great Constitutional Convention of the Mind.”
The Rise of the President of Mike
Mike Ardmore’s main personality, the core identity clinging desperately to the sinking life raft of reason, took a long hard look at the chaos within. There were voices—oh yes—far too many voices. Some screamed. Some whispered. One just wept softly and continuously like a Victorian child abandoned in the fog.
And in a moment of unprecedented lucidity, Mike stood up on the stage of his inner mind—the grand hall of his cerebellum, adorned with velvet banners of cortical conviction—and proclaimed:
"Enough! You insufferable echoing bastards! If you want me to keep listening to you, you're going to have to form a parliament. A proper one. Bicameral. Legislative procedure. Majority votes. I am your President-for-Life, and this is now a goddamned democracy!"
And lo, like Moses delivering a schizophrenic Ten Commandments unto Mount Delusion, he laid down the law.
The Formation of the Internal Government
From the chaos of unfiltered psychosis emerged the Mindspace Parliament, an institution that would’ve made the UN blush with its inefficiency and drama.
There was the Lower House, composed mostly of loud, unruly voices that specialized in interrupting Mike during exams and suggesting that squirrels were watching him from the bushes. These were the everyday, run-of-the-mill hallucinations, constantly proposing absurd legislation like “Mike should walk barefoot on broken glass” or “Let’s mail an envelope full of hair to the president.”
Then came the Upper House, an aristocratic clique of refined delusions. They quoted Nietzsche out of context, spoke in riddles, and insisted on wearing powdered wigs. Their favorite hobby was vetoing everything the Lower House passed, purely out of spite and because, quite frankly, it amused them.
And overseeing them all was Mike, The President of Mike. A dictator by necessity, a constitutional monarch by aesthetic, and a mental health miracle by sheer irony.
Legislative Sessions of Madness
Each day began with roll call. No, really. Inside Mike’s skull, at approximately 8:00 AM sharp, a session was called to order. A mental gavelling would echo through his mind as the Clerk (a hallucinated badger in a suit, for some reason) read out names:
“Harold Wensley-Mott?”
“Present and fully caffeinated.”
“Rosa del Fuego?”
“The revolution does not sleep.”
“Gerald the Whispering Accountant?”
“…yeeeesssss…”
Motions were presented. For example:
- Bill 104: A proposal from the Lower House suggesting Mike should scream “Habeas corpus!” in the subway every time he gets anxious.
- Vetoed by the Upper House, who replaced it with Amendment 37-B, requiring Mike to take deep breaths and repeat affirmations instead. (They were shockingly into mindfulness. Who knew?)
But the genius of Mike’s internal structure lay in negotiation. See, by forcing the voices to squabble among themselves, Mike managed to distance himself from their content. They were no longer intrusive commands—no, they were policies. And policies needed debate. Consensus. Compromise.
Democracy, it turned out, was the best thing to ever happen to psychosis.
Mental Health Professionals and Other Hilarious Observers
When Mike eventually went to therapy, he explained his system to the psychiatrist with the calm authority of a man explaining how he rearranged the furniture inside his hurricane.
At first, they considered hospitalization. But then… Mike passed his law exams. He held a job. He filed taxes on time—something two-thirds of sane America fails to do. And most importantly, he no longer followed every voice he heard—he only followed those that made it through both houses of parliament with a majority vote and presidential assent.
His therapist called it “an adaptive delusional framework.” Mike called it constitutional sanity.
State of the Mind Address
Every year on the anniversary of his first breakdown—affectionately dubbed Mental Independence Day—Mike gave a “State of the Mind” speech in his inner chamber, broadcast live to every mental representative.
He'd stand on the podium in front of a union of ideologically-opposed figments of his imagination and declare things like:
"The Mindspace Economy is growing. Our Emotional Reserves are stabilizing. The Anxiety Department is under audit. And most importantly, the Hallucination Oversight Committee has voted 27 to 13 to not make me jump into the river just because a duck winked at me."
The chamber erupted in applause. Gerald the Whispering Accountant sobbed with pride.
Legacy of a Madman
Mike Ardmore never got “cured,” because frankly, who wants to ruin a good democracy with silence? But he lived. He thrived. He even ran for city council once—he lost, of course. Real-world voters were tragically unappreciative of his “I already govern a nation of thirty-two in my head” slogan.
Still, his life became a case study in psychological circles. He wasn’t just a high-functioning schizophrenic. He was a self-governing schizophrenic.
Some call him mad. Others call him a miracle. But to the voices inside his head, he was something far greater:
Mr. President.
Chiyuki_Hoshino
Well-known member
- Joined
- Nov 10, 2023
- Messages
- 37
- Points
- 123
Please pay attention here for a moment
Thank you, well there was a gas explosion around this area and you guys just watch the evacuation here. you understand, thank you for your participation. ?️
Thank you, well there was a gas explosion around this area and you guys just watch the evacuation here. you understand, thank you for your participation. ?️
Shiriru_B
Book binge in progress.
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2020
- Messages
- 356
- Points
- 133
Ah wah! It was not a good time to use a phone while zoomed in...\(●__●)/
Got fashbanged.
Chiyuki_Hoshino
Well-known member
- Joined
- Nov 10, 2023
- Messages
- 37
- Points
- 123
This is called a 'neuralyzer'. It's a gift from some friend from out of town. This red eye here isolates and measures the electronic impulses in your brains. More specifically, the ones for memory.
An electro bio-mechanical neural transmitting zero synapse repositioner, commonly referred to as a neuralyzer It has the ability to wipe the mind of anybody who sees the flash via isolating and editing certain electronic impulses related to memory. Once people are neuralyzed, they seem to enter a trance that leaves their minds prone to suggestion. This enables agents to replace memories with fictional cover stories and even give them certain instructions.
Well you won't remember that anyway
Last edited: