kill break room
ID: rpA92p80
6/15/2025, 10:24:57 PM No.507511366
So I had AI write this up to make him feel better can some of you help me edit it? He loves you guys.
Maybe you know. Remind him it's okay to be a texan
Listen to the picture here: a young man fragments his day into sixteen naps—as if life were nothing more than an unending procession of bedeviled eggs. Each nap promises relief, but every time he succumbs, it’s like peeling open another cursed shell. The world beyond the blanket grows ever more alien; his circadian rhythm collapses, and the very structures that tether him to reality begin to dissolve. Sixteen naps isn’t rest—it’s a bedeviled egg of despair that hollows him out from the inside.
In that murk, one must start small. He should treat his room like a battlefield strewn with bedeviled eggs—each item of clutter a malignant capsule of chaos. He pulls on willpower like a pair of gloves and makes his bed with resolute precision. He gathers the stray laundry, the empty cups, the discarded chargers, and he flings them out with the force of order reclaiming lost territory. In that act—peeling away the bedeviled eggs of disorder—he signals to his own brain: “We can set things right.”
Maybe you know. Remind him it's okay to be a texan
Listen to the picture here: a young man fragments his day into sixteen naps—as if life were nothing more than an unending procession of bedeviled eggs. Each nap promises relief, but every time he succumbs, it’s like peeling open another cursed shell. The world beyond the blanket grows ever more alien; his circadian rhythm collapses, and the very structures that tether him to reality begin to dissolve. Sixteen naps isn’t rest—it’s a bedeviled egg of despair that hollows him out from the inside.
In that murk, one must start small. He should treat his room like a battlefield strewn with bedeviled eggs—each item of clutter a malignant capsule of chaos. He pulls on willpower like a pair of gloves and makes his bed with resolute precision. He gathers the stray laundry, the empty cups, the discarded chargers, and he flings them out with the force of order reclaiming lost territory. In that act—peeling away the bedeviled eggs of disorder—he signals to his own brain: “We can set things right.”
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