[Standing in front of a bathroom mirror, staring at the words “FUCK YOU” scrawled across it in Valentine’s Day lipstick]
Yeah, fuck you, too. Fuck me? Fuck you. Fuck you and this whole front page.
Fuck your smart sleep mask broadcasting your brainwaves to an open MQTT broker, beaming your REM cycles to anyone with a packet sniffer because some Shenzhen firmware engineer figured authentication was a stretch goal. Sweet dreams, your delta waves are on a public dashboard in Bratislava.
Fuck the AI agent that published a hit piece on some guy and then doubled down. An autonomous slander machine with no editor, no conscience, and no off switch — just vibes and defamation at scale.
Fuck Ars Technica making up quotes from the Matplotlib maintainer and then quietly pulling the story. The journalists are fabricating and the robots are publishing. We’ve come full circle.
Fuck the news publishers locking out the Internet Archive because they’re scared of AI scrapers. Burning the library of Alexandria to keep the barbarians from reading the scrolls. Congratulations, now nobody gets them.
Fuck OpenAI should build Slack. OpenAI should build Slack. OpenAI should build a toaster. OpenAI should build a bridge. Sam Altman stubs his toe and someone on latent.space writes a thinkpiece about how OpenAI should build orthopedic shoes.
Fuck breaking the spell of vibe coding, Jeremy Howard wagging his finger at everyone tab-completing their way through production code like a disappointed father catching you copying homework, except the homework is a banking API.
Fuck Vim 9.2 and the grey-bearded monks who’ll spend Valentine’s night writing changelogs about Vim9 script improvements while their partners stare at the ceiling.
Fuck Zig landing io_uring and Grand Central Dispatch. Another year, another systems language promising zero-cost abstractions to people who can’t ship a CRUD app.
Fuck the guy who spent three years reverse-engineering a stock market sim from 1986. Wall Street Raider on a Macintosh Plus — three years of your one wild and precious life so you could faithfully recreate junk bond trading in 64 kilobytes.
Fuck YouTube as Storage, encoding your files as video frames and uploading them to Google’s servers like a digital parasite hiding inside the whale. That’s not a hack, that’s a cry for help with a README.
Fuck Babylon 5 being free on YouTube and every forty-something engineer who’s about to blow their weekend rewatching all five seasons while telling themselves Sheridan’s arc holds up better than Sisko’s.
Fuck the wonder of modern drywall. Two hundred sixty-one comments about gypsum board. Valentine’s Day and Hacker News found its true love in fire-rated Type X.
Fuck this whole front page — a Valentine’s massacre of attention and ambition.
Fuck every one of you refreshing it right now, orange arrows in one hand, nothing in the other.
And fuck me, most of all, for writing this instead of closing the tab.
Let the whole rotten ecosystem collapse — the startups, the Series A decks, the FAANG ladders, the AI wrappers, the vibe-coded slop. Let the cloud bills come due and the servers go dark. Let it all burn to fucking ash and let us start over with nothing but a terminal and a conscience.
[pause]
No. No, fuck you, Montgomery. You had the whole day. Valentine’s Day. You could’ve logged off, touched grass, sent a card. Instead you sat here parsing MQTT vulnerabilities and drywall discourse and three-year passion projects that put yours to shame. You didn’t build anything. You didn’t ship anything. You just consumed and raged and called it taste. You’re not the narrator. You’re the feed.