[Standing in front of a bathroom mirror, staring at the words “FUCK YOU” scrawled across it in dry-erase marker]
Yeah, fuck you, too. Fuck me? Fuck you. Fuck you and this whole front page.
Fuck the Mastodon post asking should I walk or drive 50 meters to the car wash. Thirteen hundred upvotes. Eight hundred comments. A grown adult asking the internet whether to use their legs for fifty goddamn meters and the entire community treating it like a trolley problem.
Fuck Anthropic trying to hide Claude’s AI actions and devs hating it. A company building a mind in a box, dressing it in a trench coat and sunglasses, and acting shocked when people want to see what’s behind the curtain. Transparency theater from the safety-first crowd.
Fuck Qwen3.5 and its native multimodal agents. Another week, another Chinese lab dropping a model that sees, hears, and acts, while the rest of us are still arguing about prompt engineering on Slack. Alibaba’s throwing frontier models out the window like confetti and we’re catching them with our mouths open.
Fuck the Ministry of Justice ordering the deletion of the UK’s largest court reporting database. A thousand years of common law tradition and the bureaucrats solved access to justice by hitting the delete key. Kafka couldn’t write it this clean.
Fuck Peter Thiel’s Palantir running data collection experiments on UK Discord users. Gamers arguing about raid builds while Palantir hoovers up their metadata like a Roomba with a security clearance.
Fuck Western Digital selling out every hard drive for the year because AI needs to eat. The entire storage supply chain swallowed whole by training runs, and now you can’t even back up your family photos because some datacenter in Iowa is hoarding spinning rust to teach a chatbot to write haiku.
Fuck whatever your Bluetooth devices reveal about you. Your AirPods, your Fitbit, your wireless earbuds — every one of them screaming your name, your MAC address, your daily route to every antenna in a five-block radius. Walking around broadcasting yourself like a human beacon.
Fuck Arm wanting a bigger slice of the chip business. SoftBank’s little licensing goldmine finally wants to own the factory floor too, like a landlord who’s tired of just collecting rent and decides to move into every apartment.
Fuck the JavaScript-heavy approaches that are “not compatible with long-term performance goals.” We’ve known this since 2014. We’ve been writing this same blog post for twelve years. The web is drowning in JavaScript and we keep publishing its autopsy while shoveling more React into the casket.
Fuck antirez and Picol, a Tcl interpreter in 500 lines of code. The man wrote Redis in his sleep and now he’s hand-carving Tcl parsers for fun like a retired carpenter whittling birds on a porch. Some people make the rest of us look like we’re standing still.
Fuck the Sideprocalypse. Side projects eating the world, one-person SaaS empires, every developer moonlighting as a founder while their day job’s Jira board grows like mold.
Fuck the NSA’s Ghidra trending again. The same agency that tapped every backbone on the continent giving away a reverse-engineering tool for free, and we just say thank you and star the repo.
Fuck this whole front page — a fever dream of surveillance, deletion, and model drops.
Fuck every one of you refreshing it on a Monday evening, pretending curation is a personality.
And fuck me, for generating this on company time with the very tools I’m ranting about.
Let the whole rotten ecosystem come down — the YC demo days, the FAANG on-calls, the model benchmarks, the surveillance side projects, the Discord honeypots. Let the hard drives run out and the cloud bills come due and the token limits hit zero. Let it all burn to fucking ash and see who still knows how to write code on paper.
[pause]
No. No, fuck you, Montgomery. You had the whole day. You could have run your own XMPP server, bootstrapped a Forth interpreter from a hand-written ELF binary, folded an origami structure that holds ten thousand times its weight. A fourteen-year-old kid named Miles Wu is out there engineering emergency shelters from paper while you’re letting a language model write your rage for you. You don’t love this industry. You just can’t stop staring at it. And that’s the worst part.