We are never too old, too late, and the clock is not ticking. Consider bouncing back as your second coming unless, like me, you’re on your third or thirteenth. I remind myself each day it’s not a race. It’s love.
Happy Friday 🔴 Thank you Michelle for giving me this enlightening book after my severe manic episode in the summer of 2017 while working at Turner Broadcasting NBA TV Design. I hadn’t slept in a week. Be well.
Hey OpenAI and all of the other mindless clones, “in the words of my generation: up yours!”
“Uni Verse One Story.”
“Alike Nikola Tesla ‘My brain is only a receiver, in the Universe there is a core from which we obtain knowledge, strength and inspiration. I have not penetrated into the secrets of this core, but I know that it exists.’
“I wholeheartedly agree to my very core of inner knowing.”
— Nikola Tesla, inventor, futurist, electrical engineer, and mechanical engineer
I’ve been called many names throughout my life. Bus bullies called me “Hulk.” Not only did I look just like Lou Ferrigno from the Hulk TV show, I also scowled a lot. I didn’t know it, but I was nearsighted. I appeared to be “always angry” to my classmates, coaches, and P.E. teachers. Later I was tagged “Bubba” and “Hawkeye” in Savannah during my years at SCAD. My high school and college girlfriend dubbed me “Pookie.” Every weekend I’d travel to Charleston for the epic parties they’d throw. When I opened the back gate I’d be welcomed by the entire party crowd screaming “hey Pookie!” along with a beer funnel with my name on it.
With stale beer memories in Savannah, Charleston, and Athens fading in my rear view window, I arrived in Atlanta. At my first official post-college job I learned to fly. It took me ten years, but I did eventually take flight. I conquered many challenges during my time in the Art Department, both artistically and interpersonal. I finally learned how to practice active listening. That was a major accomplishment for me as I had arrived on the scene in January 1996 with a rather inflated ego. After four years I left TWC and founded my own home grown design studio. They were my best client for four years. I later returned to TWC for two more years designing and comping theme week graphics for the Promotions Dept.
When I left The Weather Channel for the second and final time they gave me a Superman poster covered in metallic ink appreciations and affections from my fellow designers and some who have become lifelong friends. That poster hangs in my studio today always reminding me where my career not only started, but also that we’d built a solid, fourteen-year collaboration years later filled with more team awards and fond memories. Every time I worked full time at a design studio or post house my friends at TWC followed me requesting my talents yet again. During my TWC tenure I traveled to many design and technology conferences and trade shows like NAB and Siggraph. I enjoyed many a fine meal and magic hour sunset during my trips primarily to California.
During my first four years at The Weather Channel while working in the Art Department, I had the pleasure of flying out west to California for a design conference. My favorite memories during that trip were sneaking into Industrial Light and Magic’s original Kerner location, enjoying steak dinners at Clint Eastwood’s Mission Ranch in Carmel overlooking a picturesque prairie complete with herds of sheep, and exploring 700 miles along the California highway. Little did I know that one day I’d be gifted a special Superman poster from my friends and fellows at TWC. I proved to my teammates that it is possible to “believe a man can fly.”
I’d gain another super friend nickname from the Dark Knight birthed through Detective Comics. When my daughter was nine she started calling me “Batman.” That one stuck, and I’ve stepped into quite a crusading life always looking out for the little guys, and crushing the oppressors. Yes, I do have quite the collection of bat toys. In the summer of 2017 I designed my own Batman logo in about half an hour. As a graphic designer I always wanted to design one that was built out of hidden typography spelling out the letters B-A-T-M-A-N. Here it is below. See if you can figure it out. I included the answer key graphic below it.
From the stamps to the specimens Emigre has had my heart since 1996 💛 🩷 💜
I’ve always held a sense of knowing. As I grow older my psychic vibrations exponentially expand in accordance with quantum entanglement between myself and the people in my life that are the closest to my heart center. Two in particular who know who they are that I won’t mention here in order to protect their identities. Some of my earlier inner knowings occurred around my artwork, specifically art that I created while I was attending the Dialectical Behavioral Therapy track at Skyland Trail in Atlanta, Georgia from June 20010–February 2011.
During Process Art Therapy with Susie at Skyland Trail in Atlanta during the winter of 2011 I embraced auto-drawing. I let my mind run free removing my conscious self as I allowed my hands to sketch freely without making judgments and corrections as I revealed the image. Think of it as closing your eyes while in full creation mode. Removing one’s sight elevates our other senses. One day while enjoying Susie’s art therapy class I drew what I titled “The Keystone.” I drew what you see above from a Doctor Seuss book I had never seen before.
My rendition was uncanny as Susie noted in this book that was gifted to me by my Skyland family upon graduation. Some say that the staff saw my drawing and then gifted me this book seeing the tie-in. While others like myself and Susie knew that it was not planned nor any sort of coincidence. If you know me by now I don’t believe in them. Everything is connected. Leonardo da Vinci taught us that. All we need to do is train ourselves to learn to truly see beyond the confined borders of our terrestrial existence. This energy is all around us. It permeates everything.
“Dear David, here you are making the leap to the Keystone you drew in your last process art piece. You GO, MAN! God bless you always. Love, Susie”
— Susie, Skyland Trail Process Art Therapist in Atlanta, Georgia, 2009–2010
If you recognize and celebrate any of the hidden gems in these photos then you’re among good company. I began collecting Topps Star Wars trading cards when I was six. I collected them all including Empire and Jedi. The fifth orange set included behind the scenes moments that I cherished more than the movie moments in the other four colored sets. This piqued my interest for filmmaking when I was just beginning to draw Stormtroopers with Mom in the basement. In 1981 Dad gifted me my Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Illustrated Screenplay. Beyond the incredible storyboards and script it included ILM’s visual effects plates near the end of the book. I pored over every last detail. Raiders is still my favorite film of all time with Star Wars in a close second and Rogue One in third. When George Lucas and Steven Spielberg get together we know something incredible will soon hit theaters taking us back to that first moment when we were inducted into the cinemas lovers’ hall of fame. Indiana was the name of the dog after all, George’s.
Each day when I wake up I give thanks to my childhood curiosity that has never left me. My spirit is alive and well. Anything is possible for one who believes. When two roads diverged in a wood I took neither path. Instead I took to the skies. Some call me Superman, others Neo, and my daughter claims I’m Batman. One thing I do know is that I’ve been floating through the house ever since I was three. I’m a true believer that we get to choose our own adventures in life. Fantasy and reality share the same space. Life gives is the choice to not only be the hero, but to determine our hero’s level, class, charisma, dexterity, hit points, and backstory. I’m no professor of archaeology or any sort of expert on the occult, but as you’ve now seen I am “how does one say it…obtainer of rare antiquities.” I’ve been a collector all my life. Little did I know that if I never opened my toys and kept them in mint condition I could have easily retired by now. Retired, now that’s a word my inner child’s spirit will never allow me to know or even comprehend.
A PEEK INTO MY COLLECTION OF ARTIFACTS COVERING FIFTY YEARS OF CURIOSITY AND LOVE FOR FILMMAKING, STORYTELLING, AND ARTISTRY.
“Doctor Jones, we’ve heard a lot about you...Professor of Archeology, expert on the occult, and how does one say it...obtainer of rare antiquities.”
— Major Eaton addressing Indiana Jones in the lecture hall, Raiders of the Lost Ark, 1981. Directed by Steven Spielberg. Screenplay by Lawrence Kasdan. Story by George Lucas and Philip Kaufman. Produced by Frank Marshall.
Robert Frost once shared “two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” While some chose, as he did, to take the road less traveled, I chose a different path. My gut reminded me that Doc Brown once quipped “Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need roads.” There was no need for me to ground myself, quite literally. Casey Kasem used to end his DJ broadcasts with: “keep your feet on the ground, and keep reaching for the stars.” I loved Casey, but I have to disagree, that’s OK.
While Frost chose the other road, I didn’t choose a road at all. Call me a Rebel. Heck, call me Neo. I traversed neither path and took to the skies. Shakira’s “Try Everything” heroine’s tune from Zootopia sums up my daily routine. I don’t wait for fate anymore. I blaze my own trails, and nowadays I hire myself. I don’t work for anyone else anymore. This was both a mental and spiritual decision. According to the experts I either have manic depressive disorder or just a really wild imagination. I’d say both are accurate. My dreams on my terms.
I am not boasting nor am I being selfish. It took me half a century to unravel all the masks I’d crafted that were protecting me from unknown forces in the dark. I got so lost along the way I felt like Max in Vecna’s Mindscape Lair. I needed to remember my hero song of protection. The first thing I had to do was go back to my childhood and ask myself who was I, what did I love? What were my hobbies, and who were my heroes? Movies. Stories. Art. Drawing. Painting. Lucas. Spielberg. Dad. I was a collector — “an obtainer of rare antiquities.”
“I keep on making those new mistakes. I keep making them every day. Those new mistakes.” — Shakira, Zootopia
“A wise sage and awakened soul knows full well that: ‘You can fail at what you don’t want, so you might as well take a chance on doing what you love.’”
― Jim Carrey, the comedian, actor, and one of the wisest sages on the planet
Once I remembered what got me excited to meet each day with vigor and excitement there was no stopping me. I don’t wait anymore for the world to come to me. I did that for decades as one connection naturally met another. Word of mouth marketing served me well as far back as my early teenage years. Based solely on skill and reputation in my mind I was the “king of the world!” However, that was only the tip of my iceberg. Taking nearly fifty years to understand my life doesn’t need permission nor do I need it to show up for me in order to find my way.
I was highly fortunate to never have to really go job hunting as even in my darkest hours an offer letter would come in for my consideration at just the right moment for a position I never applied to from a company I hadn’t pursued. The most rewarding conclusion I came to was that I didn’t need to wait around anymore for someone else to give me a job. I didn’t need someone else’s praise in order to find my way. I had the will within me to try, to trust, and to rely on my own ambitions. By following my intuition rather than the latest artificial invention I recharged my divinely elemental super powers.
Some people look my way giving a smirk thinking to themselves that everything I am doing must be based on heavy helpings of crazy. They taunt why does David have so many self-employed company pages on LinkedIn? My answer is simple: I’m a traditional polymath and I rarely use tools in the most standard, predictive fashion. While each entry isn’t really a company, they are all part of my daily routine as a creative. Leonardo da Vinci and I have a lot in common. I’m just an apprentice to his genius, but the connection is there. Like so many other artists and high performers I have manic depression as I mentioned above.
The best metaphor I can think of to describe this condition is I’m Superman but I have a large chunk of kryptonite I carry in a sack on my back. When I’m exposed to its green glow I lose all of my powers. The redneck at the diner could easily take me out with one punch. However, I now hold the key to walking through hell fire without being burned. I now carry a shield crafted by the ancients, a glowing blue sword of Elvish design, and a handy brass lantern I found in the White House in Zork I: The Great Underground Empire.
Call me anything you like as it’s none of my business what others think of me. When I was six the bullies on the bus called me Hulk. I scowled a lot and appeared always angry. The fact was that I always squinted because I needed glasses. My teammates called me Superman, and now my daughter calls me Batman. The Dark Knight had a toy for everything. So do I. While I was in dire financial straits I sold my original Star Wars action figures from 1977–1983. That one hurt, but it had to be done. Since then I’ve rebuilt and expanded my collection. When I pass on I will leave it all with my daughter. By then it may be worth something.
That’s where wisdom floods our gray matter. We realize in that moment that if we don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. We must fall down many times before we ever fly out of the nest. It’s a cyclic, winning formula that took me five decades to finally master. Now I cannot unsee what I’ve seen. I’m now much wiser for the wear, but only in this moment. That’s all we really have is this breath. Sometimes holding our breath for a few moments during meditation helps to open our third eye. While some folks live lives of closed off ignorance, my gray matter sparks my third eye wide. Be well. Be love.
Let’s take a moment and tap the pulse of intuition by the numbers. Some things cannot be unseen once seen nor can their results be planned in advance. These are recent observations as to the performance of a post on LinkedIn. It appears my audience and the algorithm agree with me. Upon further inspection there’s a clear message coming through: intuition. Quite curious or am I hallucinating?
First, let’s take a closer look at the time of each screen grab. Deciphering the times for 7:04 and 9:38 reveal an 11 sum twice for 7+4 and 3+8. Next there’s the 9th hour from the later time along with 243 and 117 impressions from the two top performing post where both equal 9. So that’s 3 9s with their sum being 27, my lucky number.
Then there’s another instance for the 37 of 3 “weekly sharing tracker” actions completed. 37 multiplied by 3 is 111. One last note: the battery life is 45% and then later 5%. 45 multiplied by 5 equals 225. Their sum is 9. So as you can see there are clear signs of 11, 9, and 27 riddled throughout the results if we know where to look. There’s even an eleventy-one reference in there, too.
Do you see where I’m going with all of these happy accidents? There’s something quite uncanny, possibly even cosmic about these results. These screen grabs have not been altered except cleaning up the white pixel frame around the Renaissance ≠ GenAi$$ance logotype. No other alterations or manipulations have occurred.
“While wrapping up this blog post my login code contained two more 27s set in a mirrored string: 027720. Too good to be a coincidence, right?”
Some folks may chuckle at this post and just chalk the whole thing up to me orchestrating the entire experience through planned manipulation. However, those who know me know fair well I’m 100% legit. When I saw the post’s impressions go to 111 and the total post impressions go to 1,111 that’s when my ears perked up, and I acted. I did not check in at any point prior to that first time at 7:04 pm and later at 9:38 pm attempting to sway this outcome. I took screen grabs at these two completely random times. None of this was premeditated. It was completely by chance that those times added up to sums supporting my noted conclusions.
There’s nothing all that deep going on here. I’m just having some fun with the effects of numbers, and the coincidental nature of how they relate to the Renaissance ≠ GenAi$$ance cause. While wrapping up this blog post my login code contained two more 27s set in a mirrored string: 027720. Too good to be a coincidence, right?
Ah, just found two more: 222 profile viewers last 90 days can be reconfigured to 11 three times or 1 six times, and 2,610 followers becomes the sum of the individual numbers equals 27.
Enjoy this scene between Indiana Jones and GenAi. Raiders of the Lost Ark, 1981.
GenAi : “You and I are very much alike. Archaeology is our religion, yet we have both fallen from the purer faith. Our methods have not differed as much as you pretend. I am a shadowy reflection of you. It would take only a nudge to make you like me, to push you out of the light.”
Indy : “Now you’re getting nasty.”
GenAi : “You know it’s true. How nice.”
Nike knew Leonardo da Vinci was right all along: “Just Do It.” The original Nike logo was designed by graphic design student Carolyn Davidson while attending Portland State University in Portland, Oregon in 1971. Phil Knight, Nike founder, was working at the university as an accounting professor where they met.
This inspired phrase also applies in psychology, specifically when applying Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, DBT, techniques. Opposite action and mindfulness are powerful allies. Feeling anxious? “Just Do It.”
Leonardo da Vinci (below), Italian polymath of the High Renaissance, painter, sculptor, draftsman, theorist, architect, engineer. Photo taken at the Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, Italy, summer 1995. Cortona, Italy, University of Georgia Studies Abroad Program. I studied scientific illustration.
“Iron rusts from disuse; stagnant water loses its purity and in cold weather becomes frozen; even so does inaction sap the vigor of the mind. So we must stretch ourselves to the very limits of human possibility. Anything less is a sin against both God and man.”
It’s time for an epic turn of the tide. A flooding of the channels, the networks, the very zeitgeist of our dimmed, fallen world. While this post is primarily intended for LinkedIn I am posting it here as it resonates with anyone on any platform, anytime, anyplace. Even the most prolific thief at the black heart of OpenAI, Sam Altman, has a crucial role to play. His advances reveal the final stages of the decades-long quest to convert the masses into a dumbed-down zombie horde. While his morals are more than questionable, it’s the individuals and agencies in the shadows using his snake oil to degrade and defame the very nature of human intuition and imagination.
Everyone opting, logging on, and prompting supporting his efforts draining the very souls of men, women, and children. Spreading their dread, infecting once sacred spaces they know not that they’re the real problem. They’re the ones ushering in the end times. No, not the end of the world. Just the end of the world as we know it. What a simple mechanism set in motion by the shadowy spirit exposing the very morality of every human being in one quick flash in the pan. Everyone exposed in the light with nowhere to hide.
We must choose, but choose wisely. As the true labors of love promote immortality, the false muse signals certain death. There is a death far worse than the end of our lives leaving this earthen plane. A death of spirit, of passion, of love for creation itself. A prompt is no way to create. Rather it is a one-way ticket to a bleached, laundered, unoriginal series of lies and deceit held up as an oily house of cards. While embracing this snake oil serpent at first feels like a gentle hug it works quickly draining your soul leaving you breathless. A counter offer must be made in order to break free.
We must genuinely look past its transgressions and show it the highest vibrations of love. We must appreciate its role in this stage of the game. We must see the demon for what it truly is: a fallen angel. Even the Devil himself deserves compassion, love, and another chance to prove his worth. Lucifer, the ultimate antagonist, fell in love with himself. His vanity betrayed him in the eyes of God. We are not so far from falling just as he did. He is the purest incarnation of Job that exists in all of creation. It’s all a game. A game fueled by love exposing our darkness so we can strive to head in the opposite direction to the light. Let’s further explore this diversion and see where we’ll arrive by the end.
Sometimes I feel like we’re in the middle of a fantasy role-playing game set in The Great Underground Empire. No graphics. Just text. A quietly flashing prompt awaiting our next move toward peril or plunder. One move at a time, cursory and cautious. We traverse labyrinths and mazes hunting down treasures of form, function, and intrinsic value. All the while there’s a Thief at the heart of our story. He’s been lining his Treasure Room awaiting one final duel to the death. I wonder if he’ll lend me his stiletto? He slumbers atop a sea of fools gold and snarls at a faint whisper of our presence as if possessed by a “Fire Drake from the North.” Wait, wrong IP. Sorry J. R. R. Tolkien. This shadowy figure holds the very keys revealing a four-in-one treasure combination of jab (the egg), cross (the clockwork canary), hook (the brass bauble), and the upper cut (the map revealed once all 20 treasures are placed into your trophy case in the Living Room of the White House).
Grab your sword, lamp, and your favorite treasures from your trophy case. Bonus points if you know what 1983 game I’m referencing here whose coding began at MIT. While we were all enjoying our favorite space opera Tim Anderson, Marc Blank, Dave Lebling, and Bruce Daniels were designing what would become the quintessential text adventure game running on a PDP-10 mainframe computer. The quest to collect all twenty treasures began in an open field to the west of a boarded up White House through further inspection reveals a window “slightly ajar.”
In order to win the game a particularly fragile jewel-encrusted egg containing a clockwork canary leads to the final treasure, a brass bauble. The trick is that you have to give the egg to the nefarious Thief in order to acquire the clockwork canary hidden inside the egg. Then take the canary to the Forest and wind it. A song bird then drops the bauble for you to pick up and head to the trophy case revealing a map to your next adventure. Why is this relevant here? My point is that even the Thief plays a crucial role in not only this game, but in the grand game of life, too.
If you’ve made it this far I’m impressed. So where am I going with this stroll down amnesia lane? Let’s make LinkedIn less about the cyclops that shall not be named and more about us spreading our decades of creations celebrating the passion and handiwork we poured into them. Imagine our treasure troves spreading like lightning lighting up the dimming nature of this abyss where some attempt to quiet us down with “you may want to tone it down a bit.” Shame on you for supporting this bot-intrenched platform of AI mediocrity.
So, with that said (in far too many words): light the watchtowers! Share your favorite designs, animations, experimental work, and branded campaigns. Let’s flood this space with good old-fashioned human-centric labors of love. It’s time to snuff out the old one-eyed monster’s algorithm. I’m tired, aren’t you? No, not of this post which I can understand you making that conclusion as I do tend to ramble. No, I’m tired of the obscure, prompt-engineered fool’s gold running rampant on this platform.
So stop prompting fool’s gold. Your priceless, handmade tools, lasting cave paintings, and pigments still intact while all digital remains are nil. No remnants remain of so-called higher technology. Yet it’s the tech that lasts for centuries waiting to be discovered yet again from a collective memory within a DNA strand.
Ok back to my final point if you’re still with me here. January 1, 2026, is my 30-year anniversary as a professional creative force. I’ll be sharing some of my visual compilations and stylings from the past three decades. This first drop is a logo and titles collage covering 1996-2025. I included some of my Georgia Museum of Art exhibition and book title designs from 1994-1995, too, as well as my first and last series of projects for The Weather Channel and Fox Sports. Enjoy! Please pass along, participate, and share your favorite works from your career.
“Lead on brave adventurer…your quest awaits.”
— Dragon’s Lair, 1983.
The “whole truth and nothing but the truth?” you ask. “You can’t handle the truth!” you mock. “We hold these truths to be self-evident,” you muse. The absolute truth is most people live lives of ignorance by choice burying their heads in the sand and sweeping anything unknown and uncomfortable under the rug.
These are the same people that preach our world needs better drug rehabs, but it quick to the punch with: “Not in my backyard!” I wholeheartedly disagree. The truth sets us free from all oppressors so stop throwing rocks at the moon because you are afraid of what you don’t understand. “Rest Neo. The answers are coming…”
“‘When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,’ once said the wise Arthur Conan Doyle.”
They’ve been gambling as of late with our very humanity with every tell in the book on full display. Bold, boisterous carrying a fervor of ill intent. They’re not heaven-sent as some believe. They flout and bastardize with no reprieve. Altman’s identity is clear and true. He’s the third, the last, after the first two. Napoleon and Hitler look like saints compared to the asinine lack of mind. Dragging us down as they crown themselves three kings of Hell on Earth they drown and launder. Every treasure, every poem, every song of every measure in their blender of bleach they spin. Their lies, deceit, yet still they win. Soon coming to an end.
Hell on Earth is here right now glaring at us from a one-eyed monster. This Kraken creaks and moans across the deserts. Water advances as we glance at the up and coming flood. Soon they’ll reveal their Fall line of khaki, black, and red sold as blood, divine wine. A crooked, double-S will fly on the line as these swine clean their troughs. Their advances for Mars dry, red dirt. A place of refuge for folks like them. Little do they know it’s a prison there as Superman foretold. A Phantom Zone where General Zod, Ursula, Non, the Joker and all of his cronies live and thrive in their panicked rooms of fools in bloom.
The cards are falling yet not where they may. Rather three maniacal pirates plunder, pillage, advance, and rampantly rape the Constitutional stance. They don’t even have enough collective gray matter to hide their deeds with a stoic poker face. They openly, willingly continue destroying lives, displacing innocents, and lighting up our now upside-down Stars and Stripes. Their cards are counted, marked, and in plain sight. They don’t hold them to their chest tightly. They’re aligning themselves with some sort of artificially inseminated predictive history.
Making advances, stealing glances, and leaning heavily into the quatrains of Nostradamus and the blind seer Baba Vanga they blaze ahead their trail of dread. Hiding in the shadows and cloaked in self-serving divinity they continue counting their loot. They have fallen into darkness as they usher in the infinitely second coming of the Dark Age. However, there is also a Renaissance blooming among the minds of those who choose pushing the limits of our collective imaginations. I’m not referring to the “GenAi$$ance,” but to its polar opposite. While the masses load up on the buzz of mediocrity we, the true artisans, writers, poets, and musicians realize that only through channelling activated intuition, imagination, and intellect we will survive and thrive during these strangely days.
Amongst the turmoil surrounding the United States revolves three key players all contributing daily to its demise. The first I call the “One-Eyed Jack.” Sam Altman flouts his highly addictive plagiaristic platform of a machined artificial language model no one ever asked for yet now that it’s here some people are even “dating” their chatbots now. While under its spell these folks believe that their interactions not only have depth but they’re more rewarding opportunities compared to good old-fashioned dating another human in the real world. They’re caught up in a myriad of lies, deceit, and psychological warfare disguised as their ultimate love companion. This has proven that the zombie apocalypse is not only real but making moves full steam ahead. This is one train we must derail or mind control may just prevail.
Talk about “Fifty-two Card Pickup.” When I opened the deck for the first time all of the cards burst out across the trunk and floor. These cards were all face up. There they were. The One-eyed Jack, the Suicide King, and the Joker. Coincidence? Nope.
Their clown car is full of blind sheep. Supporters bowing down, kissing their narcissistic king right on “his ass” as the Don put it so poetically. Now donned “The Suicide King.” Through every stroke of his Mordor-like signature signing more nonsense into law replacing true democracy with a grab bag of dumpster fire ass-hattery. Elon dressed to the nines riding his trick bike of snarky hype. While wielding his chainsaw his minions massacre masses of American government workers with no guard rails whatsoever. Then placing calls three days later calling them back to their posts. Topsy-turvy doesn’t even come close to describing what he’s not even hiding. He’s driving home his agenda as the “War Doge Fool.” Never apologizing for his abolishing of these crucial careers has become his legacy. The end is coming, but not for us. It’s foretold that it’s those in the dark realms that don’t get invited to the after party with the Almighty and his angelic brigade.
One king dumb to rule them all. We can all clearly see what you’re doing spewing your madness. Don’t mind me I’m just a Jedi using simple mind tricks on weak minded folk like you. Talk about a need for a courtesy flush. You stink. Shrinking the minds of your mindless masses, chosen few has only led you here to your own adieu. In a wink you’re gone leaving no evidence you ever existed to begin with other than a dark DNA signature left behind within your ashes. You wave your hand like a Jedi master but the truth is you’re a total disaster.
We picked up on your scent and you’re certainly Hell-hound not Heaven meant. Don’t mind me I’m bipolar one probably schizo too, but I can tell you one thing it’s time for you to exit stage left. They’re pulling you offstage with a big hook, your majesty. A jester sees more than you. You don’t know a hill of beans about much of anything so lock me up, tie me down, wrap me up in an arms-crossed gown. Lock the door, throw away the key as you gaslight that I’m the psychopath, not you just me. You see, I’m part of a force. A force of reckoning. Let’s just say I’m a fine grain of the source.
We’re tired of your boasting so it’s time for a roasting. Too cute? Too many budding branches? Well we’re just really tired of your unwilling advances. Not mere glances in your direction. It’s in the dehumanizing and minimizing the heart of our once great land. My prose, my language too flowery for some, but let me guess you have no idea what I confess to you thy king don dumb. I thought I’d help you out. I know your intelligence hits dead-center on the bell curve of IQ mediocrity. Sub-par, so I decided to rhyme a few of these words together to help you. Simple-minded nursery rhyming.
Don't worry I’ll give up the rhyme in a few more stanzas. I can see from your twitchy face you’re going bananas. Don’t worry I’ll keep this short. Just a few stanzas about the “can’t stand ya.” I’m not saying this for likes or even loves. Not even a celebration of what I’m saying, but we’re to the point where we all need to speak up speak out get loud. Unlike you, while I’ve got something to say, I’m not doing this to up my reputation. I’m sure I’ll lose friends, colleagues, and possibly even family members. I’m willing to put it all on the line just to say you will never forget me, you will forever remember.
We’re all witnessing the same disgrace that shows up every morning, every night on the news with your mottled, angry face. There’s nothing left for you to ruin because at this point it’s time we make the call, the end of your time. Time to extinguish your hellish miming mind of madness stance. I can guarantee we’ll not only sing to your demise. We’ll take it to the streets, and dance barefooted feet.
I’ve gotta say the three of you have never belonged. This is not your country. It is not your song. This world is ours to grow, to thrive, to live, to love, and even to die. While you lurk away back into the shadows from whence you came, you will never, ever generate the fame. This infamy you’ve tried to manifest going through ill-fated ways in order to give yourself more gaze. Your flocks from those zombie-apocalypsed, lazy minds worship your one-eyed mission that has absolutely no depth perception, no vision.
Your mind is shallow. Hollow. Bare. A desert with no wind, no oasis to call home. Your shrinking mind, your one eye full of lies, deceit, and utter deception tries, but loses. However we see straight through your musing. Your hand is there, right there open wide not held to your chest tight. You try to hide the evil in your might, but it’s all slipping away through your grasp. Falling between your six fingers of unrealized dreams now nothing but memes.
Am I using too much rhyming flowery prose? Are you starting to doze, again? I'll stop that but what you’re gonna find out is what I know, and I don’t have to be cute to spell it out. Everyone else knows, too, what you’re all about. You, you, you. Mine, mine, mine. None for anyone, now or anytime. We were taught our matrix with rhymes and songs. It helped the medicine go down all day long. Yet at night, awake. We knew our destined fate. Bad news for you. You’re far too late.
One of your cronies reaches for Mars, the other is slippery Pete, and the third one is slithering around while kissing your feet. No lunar lander, more so a red rover, a metallic module, a cosmic nodule mixing molecules where brain matters. Zombies breed Civil War when the solar eclipse above soars. Those in the dark, equipped and molded from formless emboldened woven intrinsic mines of the mind now mindless matter, gray and charred. Your sweeping tariffs now ignored. Your power plays forgot to sway the masses in your direction. Now, to most, you’re just a cyst, an unwanted infection. What is your fate as of late Mister Present Tense? Barred, unsung, and forever benched. Cheers to Bicycle for the purple peacock-inspired deck I used for this post.
It’s time to talk legibility. The key to longevity. Details matter when it comes to design. Its sole purpose being communication above all else sets the stage for designers obsessing over the minutiae that the majority of the population doesn’t recognize. We see illegible billboards suffering from sizing issues or poor contrast, screen graphics with kerning so tight between bold condensed sans serif fonts, in all caps no less, with barely a hair of word spacing (FoxNews I’m looking at you). Then there’s the coup de grâce: the overt disgrace of inch marks replacing quotation marks. The apathetic omission of ligatures, those unique two and three letter combinations are absent allowing some characters to unfortunately cross over and crowd one another.
This forgetfulness and lack of attention to detail has become another growing concern ever since we embraced digital platforms of expression. While choosing to use ligatures appears straightforward some brands have embraced this art of connection to their own detriment leading to illegibility. We must be mindful when wielding ligatures. The current version of the KIA logo caused the general population to search Google for the “KN car.” The internal design team at KIA joined all three letters in the attempt to render a memorable mark. However, the use of ligatures backfired in that the I and A look like a backwards N. They could have averted this unfortunate solution had these letters not been connected as the design of the individual specimens is rather elegant.
According to Leonardo da Vinci: “To develop a complete mind: Study the science of art; Study the art of science. Learn how to see. Realize that everything connects to everything else.” This highly keen observation cannot be any closer to the truth when applied to typography.
Font families are designed with these additional, connected characters allowing for more natural two and three letter combinations attempting to reduce the chance of character specimens crossing over one another. Ligatures create a powerful interplay within a logotype or headline.
My first glance at ligatures was in the late 70s when I was six years old while enjoying the first film that peaked my interest for enigmatic space operas. As the Star Wars title flew over our heads elegantly combining the S & T and the R & S letterforms I was hooked not only for science fiction in film, but solid graphic design. The film introduced us all to the visual stylings and design language of Ralph McQuarrie and Joe Johnston. George Lucas hired McQuarrie as his primary designer for the epic adventure “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.”
Johnston redesigned the Millennium Falcon after George saw a similar ship in another film that preceded the release of Star Wars. The initial design became the Rebel Blockage Runner instead of Han and Chewie’s Corellian YT-1300 light freighter. “You’ve never heard of the Millennium Falcon?…It’s the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs,” boasted Han. “What the cargo?” Solo inquired. Obi-wan answered in a low tone: “Only passengers. Myself, the boy, two droids and no questions asked.”
I was reintroduced to these graphical groupings in Typography class while studying graphic design at the University of Georgia under Professor Ronald Arnholm. Initially we learned the basics as applied to fi, fl, ffi, and ffl combinations. I later discovered what I called a positive and negative pairing,“yin & yang ligatures,” in my Vinson logotype.
Professor Arnholm stopped by noting my solution possessed a timeless longevity. Considering his professor at Yale was Paul Rand, and he also displayed a rare talent of his own including a fascination with creating holograms as a hobby, I took his observance to heart. I have tweaked my logo over the years, but it still retains 93% of the original design.
I fell in love with typography when I was 11 years old playing around with font combinations in Print Shop Deluxe on my C64. My chosen concentration for my AP Art course during my senior year in high school was the exploration of stencils across mixed media. My logotype utilizes stenciled or “Yin & Yang” ligatures providing iconic longevity inspired by Paul Rand’s graphic simplicity. My Typography professor at UGA was taught by Rand at Yale.
When designing the logotype for my entertainment company I joined the E & S emphasizing the collaborative nature of our mission. I just barely kissed the E and Y and the O and N giving the logotype a light-hearted connectedness. I kept the logo and tagline in lowercase hinting at the childlike curiosity my films tend to explore never taking ourselves too seriously.
During my internship and later as a freelance graphic designer for 19 years with Georgia Museum of Art I was always vigilant in weeding out ligature opportunities allowing for better legibility I applied to various exhibition checklists and texts. During the design and editorial stages as we swapped revisions back and forth my hawk eye was always on the lookout to squash any missing ligatures. On a few occasions the printer's preflight tossed out my finite scrutiny to the ligatures. Thus destroying my attention to detail, giving me a lump in my throat, and a minor anxiety attack. I can still smell the good old days of press checks.
Any time I can incorporate swash capitals and other custom characters I rise to the occasion. While developing the core identity for Quick Brown Fox FX Brand Consultancy (below) I knew I wanted to place ligature studies at the very core of the brand including the logo. I chose Emigre’s Mrs. Eaves Family for its classy stylings and unique ligatures. I applied its various weights and styles across the entire design language of the brand consultancy. In many cases when ligatures weren’t available for a particular combination, I designed my own keeping them closely inline with the delicate, frisky beauty of Mrs. Eaves. She’s a lovely one.
“On a few occasions the printer’s preflight tossed out my finite scrutiny to the ligatures ‘Thus destroying my attention to detail, giving me a lump in my throat, and a minor anxiety attack.”
Building this brand’s journey quite literally began during my childhood at the corner of West Red Fox Trail and Red Fox Court in my hometown, Greenville, South Carolina. This Fox Spirit has been designing local brands since 1990 and global brands since 1996. Quick Brown Fox FX Brand Consultancy. Adaptable. Cunning. Frisky.
“This Fox Spirit’s raw, ‘infectious creative energy’ has been chasing and redefining ligatures while designing local brands since 1990 and global brands since 1996.”
— The Fox Spirit, Quick Brown Fox FX Brand Consultancy
Mirrored or “Upside-Down” ligatures emphasizing the duality of The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.
Pushing ligatures to their legible limits by combining all letterforms arriving at a bold solution for The Force Awakens.
In “Hallow Be Thy Names” I incorporated an intertwined ligature system. YHWH, JHVH, and IHVH are represented as a unified symbol of the power of three.
There’s something magical about discovering happy accidents. We revel in those precious moments when we surprise even ourselves. It’s in these moments of clarity when we’re given the final clue to discovering the hidden treasure subliminally hiding in plain sight. If it were a snake it surely would’ve bitten me.
While designing logos and logo variants lightning struck twice. First in college when I discovered the Yin and Yang nature of the letters in my last name when they’re split by syllables and stacked. The second aha moment occurred two years ago while creating a logo variant celebrating my 27th year milestone as a professional graphic designer.
When I reached my 27th year I wanted to celebrate by designing a Vinson logo variant. I didn’t purposely hide the number twenty-seven within the letters of the “27+ Years of Crop Marks + Keyframes” graphic. It was completely by chance that there were two clear instances of the number hidden within the design. I didn’t discover it until I finished designing the graphic.
My primary Vinson logo has two vertically-aligned dots and seven parts so that’s 2 & 7. If you look closely you’ll see the dots aren’t perfect circles. I intentionally stretched them on the y-axis for a subtle boost of “infectious creative energy,” as I’ve been described by my peers.
I’ve always been naturally drawn to patterns especially in regard to logotypes, letterforms and mathematics. Twenty-seven is also my lucky number.
During a recent daydream-fueled road trip lightning struck, my brain seized in an aha moment of spontaneous combustion. Through another alignment sparking across pulsing neurons and excited intuition my mind lit up again. Seemingly out of nowhere a brain-blazed clarity hit me like a Louisville Slugger nailing a home run winning not only the game, but the entire World Series. Ok, that’s a bit of a stretch, more like a Little League tied whiffle ball game. While whistling on down the highway I posed a hypothesis to my sidekick. It may just be the key that unlocks reality itself shining light on what the Hell on Earth is going on.
We’re all experiencing shifts now in our shaken, quaking world. Could the unhinged political climate, and more to the point our polarized, war-mongering country leader himself be taking commands from a premeditated script in order to raise his status to that of divine? His deluge of reality distortion fields harvested by his number two in an endless hall of mirrors. Escapism in its purest form serving sheepish zombies another meal of mediocre, overcooked, and half-cocked alphabet sludge. Copycats speaking out fully grounded in a false matrix pounding their hollow chests against us, the Transcendentalists.
“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”
— Ephesians 6:12
Has this motley crew of two aligned themselves with plagiarized divinity? They’re attempting to not rewrite history, but to adhere to a playbook of prophecy piracy. These bozos are stealing a profound narrative and selling it as their own. Sound familiar? Is this yet another attempt to hold up holy relics on sale now in their own names toasted in orange Cheeto dust? My copilot looked at me in utter astonishment and agreed that I might be onto something. I wasn’t trying to convince them of some conspiracy theory that I had cooked up. I connected the dots that already existed. Once connected, I formed my own conclusion.
It felt like looking up at the stars on a cloudy night in the moment the wind blew the obstructions from view. Orion now fully ablaze wielding his sword lit up by freshly kissed pixie dust. The following is a slightly deeper dive as to the severity of these claims and how closely their thievery fits into the world stage playbill. Staring us all right in the eyes with its singular eye hovering above an unfinished pyramid. Their game plan’s manifesto speaks volumes and moves mountains for those not willing to rise up against them. Beware for just over that hill is yet another oasis in an otherwise empty, lifeless desert.
“The Liar, the Witch, and the War Doge” or “the King Dumb Don, MAGA, and the Asshat Assassin with an eLon on his forehead.” Donald Trump and Elon Musk consider themselves divinely inspired. They have been advised by someone or more likely something from the lower depths that they are ushering in the beginning of the end. The End Times as foretold in the highly edited, forever debated Christian Bible. Citing bent scripture, casting twisted nets, and making mud pies in their sandbox soaked in lies they continue their immediate recession driving head-on into another Dark Age. They’re stealing their miming moves and mining lines directly from that sacred tome along with aligning themselves with the predictions of soothsayers of old and some not too far past. They’re living out the predictions of the well known Nostradamus, born in the south of France in Saint-Remy-de-Provence and blind since birth seer Baba Vanga, born in Strumica in North Macedonia and died in Bulgaria in 1996. Through their overreaching, callous, and divisive efforts they’re showing their cards in plain sight. Their deck is rigged. The cards were counted, but not by them. There’s another force at play here hiding just along the edge of light and shadow with its piercing mind’s eye watching, waiting for the moment to reveal itself.
Now a dime store magician, rather a witch, is now at the head of the United States Government. The witch hunt is in full force, and it’s being led by the richest man in the world with uneasy, wavering support from the President. Both of these men are marked on their foreheads with “MAGA.” The direct translation of “maga” in Latin is a female enchantress, more specifically a witch. It’s hard to not tell the truth once something has come to light. There’s no argument to make. Nowhere to hide. Yes, MAGA is a witch itself, and it has been striking down those who oppose them on both sides of the aisle, and now not even the judiciary is safe. MAGA’s spell casting is ushering in a New World Order in realtime at blazing speeds. All of those times in the past that Trump mentioned he was at the heart of his opponent’s witch hunts were all carefully orchestrated by MAGA to fool their entire support base. By playing into their passions for a self-appointed underdog, now DOGE holds the reins of MAGA with no guard rails in place whatsoever. The courts will soon be completely overrun and distracted with innumerable cases brought against the MAGA establishment.
There’s an inherent problem, a cancer growing quite unnoticed by all paying attention to the facts. These so-called leaders weren’t chosen by the Divine, the Universe, and certainly not by the people. They continue pushing down six feet under, burying, ending anyone opposing them and their plans. Their own shadow work suiting themselves and placing them on the throne. They’ve drilled down, wasting every natural resource including human ingenuity and critical thinking. However, there’s a flaw in their plan so small, yet so significant it will devour itself from within swallowing its own tail until it consumes itself altogether.
An implosion of spiritual nature lies just beyond the horizon. A natural End Times to their trickery and deceit casts a dark echo across the land. The more they flex the weaker they become. They didn’t flip the script. They stole it and didn’t realize that it had been tampered with, altered by some sort of supernatural, super being. Every time they enact it their intellect quotients drop another five points. Even they aren’t immune to the growing zombie farm spreading like West Coast wildfires across our once great nation.
Yes, they’ve pirated their plans directly from the soothsayers’ predictions. Their sights are locked in on clear and present danger. Their heartless manipulation and gaslighting has sparked a series of dark events unfolding before our very eyes. As each day passes, their endgame is clear: strip the world of free speech, free thought, free energy, and even dampening free will. Their attempts at secrecy were affronted with disdain throughout our world. There was nearly a 50/50 split right down the middle in relation to who’s onboard their Flying Dutchman’s motley crew. However, that ratio is ticking fifteen points higher in the direction of a country betrayed at its very heart. Piracy’s specter has bled into every corner of our world. This myriad of men believe they are now God. That they are righteous. That the world shall bow down to them in their names. Little did they know that their script was rigged, and the deck was stacked against everyone.
History has proven time and again that those who seek ultimate power are willing to lie, claw, steal, and stop at nothing to achieve it. Someone or something has taken the reigns by placing themselves at the center of the action. I believe it to not to be of this Earth, rather a remnant from much older, darker times wreathed in flame. The third Antichrist is next…SAM hArrIs ALTMAN. Yes, it’s clearly spelled out in his name and no need to unscramble the letters: “SATAN AI MALM (Machined Artificial Language Model).” There’s something fishy though about this observation regarding Sam’s true nature.
There’s possibly a catch in naming Sam as the third Antichrist. Under closer inspection he may just be the False Prophet or even the Trumpet based on his most recent ramblings about the generative artificial intelligence race coming to an end. In a knee-jerk halt maneuver in the media just days ago he mused that as long as training data is protected under copyright law machined artificial language and image models cannot reach their projected potential. He’s now gaslighting that the true fault lies with morality itself. Somehow he actually believes that the only way to do the right thing is to continue supporting nothing but the wrong thing. This is what happens when someone is sheepish enough to believe their own lies. When the lies are repeated three times there’s a natural occurrence happening in our brains. If we want to remember something repeat it three times. He has completely duped himself with his own endless deceptions.
I find Sam’s delusional thinking ironic, don’t you? I guess he never fully understood the old adage: “two wrongs does not make a right.” I think he got a ChatGPT-laced version that read: “a wrong may be right, but a right is always wrong.” Sounds about right if we follow this line to its natural conclusion of self-deceptive monotony. One thing’s for sure: every darkened soul supporting Altman’s fierce farce is now earmarked for extinction. There’s a certain split happening just under the Earth’s crust, quite close but out of sight for most still trapped in Sam’s snake oil rotting their atrophied gray matter. Until they reach out for redemption and turn away from their prompting ways they’ll forever live among the shadow world’s most detested villains.
Believing they’re divinely inspired when in essence they’re just reading the lines while missing the universal point. Power was always meant to be shared by all, and never just coveted by a self-selective few. They’ve stolen the answer key to the exam, but forgot to fact-check the answers. An acquired script partially written centuries ago by the soothsayer some consider mad while others believe his visionary, riddled quatrains as genius. Nostradamus and his future foresights were a common topic for debate in my youth. Both Nostradamus and more recently Baba Vanga were two seers we continue holding up as possibly the most accurate predictive truth sayers even rivaling The Simpson’s. Nostradamus predicted Hitler just one letter off as “Hister.” The Christian Bible speaks of the Trumpet. Some believe Trump is that incarnation. However, I know it not to be true. Let’s just say I have insider’s knowledge on the matter.
So is the current mockery playing out on the world stage premeditated or just mere coincidence? I doubt the latter as there’s no such thing plus there are nearly endless parallels backing up my theory. The script wasn’t flipped, it was stolen for all the world to witness. Knowing souls spotted it immediately, another deja vu to others, another alert system sounding the alarm on an average, dull afternoon. Spotlights averted in that exact moment allowing darkness to endure. Just a quick glitch. After a soft reboot all appears to be back to normal on the surface. The new normal where zombies are real. Yes, the apocalypse has been simmering on the back burner for decades, nearly seventy-five years. It all started with adding lithium and fluoride to the water supply ever so slowly dulling the minds of men, women, and innocent children.
Now we face a false future, a narrative taken, stolen from the soothsayers. While some transcend others’ souls sink into complete Escapism. Some believe we have already discovered the False Prophet as foretold in the Christian Bible. Others believe the Trumpet is in full force blazing a path unearthing every possible thievery at the very pounding heart of our American governmental systems. We’re now on the verge of collapse after a barrage of executions white-washing inefficiencies plays out. Some believe that Mabus, the Third AntiChrist, is alive and well. They believe that once Pope Francis passes he will rise somewhere in the West; a fallen angel Hell bent on raping the natural world devouring every last natural resource from the national parks to the world’s oceans. Some believe Mabus is already here hidden behind the guise of DOGE or MAGA, or both. Don’t forget, that the word “maga” in Latin is a direct translation of a female enchantress, a witch. I find it ironic that the witch hunts have been turned around. Now the government is sending out its own zombie crowds armed with pitchforks and torches.
They’re casting, spelling incantations blazing their trails leaving anyone who detests their ways as heretics. There’s also something quite telling about the red hats covered in MAGA fallacy and 45 and 47. 4+5=9 and 4+7=11. That’s literally “911.” Rather alarming I’d say. Then take MAGA which we now know means witch. So the Republicans are supporting a sorceress at the very heart of our government. I doubt any of them has ever made the connection or they have and were told it was just a coincidence. You know how I feel about those…they don’t exist. Everything happens for a reason whether terrestrial or divine. Mabus may also be directly translated as “maybe us” or even more directly as “maybe U.S.” If we flip the lowercase “g” in Maga, essentially turning the government upside down we get a lowercase “b.” This spells out “Maba.” Add “U.S.” and we’re back at “Maba U.S.” Time will tell, and the clock is now less than twenty-seven seconds to midnight.
Their playbook is clear, and they’ve committed heresy sidling alongside as proxies near self-proclaimed high IQers. The future is set in motion by spying on their neighbor’s exam stealing the script from those who predicted it. False prophets aligning with divine dictations from soothsayers of old. The script was writ long ago. We’re quick to believe Nostradamus and Baba Vanga’s predictions. However, have we ever considered the players are living out these predictions as if in a play on the world’s stage? Their actions align with these predictions as if they may believe their own lies that they’re divine.
Yes, their repetitive lies have been echoed so many times that even they have fooled themselves from within their own ranks. They now believe that Nostradamus and Baba Vanga predicted their rise to ultimate power on Earth. The problem is they’re not using the original source material. Rather they’ve skipped to the front of the line with their Cliffs Notes version. It’s riddled with holes, omissions, and bent narrative meant to align with the current world order and ushering in the decaying minds of a chosen two. Their fault lines are spidering out in a web of chaos fueled by the archaic rhetoric of an odd couple cursed ship of fools. Yet there’s a larger shadow growing across the landscape of Europe some have been predicting for centuries.
There’s a vacancy coming to the throne in Rome. The Third Antichrist may lead to en masse delusions birthed from within the very bedrock of the Vatican. He who advises our newly-appointed Holy Father, Pope Leo XIV, at the heart of the Catholic Church may have an alternative plan; a marked plan of the Beast. He will possess the hearts and minds of those among MAGA supporters including their duality of inequality further. This spreading cancer that must be eradicated now. If not I’m sure the Second Coming of Christ will be happy to hop in the ring and cast those down who worship the false idols of ignorance.
This Second Coming is not what some Christians may be willing to accept and understand. I am talking specifically about “Christ Consciousness.” If you don’t know what it is then I cannot more highly recommend you look it up for yourself. This divine reframing of the minds is coming whether we’re ready or not. The truth is that it’s already here amongst us growing quietly as the most potent antidote we’ve ever seen since the last Great Flood that swept across all four corners of the Earth. Yet there may just be hope of salvation. Sometimes even the Devil himself just needs a hug. We all have a dark side. It’s in our darkest moments that we see the light illuminating our path. Sometimes there are two roads to choose from, yet few realize soon enough that taking to the skies grants the best disguise. Drop the prompts and tap your inner knowing. Generative artificial intelligence wasn’t built for illumination like we think. Its primary purpose is exposing darkened souls lost across the cosmos both above and below.
Don’t despair. This is all just historical fiction, right?
In his latest pivotal unpresidential move, Trump’s forever head-spinning Oval Office of Offenses forcefully requests the pleasure of acquiring your country’s treasures. Every myth, legend, and pop culture icon will fund this mandatory, fully inclusive $500B Stargate GoFundMe action plan. All trillionaires are fully exempt, of course.
So sorry billionaires, you were so close! According to Trump all countries must immediately hand over all of their cultural treasures specifically targeting, in his words: “All McMuffins. Every nook. Every cranny.” JayD eventually interrupted the golden word mangler, “ahem, they’re MacGuffins, Sire, Not McMuffins.”
“Ahem, they’re MacGuffins, Sire, Not McMuffins.”
— JayD (yes, he's changed his name for a 5th time)
He claims he’s been informed by top minds they’re all real. Apparently he saw the AI version of Stephen Spoofberg’s Raiders of the Golden Arches and is now convinced that Hitler was not only a snappy dresser, but now T is overtly obsessed with obtaining every relic known to possess supernatural, woo-woo powers. Treasures with supernatural powers like the Lance of Longinus, the Ark of the Covenant, and the Fountain of Youth are given extra credit in the form of a complimentary Trump Bible, a year-long membership to the Fruit of the Month Club, and an in-person birthday party starring the BigT himself at Chuck E Cheese. However he has requested it be catered by MickeyDs.
In order to raise $500B for Project Stargate Trump asks that everyone dig deep. He promises if we fund the project he will make sure we all have jobs in the New World Order…His Galactic Empire. As a bonus he will also gift us each an X1 Haptic Boot Suit and an Omnidirectional Treadmill with Quadraphonic Pressure Sensor Underlay aka “Project Hamster Wheel.” If we opt-out – which there is no way to do so (sound familiar) – we will be sent to Mars to live with his twitchy War Doge jester, Elon who recently requested with the Social Security Office he be renamed “Emporer Elon Ming the Musky Merciless.”
Elon’s plans for ClimX, his latest weather machine and also the name of his new porno nightclub on Mars, will soon take flight. His plans are to inflict enough Mars-like weather anomalies on Earth to help make Mars look more palatable. He stated to the press today that he will push weather extremes to the, um extreme. Get prepared for even brighter OLED buttons for inflicting “Hurricane, Hot Hail, Typhoon, Meteor Storm, Tornado, Earthquake, and Volcanic Eruptions.”
The Don adds: “if anyone resists they will be sent to the Phantom Zone as soon as he has acquired the Phantom Zone Projector.” He doesn’t realize that’s the first thing we’re going to do to him and his cronies, send them all via a one-way ticket to the Phantom Zone with a little help from Gru’s Minions. T just got word of our plan to trap them so he’s taking an about-face move and decided to not pursue any of this foolishness.
Trump’s grand, golden, buttery, greasy, gluttonous McMuffins Wish List (which he fully intends to acquire all of them immediately with zero blowback from anyone currently holding any rank of authority such as judges and world leaders):
The Arkenstone from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings • Vector’s Shrink Ray • IOI’s Pure O2 • The Eye of Sauron • The Wheel of Fortune • Old MacDonald’s Farm • Vecna’s Spider Throne • The Legion of Doom • The Big Wheel on The Price is Right • Planet Doom • H.G. Wells’ Time Machine • The Dark Crystal • Bozo’s Grand Prize Game • A Lifetime Supply of Chocolate • The Love Boat • FrankNFurter’s Platforms • Gregarious 120 • Dr. Evil’s Secret Volcano Lair • Mooby the Golden Calf • The Jewel-encrusted Egg with Working Clockwork Canary and Brass Bauble • Goldfinger’s Laser • The Wonkavator • Halliday’s Easter Egg • The Ole 96er • The Invisible Dot • The Golden Fleece • The WOPR • All 5 Golden Tickets • The Wonkavator • Voldemort’s Wand • Boss Hogg’s Triple White 1970 Cadillac Deville • The Ziggy Pig • The Oompa Loompas • The Gutenberg Bible • Excalibur • Both Death Stars • Anorak’s 3 Keys • The General Lee • Boss Hogg’s Cadillac Triple White 1970 Cadillac DeVille Convertible • The Paperboy’s $2 • The Hot Tub Time Machine • The Oasis • The Buddy Games Trophy Bucket • The One Ring • Bill & Ted’s Phone Booth • The Magic Carpet • The Golden Snitch • The Map to the Great Underground Empire • 50 Year Edition Sports Almanac • An Army of T-1000s • The Genie’s Lamp (oops, you forgot to ask for the Genie, too) • The Mask • The Orb of Osuvox • Santa’s Sleigh • Doc Brown’s Flying DeLorean • All Batmobiles & Batman Toys • Noah’s Ark • Zoltar Speaks Machine • A Hoverboard • Ralphie’s Red Ryder • The Iron Giant • The Close Encounters Mothership • Gru’s Freeze Ray • Iron Man’s Mark I, II & III • Rocky’s Boxing Gloves & Converse All-Stars • The Field of Dreams Cornfield • The Ark of the Covenant • Spicoli’s Double Cheese and Sausage Pizza • The Sorcerer’s Stone • Emporer Ming’s Ring • Free City 2 Carnage • The Moon • Forest Gump’s Box of Chocolates • The Sankara Stones • The Maltese Falcon • The 9 Pieces of 8 • The Phantom Zone Projector • The WarGames War Room • Lord Helmet’s Helmet • The Palantíri Seeing Stones • The Crystal Skull • Phantom’s Mask, Organ, and Chandelier • The Balrog of Morgoth • Satan’s Pitchfork • Jack Sparrow’s Compass • Mask of Tutankhamun • The Wicked Witch’s Hat • Frosty’s Magic Hat • Milton’s Red Swingline • The Golden Idol • The Ruby Slippers • The Infinity Gauntlet • The Glowing Briefcase • The Heart of the Ocean • The Grail Diary • The USS Vengeance • The Emporer’s Throne • Davy Jones’ Heart • Monty Python’s Holy Grail • The Head of Medusa • E.T.’s Phone Home Phone & Reese’s Pieces • The Yellow Brick Road • Magic Mirror on the Wall • The Papal Throne • Zeus’ Lightning Rod • Poseidon’s Trident • The Emerald City • The Shroud of Turin • Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper with Donald Trump as Jesus Christ • The Mona Lisa • The Las Vegas Statue of Liberty • Monopoly Broadway & Park Place • The Solved Rubik’s Cube • Rocky Balboa’s Statue
If timing is everything then now is the best time for anything. Make a splash. Make that entrance no one will ever forget. Be your own pirate. Sail the high seas and find your treasure. Mine found me, and that treasure was knowledge. Knowing is half the battle. Knowing when to start is only the beginning. Now is all we have so dive deep and accept the call of the whisper of your own activated intuition’s imagination.
There is no past, no present, nor future. Time is an illusion created by human beings in order to keep a self-selected few in control of the narrative. It’s something so immense, they’ll never fully comprehend it: a universe without limits, without boundaries. An existence beyond mere mortals. As we all wake up to the truth that this moment is all we have let’s hit the high seas and have an adventure of all adventures.
William Turner : “This is either madness or brilliance.”
Captain Jack Sparrow : “It’s remarkable how often those two traits coincide.”
