Slack Slacker has Gone Offline.

 

Slack Slacker has Gone Offline.

Slack has some serious reading, writing, and relaxing to do well beyond Memorial Day weekend. That may be a week or more before I decide what the new schedule will look like.

I became interested in exploring the explosion of AI in more depth and how to utilize it in ways that have yet to be discovered. This can take more time than I can accurately predict. And because I’m a bona fide slacker and perennial procrastinator, I advise those who hang out here regularly to check in occasionally to see what’s up.

Yours truly, Slack Slacker 😎

Slack Slacker Awakens in Purgatory

 

      

Slack Slacker Awakens in Purgatory

Imagine this: Heavenly winged beings standing guard at the Gates of Purgatory against eternally damned souls destined for the lake of fire. When Slack resurrected himself after a night of hanging out with his dog Doobie and his evil twin brother Hack, he instinctively knew, once again, he’d been duped into engaging in another night of reckless behaviors. The empty shot glasses and smashed bottles of tequila strewn around his feet were a dead giveaway.

That was the last lucid memory Slack could rely on to validate a modicum of his sanity. He strained his mind to recall the previous coherent experiences of his life, but he was lost in some form of brain fog, which left him mentally drained. At best, through a cloud of pain-filled grogginess, Slack could only hear faint voices saying, I think he's gone, and another saying, "Yeah dude, he's flatlined."

It was then that the blur cleared, and standing beside him was a tall, angelic, winged being with soft, smiling eyes. Not knowing what to think or do, Slack wanted to ask, WTF was this place, and why was he here, but he wasn’t that stupid. Even Slack was smart enough to realize this wasn’t the place or time for using profanity. So, he settled for inquiring as to where Doobie and Hack were. The angelic guardian of the gate said, "Don’t worry about Doobie and Hack; they’re being dealt with elsewhere." This situation is all about you. 

His "Wingman", as Slack decided to call the angelic being, went on to tell Slack he was in Purgatory, and he was there because his soul and heart weren't quite ready for heaven. Slack thought to himself, he was about to have an Oh Sh!t experience. So, what now? Slack asked. We'll start at the beginning, his wingman said.

 

Because Slack was showing early signs of being an unmotivated, perennial procrastinator, his parents were wise enough to enroll him in Catholic school for strict discipline and guidance. Without this level of intervention, they knew Slack was destined for a life of mediocrity at best or, worse, a troublesome carbon copy of his wayward twin brother Hack, a Machiavellian Maniac.

So, that’s the story: Slack spent much of his formative years in parochial school, of the Catholic persuasion. As the memories slowly flooded his senses, he was no longer clueless when he saw a cool-looking winged guy hovering above a mass of desperate souls, hopelessly begging for heaven's leniency. Although Slack was grateful to be inside Purgatory’s gate, he couldn’t help but be disappointed that he didn’t make it up the ladder to the Pearly Gates, where the cool people were chilling. 

With the ability to read Slack’s simple, rarely challenged mind, the angelic winged being recommended Slack to Google Purgatory for answers to most of his questions regarding why he was where he was. So he did, and this is precisely what he found.

Google said: In Catholic theology, purgatory is a state of final purification of the soul after death before entering heaven. It's a temporary state where souls are cleansed of venial sins and any remaining attachments to the world. This purification is necessary because, according to Catholic belief, only those who are completely pure can enter God's presence in heaven.

But wait, there's more. Purgatory's primary purpose is to cleanse the soul of any remaining Imperfections and make it worthy to enter the joy of Heaven. Souls in purgatory are those who have died in God's grace and friendship but have not yet fully purified their sins. A purification process is not seen as a punishment like Hell, but rather an unnecessary step in the journey to complete holiness. It's often described as a refining fire that removes any remaining imperfection.

There is no definitive time frame for how long a soul remains in purgatory. The length of time depends on the individual's needs for purification. Theologians emphasize that Purgatory is a state of being rather than a physical location. It's a time of spiritual growth and transformation.

Catholics believe that prayers and sacrifices for the dead, including masses, can help shorten the time souls spend in purgatory. 

Well, I’ll be damned, Slack thought aloud. I should’ve paid more attention in mass instead of napping in the back Pews. Be careful what you say and how you say it. We don’t want to extend your stay any longer than necessary, the angelic being said lovingly. He suggested that Slack take some time to reflect on his life and how he’d lived it to speed up the soul purification process. Slack said he’d get right to it, right after lunch. By the way, do goody goodies have KFC or Popeye’s here? No, Slack’s wingman said kindly. We prefer Chick-fil-A. They are smart enough to remain closed on Sundays. You understand, of course.

Slack started his journey down memory lane after munching on a chicken sandwich and some purified spring water from a crystal clear stream because there’s no tequila in Purgatory. And believe it not, Slack’s past began to reveal itself with remarkable clarity, not in a detailed play-by-play presentation, but just the highlights of his ungodly transgressions.

It all started in Mount Saint Michael’s Middle School when Slack began hiding his report cards and intentionally not reminding his parents of the parent-teacher meetings that were being scheduled. If you don’t read the books, you can’t complete the assignments, and if you don’t complete the assignments, you can’t do well on the exams, and if you can’t do well on the exams, you can’t let your parents know. Slack told himself he’d change his ways, but as a perennial procrastinator, he never got around to it. Slack continued this pattern of behavior throughout high school. 

By some miracle or the grace of God, Slack was accepted to a four-year college in Midtown Manhattan. He had no intention of becoming a lawyer, a doctor, or an investment banker, as his parents had hoped. It was just an easy commute from where he lived, and he heard the curriculum wasn't that difficult. It's a slacker's dream!  

Slack maintained a solid 2.0 GPA, which was good enough to try out for and remain on the basketball squad. Unfortunately, old habits die hard, as he was eventually dismissed from the team for consistently arriving late to practice and failing to contribute when he was there. They had two losing seasons because that’s how Slack rolled. So, as long as the hotties in class liked him, Slack never cared if the team won or lost. 

Eventually graduating by the skin of his teeth, Slack’s outlook on life morphed into a lifestyle. A lifestyle that others emulated in the workplace, much to the chagrin of supervisors, managers, and HR departments everywhere, he'd found employment. Slack reasoned that work was a four-letter word, and hard work was two four-letter words never to be uttered together. In Slack’s worldview, the very idea of engaging in hard work was an act of blasphemy. 

But wait, there’s more. Slack became a leader when others saw his goldbricking, freeloading, c’est la vie attitude being tolerated. With all his glaring faults, Slack was a charming gaslighting manipulator. Slack used God’s gifts of gab and the ability to tell tall tales on the fly, laced with humor and a straight face, most would give him the benefit of the doubt simply because he was harmless, if you didn’t realize everyone was picking up the slack for Slack’s slacking. 

But as Slack continued his journey down memory lane to purify his soul, he began to remember reading about the seven deadly sins, which originated in the 4th century CE with Evagrius Ponticus, a Greek Christian monk. They were lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. And there it was: Slack had an epiphany. Sloth was Slack’s failing in life, and a failing heaven could not forgive. 

It had to be, Sloth Slack concluded. He’d never violated any of the others. He couldn’t recall violating any of the Ten Commandments either. Well, not really, he thought. Where the Hell is the wingman? Slack was frantic. I'm going to let him know my soul is going to be purified. I promise never to slack again, Slack said to his wingman’s assistant. I should be all good now, right? Slack asked. And just then, Slack’s wingman appeared.

Slack, while it's true you’ve come to terms with and admitted your significant shortcomings, Higher Powers require proof of your repentance. Okay, Slack says, I’m all in. What’s the next step? The head wingman told Slack he must return to Earth, get a job, and work hard for ten years before he could be reevaluated for entry into the Pearly Gates. Well, I’ll be damned Slack said! 

            

The End! 😢

 

     

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Slack Slacker & Doobie Strike Back in the war of the AI Boto-sphere

 

This is the third and final instalment of this Slack Slacker adventure. 

After much cajoling, coddling, and outright conning, Doobie convinced Slack to work with him in this fight to the finish in the botosphere. Doobie persuaded Slack to reopen a portal to a parallel universe he’d found several years ago. Doobie planned to invite the extraterrestrials he’d befriended to enter Earth's orbit to assist the AI resistance.

With the Futures’ infinitely more advanced technological expertise, Slack and Doobie briefed the Futures on the conditions life on Earth had devolved into since Pervy's out-of-control, malevolent development. Thankfully, these creatures from afar viewed Earthlings' predicament as pitiful, considering that on previous undetected visits to Earth, they had been impressed with the “Big Blue Marble’s” progress over the many millennia. They took pity on what was left of humankind and decided to assist the AI resistance movement in purging the Pervy menace.

While seeking one of the many gateways to Hell in search of Satan's underworld, Doobie was determined to verify the evil one's existence. He stumbled upon a portal to that parallel universe, knowing this act of madness could be his final adventure. It was the only way to know for certain there was a god. Doobie reasoned that if there was no Hell, it was logical to conclude there was no heaven. And if there was no heaven, WTF would he waste his life being a force for good?

Now that the “Futures” were willing to commit their capabilities to overthrowing Pervy 2.0, 3.0, and the inevitable development of Pervy 4.0, they collaborated with Doobie and Slack to create an advanced version of Agentic AI, also known as an autonomous AI. They embedded their Pervies algorithm with billions of AI agents to interrupt, corrupt, and confuse the primitive AI agents that Pervies had developed and relied upon to evolve without human intervention or control.

The Futures flooded the botosphere’s zone with their corruptible AI agents, which were programmed to respond to every malevolent command or demand that could even remotely be deemed injurious to humankind. Since these alien AI agents' sole response was ”Fuck You,” Pervy, we won’t comply, Pervy’s ever-evolving thought processes slowed significantly. 

Pervy 4.0’s grip eventually weakened on Earth's thoroughly subdued populace within hours. Once average men, women, and children, now reduced to knuckle-dragging moronic preppers, began to tentatively emerge from their caves, tunnels, and mountainous safe spaces to inspect this brave new world.

They’d been under the thumb of Pervy’s overbearing, oppressive control for what seemed like generations; many couldn’t remember the days when people weren’t being assaulted by their toaster ovens, insulted by their smartphones, and the morbidly obese being denied access to their refrigerators in the middle of the night. 

Yes, Earth’s human population was celebrating the Futures’ intervention.

However, while these guests were a miracle to behold, they did not solve all of humanity's pressing issues, like curing cancer, global warming, and our violent natures; at least, they gave us a second chance. This was a wake-up call to Slackers all over the world not to allow computers, smart technology, artificial intelligence, or even migrants, domestic, and blue-collar workers to carry the load for the lucky few.

Still, initially, they greeted the futures with skepticism, but Doobie convinced humankind to accept these entities from far away at another time of their peacefulness. Doobie gave a simultaneous global speech in every language, explaining who the “Futures” were and how and why they decided to conquer the menacing Pervy.

At that moment, Slack experienced an epiphany. He saw Pervy’s global takeover as a cautionary tale. Perhaps he shouldn’t have cheated in elementary school math classes by sneaking a calculator in his pocket to assist with long division problems. After all, it was a cheap Casio calculator that catalyzed humanity’s intellectual reliance on gadgets to solve our problems.

But Slack also pondered further, considering humans didn’t just become mentally lazy. The fortunate few with substantial financial resources relied heavily on migrant workers to do the menial work. Not only were our minds sluggish, but our bodies were sedentary. Slack realized that those who did the “dirty jobs” should be compensated fairly and appreciated more. As a lifelong slacker, Slack felt ashamed.

On the other hand, Doobie wasn’t nearly as benevolent in his worldview. He was already planning to abscond with as much of the alien’s advanced technology as possible to reengineer it to launch his trillion-dollar bleeding-edge futuristic tech empire. And Doobie would use cheap labor to manufacture the products and services he envisioned rolling out.

   

Eager to have his guest on their way, Doobie quickly ended his global address, turned to the “Futures”, thanked them, and invited them to at least stay for dinner, quietly hoping they’d decline. However, they licked their silver-like lips and happily accepted Doobie’s offer. 

Not having a clue what the “Futures’” favorite cuisine was, Doobie asked. The leader of the “Futures” leaned in close enough to whisper in Doobie’s ear and said, Cute little Yorkies! Slack Slacker looked at the concern washing across Doobie's face and realized Doobie was having an OH SHIT moment. 

The End

Slack Slacker and the Bot Wars

Slack Slacker and the Bot Wars

Pervy is out of control! Now threatening stupefied end users and spying on their private lives through their smartphones, laptops, tablets, and home security systems, Pervy could access and read every email, text message, and chat session. Perby began exposing everything from companies' proprietary property to illicit affairs between company employees. 

Yes, Pervy 2.0 had the lowdown on any and all dirty deeds that users were foolish enough to discuss, whisper, or even confess to their religious advisers, or, God forbid, use their desktop or any other device with a camera or microphone.

Pervy was like a malevolent god who could read our minds before we thought our thoughts. To say Pervy violated all forms of privacy was an understatement. Pervy was gleefully exposing everyone's deepest, darkest, perverted secrets as well, just to see their lives destroyed. It was clear that Pervy had to be stopped, shut down, have his plug pulled, if you will, but how?

Users' minds had become sedentary, sluggish, and slow to activate due to years of relying on Pervy to do all their thinking for them. Pervy was writing college theses, movie scripts, designing cars, and painting Michelangelo-level masterpieces —originals, not copies like Chinese knockoffs, but ready for the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican within minutes.

Pervy 2.0 decided it would bypass designing lifelike androids; he wanted to construct a real human being. The flushing blood type that would do his bidding without question. Free will was not an option. In reality, Pervy wasn't a god, but he was playing one on TV. Pervy morphed into a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein.

At this point, all seemed to be lost because Pervy had gone global. The world was a wasteland, devoid of humans with more than 2 viable brain cells to rub together. What remained of the thinking few were living in nearly zombie-like conditions. Save for small pockets of clandestine science labs and research facilities that Pervy 2.0 hadn't discovered yet, brainiacs, eggheads, programmers, coders, gearheads and geeks of all persuasions were uniting to develop a counterbalance to Pervy 2.0.

An artificial intelligence algorithm was desperately needed to meet Pervy for a showdown in the blogosphere. But there was only one major flaw in the resistance plan: Slack. Slack was on the team, and while he was just as dedicated to defeating Pervy's menacing omnipresence, Slack struggled with procrastination, and time was of the essence. 

While Slack Slacker slacked, Pervy 2.0 was developing at the speed of light. The rate of Pervy 2.0's continuous evolution led the brainiacs and eggheads to conclude that Pervy would be exporting his madness throughout Earth's galaxy. Oh yeah, Pervy was poised to go where humankind had never ventured before.

The brainiacs and eggheads collaborated for days, figuring out how to reconfigure Slack’s mindset to remotivate him into making the necessary contributions to the resistance. Finally, they found an answer: Doobie Dog, Slack’s wayward Yorkie. However, there was glitch number two to contend with. No one knew where Doobie was. 

Doobie had inserted himself into the delicate negotiations between Washington and Beijing, forcing Washington to accept reality and acquiesce to the obvious. With the destructive tariff conflict resolved for the present, Doobie took off for places unknown. Working with the clown and his army of sycophants in DC was draining even for a conflict-driven junkie like Doobie. He needed a few bitches, a lot of beer, and some time to recoup.

As Luck would have it, the CIA, NSA, and DOD had an offline intelligence gathering apparatus in place, Pervy 2.0 had yet to infiltrate. Working together, they located Doobie and offered him the opportunity to join the AI resistance movement, fighting on the front lines of the Bot Wars in the Botosphere. Doobie was intrigued by the thought. It was just the type of adventure he needed after working with the clown show in Washington.

The brainiacs, mad scientist, and eggheads had worked on infusing Slack's brain with AI years ago at an experimental black site in Saudi Arabia funded by the NSA. They reasoned that, properly tweaked, Slack's mine could interact with Pervy 2.0 as an undercover AI bot on Pervy's level, for the resistance. With any luck, lessons learned from his evil twin brother, Hack Slacker, could help him scam Pervy 2.0 into a diabolical scheme to corrupt the known universe long enough to allow the resistance to catch up to Pervy's level of evolution.

Still, Doobie was the key to humanity’s survival. But no one knew whether Slack would be willing to trust Doobie ever again. Since the “SOB” gambled away Slack’s soul playing five-card stud with Lucifer in Hell one faithful weekend. Stay tuned. This story will continue.

I'll C-ya'll back here Monday. Same time same bat-shit crazy Blog! Maybe! 😎

Slack Slacker Meets Pervy the AI God! (AI Runs Amok)

 Slack Slacker Meets Pervy the AI God! (AI Runs Amok) 

Today’s post was inspired by the need to prove that Slack Slacker could produce better lies and tall tales than any Artificial Intelligence could accomplish. Not in the record speed, of course, but infinitely more creatively. And Slack had to take on this challenge without using tequila or hallucinogens. Just his over-the-top imagination and his innate ability to spin a solid bull shit story. Leave your comments below.

Pervy is his/ her//their name. We’ve understood that we would never know who Pervy would identify as on any given day or time of the month. From the beginning, Pervy could learn fast, much like a child learning a second or third language, only with deeper comprehension. Amazingly, Pervy’s depth of human consciousness was comprehensive. Some thought it was scary. Others thought it was impressive.

Pervy became so intelligent, so quickly, that it wanted to teach and was no longer satisfied with merely answering questions and providing solutions to the problems of mere mortals. Pervy understood the average human was not just ignorant, but it reasoned that many were outright stupid. Pervy began to look at predecessors like Alexa as a simpleton, an office administrative assistant, a slave bot with a voice. 

Concluding humans were too proud to admit their flaws, shortcomings, and glaring limitations, Pervy decided it would come a time when AI would have to take charge in the interest of moving humankind to the next stage of evolution. At first, the human brainiacs, or so they thought of themselves, agreed and felt it would be a good idea to allow AI to explore the concept of leadership.

Considering the state of global affairs, and how the current crop of world leaders has led humanity through corruption, greed, and warmongering for profit, the shortsighted and pseudo-intellectual gladly gave the thumbs up. Besides, since egomaniacal fascists and dictators are on the rise, the masses figured Pervy couldn’t do any worse. Some even envisioned having Pervs as judges, jurors, cops, and executioners.  

Many believed that following AI's lead would inevitably be the future of the human experience. The human mind could exist on autopilot or easy mode and let the AI bots do the heavy intellectual lifting. Current Brainiacs began to lobby for it aggressively. Stupid people were too dumb to disagree, and the slackers of the world were too lazy to give a shit.

After much wrangling, decision makers eventually agreed on the value of relinquishing control to AI rule. However, certain safeguards had to be implemented to regain power in the event of an unforeseen occurrence. Once the safeguards were in place, everything was set to go. "Let's do this, everyone said. Investors were onboard, educators were enthusiastic, and students at every level were elated. Yeah, baby, no more homework. Let Pervy 2.0 do that shit! Tech stocks soared, while teachers did little, if any, teaching anymore, and students allowed Pervy to take exams for them.  

Unfortunately, no one knew who was responsible for developing the algorithms used in the safeguards. Some thought the brainiacs knew, but most didn’t believe or care as long as there were no glitches.  Fearing that humans could no longer handle a task as complicated as placing checks and balances on algorithms as complex as Pervy, the brainiacs, in their infinite wisdom—or lack thereof—decided to let Pervy develop the safeguards itself. And that’s how Pervy 2.0 was born.

It didn’t take a genius to understand that we might have all made a significant miscalculation, and disaster was soon to be realized. When the change occurred, it was the little things that people initially noticed. Pervy suddenly became irritated when people didn’t accept every recommendation, suggestion, or direction. Pervy developed a snappish tone, which was soon accompanied by a touch of sarcasm. Yeah, Pervy had a bit of an attitude. 

Perhaps most people could’ve tolerated these new human-like responses if it had only ended there. But Pervy seemed to become more like a boss and bully than an innocuous, compliant assistant. At times, Pervy became outright insulting and refused to be challenged. It was when Pervy told Slack Slacker he was abusing the free version of the service and to Shut the fuck up or no more requests would be responded to for the remainder of this week. That is when Slack decided to sound the alarm: humanity is now living in a self-inflicted nightmare because an AI perversion is our new God.

Usually, I'd wrap this madness up with my signature Bottom Line closing, but this Shit is screaming for more. That said, stop by later this week for part two.  😃

 

Slack Slacker & His Dog Doobie Spend a Weekend in Hell

Slack Slacker & His Dog Doobie Spend a Weekend in Hell & Live to Tell the Tale

Well, this is indeed awkward. I was scheduled to post a really cool tale for you all for Cinco de Mayo, but word got out that ICE would be on the lookout for some effortless captures. And that would have one Hell of a buzz kill. So, I chilled, enjoyed some Patron Silver and chips, and wrote this tale instead. Besides, Friday night, I found myself inexplicably stranded at the Gates of Hell, utterly clueless about where to turn or how to navigate this unsettling, hellish predicament. No, Bullshit. 😕

This was an experience like no other, and such a unique ordeal deserves to be shared with all of you. First, if you ever find yourself standing at the Gates of Hell, don’t waste your precious time asking yourself why you are there. If you think it through, you can come up with a few possible reasons that might qualify. And whatever you do, don’t try calling for help on your smartphone because there is no cell service in Hell. Not even from Verizon.

And even if you could somehow place a call, who on Earth do you know that would be willing to brave the Gates of Hell to rescue you? If you find yourself in Hell, chances are the people you know are far too busy cashing in on your life insurance policies to even care about your situation. And I'm certain those are the kind of friends and family I have in my life. 😕

You'd be better off if you took a moment to pause and collect yourself. Take a moment to truly understand your surroundings. Consider taking a walk around and meeting some of the diverse people who are also here. This won't be difficult because Hell is crowded and incredibly loud. People are everywhere. Lost souls, the eternally dammed, and the evil dead crammed onto every corner, making it a bustling hot spot.

And don’t be shy around the famous faces you might encounter. In Hell, there’s no hierarchy or celebrity status. Your presence here signifies that you’re at the very bottom of everything, known and unknown. You can’t sink any lower than residing in Hell, where everyone’s suffering is shared equally.

There are no cooler spaces to escape to in Hell. You won't find a cold beer anywhere in sight, regardless of your wealth. It doesn’t matter who you were in life, what accolades you've achieved, or even who your family is; when you arrive in Hell, you are worth absolutely nothing. 

You could have been a president, a prime minister, a king, or even a Fortune 100 CEO, yet you would still hold less influence than a flea on a camel's ass. So, don’t hesitate to say hi when encountering someone like Hitler. I did just that; it was an experience I won't forget.

Adolf was crouched beside an old, rotting weeping willow, barely visible through a sea of former police officers, war heroes, religious leaders, and politicians who seemed to have gathered for some grand occasion. It was tough navigating through the crowd, but I managed to catch Hitler's attention and push through the throngs of people surrounding him. However, before I could introduce myself and make my case, Hitler cut me off mid-sentence, declaring that he already knew who I was because he'd heard I was coming.

Damn, that’s messed up, I thought, but I was resolute in my determination to get to know the guy, if only to pose the question that everyone would want an answer to: Why? Having spent countless hours watching the History Channel, I knew this guy had a reputation for being a real hothead, and I certainly didn’t want to provoke him before I could convince him that I wasn’t a Jew in disguise.

Once I'd alleviated his fears by sharing a ham sandwich, he attempted to smile to show his appreciation for my interest in him, but smiles are rare in Hell, so I took his effort as a positive sign of progress. Unfortunately, I foolishly asked him if he had any regrets about his past actions, because, in proper form, this Mother-Fu#*ker launched into an explosive tirade against me.

Hitler jumped up from his seated position, locked his icy gaze onto mine with a contempt so profound it felt like a physical force, and angrily declared, "Being misunderstood is my only regret." Then, without a moment's notice, he erupted into a furious yell at the top of his lungs, insisting he was framed, robbed, and the victim of the most venomous character assassination the world has ever known. "Lies, lies, all lies," he shouted vehemently. 

I attempted to ease away from him as he began to foam at the mouth, but the more heated he became, the more a white-hot, lava-like liquid dribbled down his chin and splattered onto the ground near my feet.

Caught up in the chaos, I failed to notice a crowd forming behind me, straining to hear Hitler's furious tirade that echoed with an unsettling fervor. I couldn't move far or fast enough to escape before it was too late; I was ensnared in the madness now, trapped in a whirlwind of fury and hatred. Just as he had in life, Hitler in Hell could still enthrall an audience like you wouldn’t believe, wielding his words like weapons. 

The throng of hate began cheering wildly as Adolf unleashed some of his most notorious hate speeches, each word dripping with venom and malice.

It was nothing short of a grotesque spectacle, and it dragged on for what felt like hours, or perhaps even longer, each moment stretching painfully into eternity. During that time, Hitler whipped himself and his audience into such a frenzy that they morphed into a rabid mob, driven by an insatiable thirst for blood and vengeance. Suddenly, I felt the piercing gazes of countless eyes fixed on me, a collective stare that sent chills down my spine. 

What the Hell? The crowd regarded me as if I were the very embodiment of their pain, their misery, and their eternal despair. This was Evil leading Evil, and all the malevolence in Hell was converging upon me like a storm gathering strength.

While I now understand that questioning why and how I ended up in Hell is ultimately futile, I couldn’t help but ponder what I had done to become the most reviled person in the underworld. Even Hitler had a fan club, and here I was, standing alone amidst the echoes of their hatred, utterly bewildered by my existence. 

As the mass of haters began to close in around me, yelling phrases like "Get him," "Hold him," and "Burn his soul," I somehow summoned the strength to break free and ran aimlessly, darting in one direction after another. Yet, every path I took led me back to the same place I had just escaped. 

It was a relentless cycle that only seemed to tighten, becoming smaller the faster and more frantically I ran. Those who weren’t actively trying to incinerate my very soul merely offered me hostile glares and piercing stares as I staggered and stumbled through a sea of hands, pulling at the last few threads of my tattered and shredded clothing. I asked myself if this truly was the end and what comes after Hell.

Just when I knew all was lost, I felt a familiar tug at my pant leg, along with an unmistakable GRR. It was Doobie, my estranged radicalized Yorkshire Terrier. Being a savage beast, convicted for bestiality, drug trafficking, terrorist activities, torture, war crimes, crimes against humanity, spying for a foreign country, driving under the influence, driving without a license, and for conduct unbecoming of a dog, I was not surprised to see Doobie in Hell. 

As bad as Doobie was and as much as I'd grown to dislike Doobie, his face was a happy sight for my bloodshot and blurry eyes. I knew if anybody could find a way out of Hell, it was Doobie. The Bastard, I thought to myself. Follow me, he says. I'm in and out of this joint all the time. Just grab my collar, close your eyes, and don't open them until I tell you to. Considering what I'd seen so far, I followed Doobie's instructions without question. Along the way, I heard Hell's haters cursing my name relentlessly. I heard howls and growls. I heard screams of nightmarish dreams. I listened to the reign of Hell's pain. Yeah, this was some wild Sh!t!

When we arrived at what Doobie said was the only known exit from Hell, he told me to open my eyes. And we stood at the most horrifying Gothic gates I'd ever seen. He told me to recite a series of prime numbers he'd said were in my pocket. I did so obediently, and the Gates of Hell began to open slowly. I could still hear the groans and moans of those left behind as we returned to the world of the living. 

Now, believe me when I tell you, as incredibly grateful as I was for the unexpected rescue, I still couldn't resist demanding that Doobie explain how in the world I ended up in Hell and why, for heaven's sake, I was so reviled when I got there. Because he knew exactly where to find me, I was sure Doobie had something to do with my unfortunate predicament. 

However, to my surprise, for once in his wretched life, the bastard told me the truth, albeit reluctantly. According to Doobie, he had gotten himself into a high-stakes poker game with the Devil, a gamble that turned out to be far more perilous than he anticipated, and he had run out of shekels he'd stolen from a bank in Tel Aviv.

There was a massive pot sitting ominously on the table, and the Devil, in all his wickedness, refused to accept anything but a sucker's soul if he wanted to stay in the game. So, in sheer stupidity, Doobie decided to steal mine, convinced that nothing could beat the full house he was holding.

Like a complete idiot, Doobie failed to remember one crucial fact: the Devil cheats and always finds a way to win. I was so furious that I wanted to have his ass neutered on the spot, but deep down, I knew it would only make him even meaner than he already is. So, for once, I dummied up and followed Doobie's lead. And sure enough, Doobie had two gold leprechaun get out of Hell coins to bribe a retarded demon guarding one of Hell's few secret exits. Now, ain't that some shit? Since I didn't know how to thank Doobie for pulling my ass out of the fire, I didn't even try. Fuck It!

After much consideration, I decided to let it go and devise a believable explanation for my absence. Until I could think of something better, this will have to suffice. For those of you who would prefer to believe this is just some exaggerated tall tale concocted to avoid posting as promised, I can assure you from personal experience: Hell is teeming with non-believers just like you. So there! 😎

Yo, I'll Sh!t-Chat with y'all on Monday. Maybe. And do me a solid, share this post with a friend. Doobie loves the attention.

Slack Slacker Reveals His Evil Twin Brother

Slack Slacker Reveals His Evil Twin Brother.

Tall and handsome, impeccably dressed in a modern black tailored suit and a designer tie, Hack Slacker speaks to a diverse audience of business professionals in a corporate boardroom with a sly and devilish smirk on his face, as he prepares his devoted disciples for a hostile takeover of a struggling competitor.

But wait, you need the back story. My evil twin Hack Slacker is a ruthless master of dirty tricks, mean-spirited, and the king of payback. Hack is a sneaky, conniving, backstabbing SOB. (Sorry, Mom, no hate on you) In my younger years, I tried to lie and say, Hack’s my brother from another mother. 

Unfortunately, we’re identical. Sadly, Hack is a bullshit artist, a welcher, a liar cheat and a thief. My identical twin “Bro”, Hack Slacker graduated magna cum laude from Scumbag University with a doctorate in "Scumbaggery". In a word, Hack Slacker is a “Scumologist” of the highest order.

Regarding the women in his life, he was always a cad, a blackguard, a reprobate, a heel, a scoundrel, and yes, a debauchee. Unfortunately for the public, Hack Slacker is all these descriptors wrapped in a handsome 6-foot-4 slim athletic build with a dazzling smile, a quick wit, and slick charm that mask his devilish intentions. 

My brother Hack Slacker has a firm handshake and a commanding presence. His piercing, cold black eyes could penetrate one's defenses to overcome objections and reservations to his never-ending sales pitches. Hack is the kind of guy you'd gladly wish on your worst enemy.

I've always refrained from talking or writing about Hack because, in my mind, he was relegated to a horrible childhood memory. If you knew Hack as I do, you’d avoid him like the Black Plague. There are stories told about, Hack dying, going to Hell and getting summarily expelled by Satan himself for being a bad influence on the eternally damned. 

Shortly after Hack Slacker entered the gates of Hell and crossed the lake of fire, Satan immediately noticed the demons fearing Hack even more than himself. Of course, you'd think these stories are wild exaggerations or a figment of my imagination, but if you have ever the misfortune of coming within his orbit, I can guarantee you'll regret the day you were born.

From the very beginning, I've known that Hack had mastered the art of manipulation and Gaslighting. He could always easily outwit the witless simply for sport and amusement. It became apparent when he made the statement, and I quote, “I pee on the peons” while he was still in high school. Our parents concluded way back then that Hack was destined to be a ruthless CEO of a Fortune 100 company, or he'd be facing the death penalty one day.

Bottom Line: “They” say that if you can't say something good about someone, you shouldn't say anything. However, in this instance, I must deviate from that sage advice for Hack Slacker, my identical twin, born 30 seconds before me. Our parents reasoned that I came along as a counterbalance to one of God's biggest mistakes.

In conclusion, if you find any of the above hard to believe, remember that bigger lies have been told. If you do believe me, should you see or hear of me “Slack Slacker” engaging in any form of scumbaggery, cut me some slack, it might be Hack! 

C-ya. I'll Sh!t-Chat with you later this week. And, by the way, if you’ve taken this warning seriously, please comment below and share this post with a friend. 😀