Doomscrolling is not curiosity. It’s digital self-hypnosis. We’ve traded imagination for sedation, panicking the moment things go silent. But boredom isn’t the enemy; it’s the fuel. A bored mind is a dangerous mind, and we are forgetting how to use it.

I heard an ad the other day that started with: 'Here’s what no one is telling you about our product…' So, either they’ve been sitting around forgetting to actually market the thing… or they’re lying. And if they’re lying to us in the very first sentence, what else might they be lying about?

We all love a satisfying takedown, but sometimes the person delivering the “facts” and “logic” is just as wrong as the person getting nailed. A viral post about driving 2,000 miles in a day is the perfect example of how certainty can make you blind...

Sometimes I think about what’ll happen when I die. Not in a morbid way… Just logistically. I’ll fall over, and the lights will still be on. Everything will still be on autopay. Subscriptions will still renew. Spotify. Netflix. That bottomless pit, Adobe. And no one will notice I’m gone. My digital life will keep paying for everything I left behind until the account balance gives out...

The invisible leech of narcissistic abuse doesn't just vanish when the relationship ends. It lingers, feeding on joy and self-worth long after the door has closed. Helping a survivor isn't a rescue mission; it's a slow, patient act of keeping a light burning while they find their own way out of the dark.

I loved the original Quantum Leap, so I gave the reboot a shot. I wasn’t looking to be lectured; I was just killing time. Two minutes in, I knew exactly what ride I was in for. Soon enough, the writers were determined to slap me in the face with their message of acceptance. At that point, I wasn’t watching a story; I was being handed a pamphlet.

I’m a blunt person. Always have been. So let me put it plainly: the world does not owe us anything. Not comfort. Not approval. Not applause. We’re living in a culture addicted to applause. We’ve stopped asking if we’re being true to ourselves and started asking, "How will this be perceived?" We’ve traded authenticity for optics.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that society's goal was to build a padded room. We’re in a cultural moment obsessed with removing all discomfort. We’ve sanded off every rough edge of life. We’ve built a world without friction. But a world without friction isn't kind. It’s just weak. It wraps everyone in emotional bubble wrap and calls it compassion.

Life moves fast, doesn’t it? Yesterday I was in my late teens, sitting in a Waffle House until sunrise, having “philosophical” debates. Today, as I write this, I am a month from turning forty-one. I have drifted through most of my life, letting the current carry me. Somehow, it kept me afloat.

Years ago, I loved to argue. Not because I had any knowledge or insight. No. I was just an asshole. Young, dumb, and full of cum. Too smart for my own good, too sure of my own bullshit... Today, I don’t even comment on YouTube videos. Life feels like it runs on clicks now, but what's the point if it's not genuine?

I remember a time when things felt different, when they were built to last. New electronics had a certain weight in your hands, a solidity that promised years of use. Now, it feels like we're just paying for the ghost of quality, a vague promise in a plastic shell. The idea of things being 'built to last' isn’t slowly dying… It’s dead.

What happens when the landmark you’ve built your whole day around turns out to be a dud? Your plans become a prison, and you miss better things waiting just around the corner. This is a case for a different approach. Forget the itinerary, trust the power of a whim, and see where the day takes you.

From a distance, Edinburgh Castle is a promise, a black crown on a volcanic throne. But once you walk through the gates, the illusion fades. It's crowded, polished, and feels more like a museum than a fortress. Before you buy a ticket, here’s an honest take on who should go... and who should admire it from the outside for free.

Travel guides love to pile checklists on you: see the monuments, eat the food, talk to the locals. As an introvert, I’ve always struggled with the last one. But there’s another way to find a place’s soul: observe its quiet oddities. In my hometown, the oddity wasn’t a building. It was a man on a bicycle.