This is so horrific and heartbreaking 💔 Absolutely nothing could prepare me for that, he looked terrified! I remember seeing him on Ellen. Please give him support and a follow @EliasTheKid ! 💙💙

"STOP USING AI!! USE REAL PHOTOS!!" Screamed from a smartphone. On the internet. In 2026. BRO. Today I'm going to explain something very, very slowly, because apparently a few people in my replies haven't quite finished evolving. WHOSE FUCKING PHOTOS? Yours? Mine? Some photographer's work I'm supposed to grab off Google because your delicate little eyeballs can't handle AI? I travel between Japan and America, writing stories from my own experiences, books, and research. AI helps polish my writing and create the illustrations. Almost every picture is AI. That's it. I'm entertaining people, not laundering money for the fucking Colombian cartel. When your posts regularly hit a MILLION impressions, copyright complaints arrive faster than mosquitoes at a naked barbecue. Takedowns. Lawsuit threats. You can praise a restaurant so much the owner wants to name his firstborn after you, and still get a legal complaint over the photograph. But your brilliant philosophy is: If I CREATE an image, I'm a fraud. If I STEAL an image, I'm authentic. HOLY SHIT. Did your frontal lobe come out with the placenta and get thrown in the medical waste bin? And here's my favorite part. You're holding a $1,000 smartphone, surrounded by algorithms and AI, screaming that modern technology is unnatural. MY BROTHER IN CHRIST, YOU'RE A CAVE PAINTING WITH A DATA PLAN. Seriously, if civilization hurts your feelings that much, put down the phone. Drink from a well. Ride a donkey. Send your complaints by carrier pigeon. No Wi-Fi. No AI. No GPS. Just you, a muddy cave, and a stick you can use to scratch "AI BAD" into the dirt while waiting for your frontal lobe to finish growing. Hungry? Chew a tree. Lonely? Sniff a tree. Angry? Bang your head against a tree. Congratulations, you've invented the world's first completely organic, carbon-neutral customer support system. When night falls, get down on all fours and howl at the moon until another genius answers. OOH OOH! AH AH! 🐒 And if your pigeon returns with a copyright complaint, don't shoot the messenger. That fucking bird already understands intellectual property law better than you. Now, to the normal people reading this, I love you guys. I fact-check my stories, I make mistakes, and I genuinely appreciate the corrections, memories, and personal experiences you share. I've learned a tremendous amount from you. I'm not making deepfakes to destroy lives or scamming anyone. I'm writing stories and trying to make people smile. But this is X, not a doctoral dissertation defense at Harvard. I'm posting a picture of a dog, not applying for FDA approval to transplant its fucking kidneys. If you've got facts, bring them. I'll listen. If all you've got is "AI BAD! ME ANGRY!" while drooling onto your iPhone, please understand that I don't operate a free kindergarten for adults who somehow missed 40,000 years of human civilization. Follower? Blocked. Big account? Blocked. A million followers? Congratulations, you're the most influential caveman since someone discovered fire. Still blocked. I don't care how famous you are. A verified checkmark isn't proof that your brain has passed a safety inspection. Bless your little prehistoric heart. Now take your smartphone, trade it for a rock, climb back into your cave, and write me a letter when you've discovered the alphabet. And take your pigeon with you. The last thing I need is that bird shitting in my replies while its owner explains the dangers of artificial intelligence. OOH OOH. BLOCKED. 🐒

Back to Grammar School

I don’t understand its level of stupidity but I admire it’s dedication to it.

I paid an electrician $2,600 to replace the panel in my garage. He finished Thursday afternoon, handed me the final invoice, and I paid it in full, owing nothing. Monday morning, my phone rang. It was the electrician. "My office made a mistake." I assumed he was calling to refund me something. Then he said they had billed me for a standard 100-amp panel, even though they had installed a 200-amp one. The difference was $940. "We need you to pay the difference." I stared at the phone. "You're telling me this four days after I paid you?" He said he understood, but the invoice was wrong. So I pulled up the original estimate while we were still talking. It didn't list an amp rating. It didn't mention an upgrade. It simply said, "Replace existing panel." I asked, "Where does it say I agreed to pay another $940?" He said the larger panel was necessary for my house and that he'd explained it before the work began. I told him, "I don't remember agreeing to that." His tone changed. He said, "The panel is already installed. I'm not asking you to approve it now. I'm asking you to pay the balance." That sentence bothered me, because exactly. The work was already done. For the next several days, we went back and forth. He sent me the spec sheet. I kept sending him the original estimate and the invoice I'd already paid. Then he offered to split the difference. I said, "I'll pay $250." He rejected it. I told him, "I'm not refusing to pay for something I agreed to. I'm refusing to change the price after the job is finished." He went quiet. Then he said, "Let me talk to the owner." The next afternoon, he called back. "We're going to leave the original invoice alone." I didn't argue. I just said, "Thank you." And that was it. No extra $940. No lawsuit. No shouting match. Just a very uncomfortable few days over a mistake that should have been caught before anyone touched the wiring. Now, whenever I hire a contractor, I make sure the equipment, labor, and final price are written down before the first tool comes through the door. Because $2,600 can turn into $3,540 pretty quickly when somebody discovers an "office mistake" after you've already paid. Honestly, it was a long battle.

Ok, I guess now is a good time to announce my return to X... Burp! Enjoy.

In 1979 Britain's most beautiful butterfly went extinct because the country had killed its rabbits and taken its sheep off the hills, and the scientist who worked out why had to put a flock back to bring the insect home. The large blue is a thing of chalk and limestone downs, and it has the strangest life of any animal in these islands. The caterpillar feeds on wild thyme for a few weeks, then drops to the ground and does an impression of an ant grub so convincing that a red ant carries it underground, where it spends ten months eating the ant's own young. Only one species of ant will do it, and that ant only lives in turf cropped so short the sun can warm the soil to the depth of its nest. Short turf means grazing. For a thousand years the grazing was sheep, and from the eighteenth century it was rabbits as well, millions of them, mowing the downs to a lawn. In 1953 myxomatosis arrived and killed ninety-nine rabbits in a hundred. Hill sheep were already coming off the downs as the farms went to the plough or to subsidy. Within a few years the turf grew long and cool, the ant died out of it, the caterpillar was carried underground by the wrong ant and eaten, and the butterfly dwindled through the sixties and seventies while everyone blamed collectors. The last British colony, in Devon, died in 1979. Jeremy Thomas spent the decade on his knees in the grass before he understood it. The whole chain ran back to a mouth cropping a hillside. In 1983 the butterfly was reintroduced from Sweden onto a Somerset slope where the first thing the project did was put the cattle and sheep back on, hard, and the ants returned, and the large blue came after them. It is now on thirty sites, every one of them grazed on purpose. A butterfly the colour of the summer sky disappeared from England for want of a sheep, and the people who saved it did not plant a flower or build a fence. They hired a grazier.