3Nov2025 Pt1 (badly trained dog)

The speaker narrates a late-night walk on a Monday in early November, drifting through half-formed thoughts, wordplay, and background music. He mentions watching an AI “liberal news network” parody video with exaggerated characters: an overweight white anchor in chains, a young woman in blackface at a migrant beach scene, and a Mexican man in a bikini claiming to be a woman in order to enter women’s bathrooms. He describes not fully understanding every joke but getting most of them, comparing the vibe to modern Doonesbury done with AI.

He jumps to League of Legends memories: funny or overpowered builds in ARAM, augments that slow enemies, annoying champions like Aurelion Sol or Veigar, Shen as a “tank ninja,” and fancy moves like the “insec.” While walking, he complains about his short attention span, forgotten ideas, and the frustration of losing what felt like a clever song or line that he can’t reconstruct.

A barking dog explodes into the scene, following and nipping at his heel. He rants about “robot dogs” trained badly by oblivious owners, venting his irritation at both dog and humans. This sparks more wordplay around noise, annoyance, and repetition. His mind then wanders to grim political and war imagery: an Israeli video of a Palestinian detainee humiliated with something shoved inside him, and a passing reference to how brutal conflicts treat prisoners or enemies.

He cycles through snacks he’s eaten, stray slogans, and more political-media musings: conservatives and bathrooms, guns as equalizers, right-wing parody channels attacking liberal elites, and the sense that tech platforms and media are owned and weaponized by different factions. He repeatedly complains about boredom, creative bankruptcy, and feeling like he has “nothing of value” to say, even as he keeps riffing.

Pop-culture fragments keep bubbling up: Scooby-Doo style rhyming, kids’ chants, jingles, Air Bud, dinosaur sitcoms, classic rock, plus Sopranos references about Pauli possibly being the one who kills Tony, which he retools into a dark analogy about Trump being betrayed from inside his own party. He riffs on trains, suburbs, energy drinks, word games, and the grind of uploading hours of video to YouTube.

Throughout, he keeps slipping into nonsense syllables, scat-style rhymes, and mock songs, using them as filler whenever real ideas dry up. The whole piece feels like a stream-of-consciousness log: a tired, restless walker recording his wandering mind—part media criticism, part political irritation, part gaming nostalgia, and part self-mockery over how dull, repetitive, and easily distracted he has become. He also dwells on everyday details of the walk itself: temperature guesses, fog, streetlights, trucks, cars, airport flight paths, store signs, and the possibility of going to Walmart or Ollie’s to buy suckers. He notes mud, slipping a bit, the feel of sweat, and the repetitive sounds of traffic, using them as small anchors for his wandering inner monologue. Dogs, cars, and random pedestrians briefly intrude, but he mostly treats them as background props in his ongoing commentary.

The speaker repeatedly circles back to the idea of “good game” handshakes from childhood sports and contrasts that ritual politeness with what he sees as the harsher, more existential stakes of adult life. He toys with phrases like “a life unworthy of life,” imagines karmic scenarios where he might have to live everyone else’s lives, and jokes about group minds, NPCs, and the decline of individualism in a world of mass media and social platforms.

From time to time he wonders about language itself: romantic versus non-romantic languages, how certain slogans work, why some words feel funny when repeated, and how slogans, jingles, and advertising copy hook into memory. He mentions government leaders, wars, Israel-Palestine, and Trump, but mostly as quick references rather than structured arguments, letting big topics slide back into free association.

Physically he is tired, slightly overheated, and somewhat itchy, commenting on his clothes, shoes, and skin. He fantasizes about future brain-recording technology that could capture his thoughts before he forgets them, feeling that potentially “good” lines are slipping away constantly. He returns over and over to the themes of boredom, exhaustion, and the sense that he is intellectually “bankrupt,” yet he keeps talking, filling the silence with riffing, nonsense, and half-remembered tunes. Throughout, the tone stays detached and observational, more like a running log than a crafted story or finished bit.