24Nov2025 YouTube Vomitorium

The video is a long, late-night walking monologue where the speaker wanders around town talking into the camera and following whatever thoughts come to mind. It begins with a correction about the Las Vegas Sphere: he previously guessed it was “50 IMAX screens,” then looked it up and learned it’s closer to 80. That launches a rambling section about scale, IMAX memories from childhood, and imagining the whole sky as one giant movie screen. He speculates that multiple Spheres will appear in other big cities, wonders about ticket prices, and jokes about the difference between premium seats and cheap seats.

From there he shifts into everyday details: putting on a hoodie instead of a sweater, complaining about GoPro software failing to combine clips, and staring at a garage he can’t figure out how to organize. He talks about missing Sharpies he just bought, labeling bins with duct tape, and debating whether to resurrect an old PC to help with video processing. Throughout, he keeps describing YouTube as his “vomitorium”—a place where he dumps whatever comes out of his mind rather than trying to make polished content.

He digresses into a “parable” about Sphere seating: high-priced seats centered on the screen while cheap seats see more filler, which turns into a metaphor about perspective. He recounts watching a YouTube review of the Sphere, then shifts into watching ten minutes of Pretty Woman: Richard Gere, Jason Alexander, the original darker draft of the movie, disappointing thigh-highs, and irritation at the valet scene. He describes wandering past businesses, noticing signs, lights, and trash on the ground, each object prompting another tangent.

Politics and news drift in briefly—Ukraine headlines, Trump “hot and cold,” and random commentary—before he moves back into abstractions: affinities, mental preparation, and the habit of repeating old ideas. He mentions old YouTube eras (2007–2015), claims he’s “the new meta leader,” and repeats that YouTube is simply where he “vomits” thoughts.

Scattered through the walk are religious jokes, like imagining God as a cartoon wolf salivating over sacrificial lambs, Psalm references, and comments about empty hands. Small objects become prompts: napkins, cups, firecrackers, snap pops, and questions about how they work. He moves into movie weapons, disappointed to realize an action scene used a bullpup instead of an M60 or 240, followed by a fantasy about having cyborg metal bones and a gun camera wired directly into his vision.

Food comes up repeatedly: bratwurst without buns, homemade pizza, chicken wings that never come out right in the oven, beer-can chicken, and chicken leg-quarters as good value. He walks by restaurants and stores, comments on ticket prices and burger inflation, and jokes about 24-hour mattress stores. He riffs on Kantian “duty” about doors marked OPEN, though acknowledges it’s not serious.

There are pop-culture references: Home Alone, Dragon Ball Z, spirit bombs, shortened fan-dubs, Goku and Vegeta jokes, and YouTube channels that condense filler episodes. He imagines political figures raising their hands for a “spirit bomb,” jokes about YouTube’s algorithm flagging certain words, and returns repeatedly to the theme of filler.

He drifts into observations about sheriffs, cowboy-hat stereotypes, chew tobacco, cars with mismatched doors, construction trucks, and signs outside bars. A stretch focuses on Leaving Las Vegas—the romanticized alcoholism, Cage’s performances, and the absurdity of drinking a whole fifth before signing a check. He mentions Coke cravings, Red Bulls, cheap beer brands, pizzas at gas stations, and personifies a “crazy pizza” mascot competing with Hunt Brothers.

He touches briefly on Bitcoin: price swings, early milestones, and joking about acquiring enough computing power for a 51% attack. There are sections about matrices vs matrix, math as a human tool, triangles as conceptual constructs, and a hypothetical Dyson-sphere IMAX sun. Various TV shows and comic strips come up, along with memories of school field trips to Huntsville’s Space & Rocket Center.

By the end he’s tired, still walking, still filling time by describing whatever he sees—lights, signs, leaves, water tower projections—and looping back to ideas like cyborg upgrades, pizza, weapons, and the Sphere. The video closes with him counting down the last seconds of the walk and acknowledging the whole thing is improvised filler for his nightly “vomitorium” routine.