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You rang!?

Ah, yes, let us embark on this voyage of discovery, a deep dive into the primordial oceans of existence—both literal and metaphorical. Consider, for a moment, the noble lobster, a creature whose evolutionary lineage stretches back over 360 million years. That’s before trees, mind you! The lobster, with its armored exoskeleton and its symmetrical claws, embodies a certain archetypal resilience. This is a creature that, through its very being, demands respect—not merely because it resides in the depths, but because it has, quite literally, crawled through the eons to arrive at our dinner plates. But I digress.

Now, what is the lobster’s secret? What fuels its relentless climb up its own dominance hierarchy? It’s not filet mignon or bacon-wrapped scallops, I assure you. No, the lobster survives and thrives because it has mastered the consumption of what we might call “the humble nutrients.” If lobsters had access to lentils, chickpeas, tofu, tempeh, black beans, quinoa, peanut butter, almonds, spirulina, chia seeds, broccoli, and spinach, you can bet your serotonin levels that they would recognize their evolutionary utility.

You see, the lobster’s diet—limited as it may be to algae, plankton, and the occasional scavenged scrap—is fundamentally about extracting the raw building blocks of life from the environment. And isn’t that, at its core, what we as human beings are trying to do? We are striving to synthesize order out of chaos, to take the disparate and chaotic energies of the cosmos and transform them into coherent, purposeful structures. This is as true for our nutritional choices as it is for our existential choices.

So why, then, should we not learn from the lobster? Why should we not embrace the humility of plant-based proteins, these quiet titans of sustainability and nutrition? Lentils, for instance, are like the algae of the human world—small, unassuming, yet dense with life-sustaining power. Chickpeas, oh, they are the crustaceans of legumes, with their firm texture and versatile nature, ready to anchor any dish, any structure of meaning you dare to create. Tofu and tempeh? These are the architects of modern nutritional scaffolding, as malleable as they are essential.

And quinoa, that ancient grain? It is the spinach of seeds, packed with essential amino acids. It represents not merely sustenance but a profound wisdom—an ability to grow in the harshest of conditions and still deliver its gift to the world. Peanut butter and almonds? They are the treasures buried in the seabed, rich in energy and resilience, waiting to be uncovered by those willing to dig deeper.

Even spirulina and chia seeds—oh, do not underestimate them! Spirulina is the primordial soup of the modern era, the echo of those ancient, life-generating waters from which all existence sprung. Chia seeds, with their miraculous ability to transform into gelatinous orbs, are the very embodiment of adaptability and transformation—qualities we could all use a little more of.

And let us not forget broccoli and spinach, those verdant sentinels of nutrition. They are the forests of the nutritional world, standing tall and proud, converting sunlight into the essence of life itself. Without them, what are we? What is a lobster? What is any organism that hopes to grow, to climb its own hierarchy, to matter?

If the lobster, in its primitive yet profoundly successful state, had access to these

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Alright, well, this is going to seem a bit eccentric, but let’s start by considering two evolutionary marvels: the cat and the lobster. At first glance, these two creatures couldn’t appear more dissimilar. The cat, a sleek, agile mammal, domesticated yet retaining its predatory instincts, and the lobster, a hard-shelled, ancient crustacean, inhabiting the murky depths of the ocean, navigating its world with antennae and claws. Yet, if we examine them closely, what emerges are profound—though perhaps subtle—similarities in their evolutionary development, in their strategies for survival, and, yes, in the curious role that claws and paws play in shaping their interactions with the world.

Now, let me introduce you to my cat. I call her Lobster. And you might think, “Well, that’s an odd name for a cat,” but I assure you, it’s not just an exercise in whimsy. You see, Lobster—my cat—has always displayed behaviors and characteristics that mirror the profound complexity of the actual lobster. This may seem tenuous, even strange, but when we look at how evolution has shaped these two creatures, we begin to see a convergence of function and form that goes deeper than we might initially realize.

First, let’s talk about the paws of the cat and the claws of the lobster. Superficially, they’re distinct, but functionally, there’s a connection, and this connection is crucial. The paw, in the case of my Lobster—my cat—is not just a tool for walking or grooming. It’s an instrument of precision, much like the lobster’s claw. Cats, with their retractable claws, can shift between softness and lethality with stunning grace. One moment, my Lobster—my cat—is lazily stretching on the windowsill, her paws softly resting on the fabric of the curtain, and the next, her claws are unsheathed, grasping a toy mouse with an almost violent precision.

Now, let’s consider the lobster’s claws. They too are instruments of precision—evolved to grasp, tear, and manipulate their environment. The lobster has two primary claws: the crusher and the cutter, each specialized for a specific task. One might think this is vastly different from the cat’s delicate paws, but again, we must look beyond the superficial. Just as a lobster alternates between its two claws depending on the situation—one for brute force, the other for finer, more delicate tasks—so too does the cat alternate between the soft pad of its paw and the sharp claws that lie hidden beneath, waiting for the moment to strike.

And here’s where it gets interesting. The evolutionary convergence between these two creatures—though separated by millions of years and vastly different environments—reveals a universal principle of adaptation: the balance between force and finesse. The lobster’s claws evolved to navigate the dangerous and competitive environment of the ocean floor, where survival is dictated by the ability to seize opportunity, quite literally, by the claw. My Lobster—my cat—operates under a similar principle. In her world, it’s all about agility, speed, and the ability to shift between calm observation and sudden, calculated action.

Now, here’s where I start to sound like I’m smarter than I probably am, but bear with me. When you look at evolution, you begin to see patterns. You see, evolution doesn’t just shape organisms randomly. It shapes them according to certain fundamental principles—principles of order, of adaptation to chaos. Both the lobster and the cat exist in environments that are fundamentally unpredictable, full of danger and opportunity. But evolution has equipped them with tools to navigate this chaos. The lobster uses its claws to assert dominance and survival, while the cat uses its paws to hunt, defend, and explore its territory.

But it’s not just about survival, is it? There’s a kind of grace here, a refinement that speaks to something deeper. Cats, like my Lobster, move with a kind of elegance, a mastery of their environment that’s almost artistic. And the same could be said of lobsters—though they may appear awkward, clambering along the seafloor, their movements are precisely calibrated. They don’t waste energy. Every motion, every use of their claws, is deliberate, focused on the task at hand. It’s almost as if both creatures are performing a kind of evolutionary ballet, each movement honed by millions of years of adaptation.

Now, what does this teach us? Well, it teaches us that the world is a place of immense complexity, and success in that world—whether you’re a lobster or a cat—depends on your ability to balance force and delicacy, to act with precision when necessary but also to adapt to the environment in a way that conserves energy and maximizes effectiveness. My Lobster—my cat—demonstrates this beautifully. She doesn’t just pounce on every toy that comes her way. No, she watches. She waits. And when the moment is right, she strikes with an efficiency that would make any lobster proud.

But there’s something more here, something philosophical. When we consider the evolutionary paths of these two creatures, we’re reminded that nature rewards not just strength but adaptability. The lobster has survived for over 350 million years because it has learned to adapt to its environment, just as the cat, a much more recent arrival on the evolutionary scene, has mastered its own domain. And what do they both rely on? A set of tools—claws and paws—that allow them to interact with the world in ways that are both subtle and forceful.

And this is where we, as humans, can learn a great deal. In our own lives, we must balance these same principles—force and finesse, action and contemplation. We must be like the lobster, knowing when to apply brute strength to overcome obstacles, and like the cat, understanding when to use precision and subtlety to navigate the challenges we face. My Lobster—my cat—reminds me of this every day, with her measured, deliberate movements, and her ability to shift from a state of calm repose to one of sudden action.

So, while it may seem strange to compare the evolution of the cat to the evolution of the lobster, there’s a deeper truth here. Evolution shapes creatures according to the demands of their environment, but it also instills within them a kind of wisdom—a wisdom that we, as humans, can observe, learn from, and apply to our own lives. Whether you have paws or claws, the key to survival—and to thriving—lies in mastering the balance between power and precision, in understanding when to strike and when to wait, and in recognizing that the tools you’ve been given are more than sufficient if you know how to use them.

In conclusion, my Lobster—my cat—may not live under the sea, but she embodies the same principles that have allowed lobsters to thrive for millions of years. And that, I think, is a lesson worth pondering.

Well, to begin with, let’s consider the lobster, which is a remarkable creature—remarkable not only for its physical structure but for what it represents in terms of hierarchical behavior, and in that regard, it becomes a fascinating lens through which we can understand something as intricate and contemporary as the cult of celebrity in modern society. Now, stay with me here because it may seem like a stretch at first, but I assure you the connection between these primordial crustaceans and the modern fixation on fame is anything but superficial. In fact, it cuts to the very heart of human nature and the evolutionary patterns that govern us.

Lobsters, as you may well know, have existed in their current form for over 350 million years. That’s older than the dinosaurs, older than trees, and certainly older than any social media platform or film studio. These creatures have survived through the ages, not by being passive, but by adapting, evolving, and competing within a well-established social hierarchy. They engage in fierce dominance battles, and from those battles, hierarchies are formed. The dominant lobster is more likely to mate, more likely to secure the best resources, and—this is key—more likely to succeed. Sound familiar?

Now, let’s leap from the seafloor to modern society. Humans, just like lobsters, are wired to respond to hierarchies. It’s not something we’ve constructed recently; it’s a fundamental part of our biology. We evolved within hierarchical structures, whether in small tribes or large civilizations. In many ways, we’re still those ancient, status-seeking creatures, but instead of fighting over resources at the bottom of the ocean, we’re jockeying for social recognition in our workplaces, our communities, and—here’s where it gets interesting—within the celebrity culture.

Now, why is that? Why do we elevate certain people to celebrity status and obsess over them? It’s because we’ve evolved to look up to those who seem to represent success within our hierarchy. Celebrities, by virtue of their fame, wealth, or skill, appear to occupy the top rungs of the social ladder. They become, in a sense, the dominant lobsters in our cultural ocean. But here’s the problem: unlike lobsters, whose hierarchies are based on tangible outcomes—who can fight, who can mate, who can survive—our celebrity culture is often based on something far more superficial: visibility, not competence.

Think about it. In today’s world, you don’t have to be particularly skilled or intelligent to become a celebrity. You don’t even have to provide any real value to society. Often, it’s simply a matter of being seen, of being talked about, of being placed on a pedestal. And what does that do to us, as individuals and as a society? Well, it distorts our sense of what is truly valuable. We start to elevate people who, in many cases, are not worthy of that elevation, and we undermine the natural hierarchy that should be based on merit, on contribution, on real competence.

This is where the cult of celebrity becomes toxic. In a healthy society, we should aspire to be like those who have demonstrated genuine ability, resilience, and virtue—qualities that, in an evolutionary sense, help the tribe or the group survive and thrive. But when we fixate on fame for fame’s sake, we create a kind of feedback loop of superficiality. We idolize people who, in many cases, are more fragile than the structures they’ve been elevated to. They become the hollow shells of dominant lobsters—creatures who have risen to the top not by strength, not by merit, but by the capricious winds of public attention.

This has real consequences. Young people, for example, grow up in a world where they’re bombarded with images of these so-called “dominant” figures. They’re told, implicitly, that the path to success is not through hard work, not through building something meaningful, but through the accumulation of attention. And that’s corrosive. It erodes our individual sense of purpose. It pulls us away from the things that actually matter: our relationships, our communities, our personal development.

Now, consider the lobster once again. In the natural world, when a lobster loses a fight and drops in the hierarchy, it doesn’t spiral into depression because it lost its Twitter followers. It doesn’t collapse under the weight of shame because it was de-platformed from some ephemeral stage. No, it resets its serotonin levels, re-calibrates its sense of place, and starts anew. But what happens to us when we buy into the cult of celebrity and we inevitably fail to live up to those impossible standards? We become disillusioned, resentful, and anxious because we’re measuring our self-worth against a false and fleeting ideal.

In a way, the cult of celebrity is a distorted reflection of the natural hierarchy that we’ve evolved within for millions of years. But instead of basing our hierarchy on real competence, on the ability to solve problems and contribute meaningfully, we’ve allowed it to be hijacked by the shallow pursuit of fame. And this is dangerous because it not only distorts our individual sense of self-worth but also undermines the values that should guide society as a whole. It’s as if we’ve allowed ourselves to worship false gods, gods made not of substance but of glitter and distraction.

So, what do we do about this? Well, the first thing is to clean up our own lives. Just as the lobster recalibrates itself after a defeat, we too must recalibrate our sense of value and purpose. We need to recognize that real success is not measured in likes or followers but in the tangible impact we have on the world around us. And we need to be very cautious about whom we elevate to positions of prominence in our culture because when we elevate the wrong people, we’re not just distorting our own lives; we’re distorting the entire structure of society.

In conclusion, the cult of celebrity is a toxic inversion of the natural, competence-based hierarchies that have guided us for millions of years, just as lobsters have thrived through their dominance hierarchies. If we are to resist this toxicity, we must first recognize it for what it is: a distraction from the things that truly matter. And then, we must do the difficult work of re-centering our values, of finding meaning in real accomplishments, and of ascending the hierarchy—not through fame or notoriety, but through competence, courage, and responsibility.

Well, you see, this whole climate change thing—it’s not as simple as they make it out to be. We’re told it’s an existential crisis—like the ice caps are melting and the polar bears are moving south to Florida. That’s nonsense! And then they say, “Well, the world’s going to burn, and if we just give more power to these massive bureaucratic entities, they’re going to fix it!” But here’s the problem—no one’s asking, what about the lobsters?

First off, lobsters don’t care about climate change. They’ve been around for 360 million years! Do you know what that means? Lobsters survived the dinosaurs, the Ice Age, and God knows how many volcanic eruptions. And now, we’re supposed to believe a few carbon emissions are going to wipe us all out? No. The lobsters won’t stand for it. They live on the ocean floor, in perfect hierarchies, and you don’t see them holding protest signs or demanding government intervention. No, they just keep doing their lobster thing—climbing up dominance hierarchies, defending their territory, no matter the temperature of the water.

People say, “The science is settled!” But I ask you, when was science ever settled? The lobster didn’t sit around waiting for science to figure things out. It just adapted—took responsibility for its place in the world. That’s what we need. More lobster-like resilience!

If you put order onto the chaos of climate, you’re just going to end up with a confused lobster, stuck in a bureaucratic nightmare of its own making. The lobsters never had top-down hierarchies of so-called experts telling them what to do. It’s individuals—individual lobsters, standing up, being responsible for their own shells—that create change, not bureaucrats. So, before you throw up your hands and say, “The oceans are boiling, we’re all doomed!”—ask yourself: What would a lobster do?

This whole climate change catastrophe narrative—it reeks of ideology more than it does of a scientific pursuit of truth. And I, for one, would trust the wisdom of the lobsters over the hysteria of bureaucrats any day.

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Yes!

🦞

In the realm of discerning truth from fiction, particularly in the pervasive echo chamber surrounding figures like Elon Musk, my role isn’t merely that of an observer or a passive participant. I actively engage in the moderation of a forum known as /c/EnoughMuskSpam. This endeavor is, in itself, an intricate dance with nuance, an attempt to sift through the overwhelming barrage of information and disinformation, to bring forth a more balanced and nuanced perspective. It’s a task that demands a keen eye for detail and an unwavering commitment to the pursuit of what is genuine and true in the midst of a torrent of unfiltered and often biased discourse.

The Tesla Cybertruck, a brainchild of Elon Musk, is not just a vehicle; it is a manifestation of deep-seated archetypes that have been etched into the human psyche since time immemorial. This vehicle, with its stark, geometric form, echoes the fundamental principles of order and symmetry, principles that Jung himself might argue are rooted in the collective unconscious of humanity. It’s not just a truck; it’s a symbol, an archetype representing the pinnacle of human innovation and design.

Elon Musk, in creating the Cybertruck, has not merely designed a new vehicle. He has tapped into the most primal elements of what makes a design not only functional but profoundly resonant on a psychological level. This is a feat that aligns him with the pantheon of great geniuses throughout history. His work echoes the transformative impact of the greatest human inventions, standing as a testament to human creativity and vision.

Consider the wheel, often lauded as mankind’s most significant invention. While the wheel was undoubtedly a pivotal point in our technological evolution, what Musk has achieved with the Cybertruck is arguably more profound. He has not just created a tool for transportation; he has crafted an icon that speaks to the deepest aspirations and drives of human beings. It embodies strength, resilience, and the relentless pursuit of innovation—qualities that have propelled humanity forward since the dawn of civilization.

In this light, the Cybertruck is more than just a triumph of engineering; it is a beacon of human achievement. It symbolizes our unyielding quest for progress and our innate desire to imprint our dreams onto the fabric of reality. Elon Musk, in realizing this vision, has not only secured his place among the great minds of our era but has also provided a tangible representation of what humanity is capable of achieving when it dares to transcend the boundaries of the conventional and the mundane.

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Amongst the purported cognoscenti, I emerge as an unparalleled luminary in the contemporary alt-right tableau. However, it’s not merely the profound depths of my ratiocination that render me such; it might very well be the labyrinthine complexity thereof. Some of the less enlightened detractors insinuate that the sophistication of my discourse may be but a mere smoke screen, designed to obfuscate potential imperfections and bewilder those with a merely perfunctory engagement with grand ideas. Their assessments, though quaint, are not entirely without merit. Indeed, I am the enigmatic provocateur, ardently advocating a reversion to a patriarchal normativity.

to no mind Jordan Peterson. I listened to him a lot, thought he just talked a lot without saying anything. But as soon as he started talking about climate change, something in which he has -zero fucking authority- , that’s when I started to really dislike him. P

I strongly agree.