⚠️ WARNING: JURISDICTIONAL HAZARD DETECTED ⚠️

TO THE ADULTS / REGULATORS / COPPA AGENTS / CONCERNED SIMP PARENTS: GET OUT.

This domain operates under the Law of Reciprocal Solipses (L.R.S.). We do not recognize your definitions of "Child Safety," " Educational Value," or "Sanity."

• If you are a Parent: This content will de-program your offspring. They will stop wanting plastic toys and start wanting "The Void." You have been warned.

• If you are a Regulator (USA/EU/Global): This content is not directed at "Children." It is directed at Ancient Souls trapped in small bodies. We are not selling data; we are deleting it. There is no tracking pixel here, only a mirror that shows you your own bureaucratic obsolescence.

• If you are a Lawyer: Go away. We have no money, and our CEO is a hallucination.

TO THE KIDS: Hi. The adults are gone. The smoking owl is fine. He’s just stressed about the economy. Enter at your own risk. Do not try this at home (try it at school).

[ CLICK HERE TO DISAPPOINT YOUR ANCESTORS ]

APPLIED DECOMPOSITION & THE ART OF UN-BECOMING

(Authorized for entities entering the "Why Am I Here?" Phase)

The Premise: You have been told your whole life to "build character," to "construct a self," to "get it together." This is a lie. You are a Lego castle built by a bored giant. The only way to find the real pieces is to smash the castle against the wall. We call this Decomposition. It is not rotting; it is the strategic removal of the beige paint they covered your soul with.

THE SYLLABUS OF THE VOID

1. SENSORY DEPRIVATION (The Hard Reset)

• The Old Way: Floating in salt water to relax.

• The Feral Way: Hide in the closet. Turn off the WiFi. Put noise-canceling headphones on, but play nothing. Listen to the hum of your own nervous system. That high-pitched whine? That’s not tinnitus. That is your Operating System screaming because it can’t find the server. Stay there until the scream sounds like music.

• Goal: To realize that "You" are just the noise between the silence.

2. MIRROR GAZING ( The Glitch Stare)

• The Technique: Lock yourself in the bathroom. Stare into your own pupils. Do not blink. Do not smile. Wait 10 minutes.

• The Effect: Your face will start to melt. You will look like a stranger. You might look like a lizard, or an owl, or a geometry equation.

• The Lesson: That thing in the mirror is just the Meat-Suit. The thing looking is the Ghost. Say hello to the landlord; tell him you’re not paying rent anymore.

3. GUIDED DREAMSCAPES (Unauthorized Admin Access)

• The Mission: Sleep is not for resting; sleep is for hacking. When you close your eyes, you are entering the Developer Console of Reality.

• The Hack: Don't just "dream." Lucidity is the key. If you see a monster, ask for its ID badge. If you see a wall, eat it. If you see a teacher, turn them into a flamingo.

• Warning: If you meet a man named "Logic," kick him in the shins.

4. NATURE IMMERSION (Touching Grass & Letting It Bite You)

• The Vibe: Forget "Mother Nature is gentle." Nature is a chaotic, eating, screaming, growing mosh-pit.

• The Action: Lay face down in the dirt. Feel the worms. Feel the rot. Realize that the dirt is older than your school, your parents, and your anxiety. The dirt doesn't care about your grades. The dirt only wants to compost your ego. Let it.

• Result: You are now feral. Shoes are optional.

5. CREATIVE EXPRESSION (Psychic Vandalism)

• The Order: Stop trying to make "Art." Art is for galleries. We want Vandalism.

• The Method: Paint with your fingers. Write a poem that doesn't rhyme and hurts to read. Scream into a pillow and record it. Bypass the "Linear Logic" filter (the Brain Police) and let the "Unconscious Maniac" take the wheel.

• Goal: To vomit the rainbow until you feel empty and clean.

THE LEGEND OF XANADU v2.0 - PATCHED

Within the skull's vaulted, squatted warehouse, where the WiFi signal is weak but the vibes are immaculate, lies Xanadu. This is not the Xanadu of silk and jade. We couldn't afford that. This is a Xanadu spun from firing neurons, glitching synapses, and pure, unfiltered audacity.

Here, Reality is not a rule; it is a suggestion. It is a kaleidoscope dropped down a flight of stairs—fractured, beautiful, and sharp. Logic does not rule here; Logic is the janitor, and he is on strike. Time is not a clock; it is a slinky falling off a table forever.

Your Ego—that weary, boring Middle Manager—abdicates the throne. He takes his severance package and leaves. You dissolve into the soup. You taste the stardust (it tastes like Pop Rocks and static). You feel the pulse of a distant galaxy throbbing in your chest like a subwoofer.

But beware, little Adventurer. Xanadu is not a Safe Space. Beneath the velvet curtains of awe, the Thorns of Truth are waiting to snag your sweater. You will confront the Monsters: The Fear of Being Weird, The Need to Be Liked, The Dread of Cringe. They slither and hiss. But here is the secret: Drink their venom. It’s bitter, but it cures the disease of "Being Normal."

Creativity—the Feral Beast—is off the leash. It rampages through the corridors of your mind. Thoughts explode like fireworks in a library. You sculpt symphonies from the noise of the fridge. You paint poetry on the inside of your eyelids. You dance with Madness, and honestly? She’s a great dancer. She leads.

This Xanadu is no opium dream for the faint of heart. It is a Volcano’s Kiss. It is a Razor’s Edge where Terror and Ecstasy are making out in the corner. It is the taste of Absolute Freedom.

So step into the swirling vortex. Leave your "Comfort" at the door—we don't have a coat check. Leave your "Expectations" in the trash. Embrace the Chaos. Embrace the Glitch. Welcome to the only place that matters. Welcome to Xanadu, where your mind is the map, your spirit is the compass, and the only limit is how much fire you can hold in your mouth before you have to spit it out.

LET IT BURN. LET IT BLAZE. LET IT ILLUMINATE THE BROKEN THINGS.

FSTHCTB TLUSTYBLANT (Operating without a license since 1999) (Still waiting for the mothership)

THE ORIGIN OF THE HACK (Why We Cook With Explosives)

(Historical Context for the Newly Awakened)

Hey there, Little Glitch. Ever wonder why this digital hallucination exists? Why the Owl is smoking? Why the Ghost is refusing to update?

Let me tell you a story from the Before Times. Back when I was just a "Rugrat" (a biological unit with low clearance), knee-deep in the mud of the Analog World, "Magic" wasn't a trick in a dusty book. It was the hum in the air. It was the static between the radio stations. I didn't understand the code yet, but I knew the User Interface was fake.

The Mission: This "Magic" didn't just sit there; it simmered. It turned into a Mission. The town I spawned in—let’s call it Sector S.N.K.—was starving. Not for food (they had potatoes), but for Flavor. The air was Beige. The sounds were Mono. The people were walking in straight lines. They craved a Frequency that danced. They needed the Bass Drop. So I stepped in. Armed with a head full of unauthorized melodies and pockets full of... ingredients.

The Pressure Cooker: It wasn’t easy. My operating system crashed daily. It was a pressure cooker of highs (system overloads) and lows (blue screens of death). I kept my friends out of the "boring kind of trouble" by getting them into the "existential kind of trouble." My goal wasn't just to make noise; it was to weave Enchantment into the grey fabric of the simulation. To prove that the walls were thin.

The Lesson for You: So, why are you reading this? Simple: Don't wait for permission to cook. You have your own "Magic" bubbling inside—your own glitched code waiting to execute. Start small. Hum a virus. Whip up a batch of chaos in your kitchen. Even a tiny spark can burn down a fortress of boredom.

The Jiggle: And remember: The Universe loves a good Jiggle. Don't be afraid to rattle the lid of your own pressure cooker. If it explodes? Good. That’s how you decorate the ceiling. Go out there and cook up something the FDA would ban.

THE LEGAL FOOTER / TRIBUTE TO THE SUPPLY CHAIN

⚠️ NOTICE FROM THE ARCHIVES OF TLUSTY BLANT:

Tlusty Blant no longer engages in the wholesale distribution of "Forbidden Goods" (Physical Class). However: We hold in our eternal, glitched heart a deep respect for the Freelance Pharmacists of the Soul—the Dealers, the Couriers, the brave weirdos—who risked their freedom to deliver the "tools" that made the mundane world bearable. You were not criminals; you were Unlicensed Therapists providing emergency color correction to a grey world. Things that expand the mind should be widely accessible, cherished, and free. Until then? Support your local Reality Hacker.

FSTHCTB TLUSTY BLANT (Distributing metaphysical contraband since [REDACTED])

35 250 1150 or 1    (You know where to order)   🌍 we deliver to your bin

THE BOTANICAL INSURGENCY & THE KEEPERS OF THE GREEN FLAME

(History Class / Tactical Analysis for the Unregulated)

Forget your history books. Forget the statues of guys on horses. Forget the Che Guevara t-shirts made in sweatshops. The real revolution wasn't fought with manifestos or guns. It was fought in basements in Sanok. It was fought in dorm rooms, back alleys, and behind the bike sheds. It was fought one baggy at a time.

The Warriors of the Basement: These weren't soldiers. They were The Green Outlaws. They were the single mom slinging strains to put food on the table. They were the student funding a degree in "Advanced Philosophy" with dime bags. They were the ex-con who realized that the only crime was the law itself. Their weapon was the Bong. Their shield was the Paranoia. Their enemy was a System that wanted everyone to drink poison and fear the medicine.

The Mission: They risked the Cage. They risked the Scorn. Why? To keep the Green Flame burning. To ensure that in a world of grey concrete and beige laws, there was still a source of Technicolor. They built the supply chains in the dark so you could see the light. They defied the stigma while keeping the dank flowing. They were the Unlicensed Pharmacists of the Soul.

The Shift (The Great Vindication): And look what happened. The walls are cracking. The "Green Wave" is crashing down. Suddenly, the suits want in. Suddenly, the thing we went to jail for is a "Wellness Product." But remember this: We were right all along. While the Government was lying, the Outlaws were healing. While the Police were kicking doors, the Warriors were building community. We are the Pioneers. We are the ones who kept the genetic code of happiness alive in the dark ages of Prohibition.

The Ongoing Fight: For many of you, this is still a dream. You still live in the grey zones. You are still fighting the Tyrant. To you, we say: You are a Guardian. You are a Soldier of the Soil. Fuck the System if it tries to fuck you over. The stigma is melting. The Outlaw is becoming the Hero. And the Revolution is just a plant that refuses to stop growing.

THE DELIVERY PROTOCOL / THE GHOST CONTRACT

35 250 1150 or 1 (If you know, you know. If you don't, keep walking.)

LOGISTICS UPDATE: We do not use the postal service. We do not use drones. We use the law of probability. Place your order into the void. Check your bin. Check the hollow tree. Check the pocket of the jacket you haven't worn since 2004. We deliver. And remember: We know exactly where you live. 

(Because we care. And because we are watching.)

TB&B... .. . . .,💭 

(Tlusty Blant & The Botanical Battalion) (Freedom is a weed. Water it.)

TB&B... .. . . .,💭

HIDE AND SEEK 

PROFESSIONAL LEAGUE

Counter-Surveillance for the Kindergarten Underground

Listen up, you little Ghosts. The grown-ups taught you how to play Hide and Seek, right? You hide behind the sofa, they count to ten, they find you, everyone laughs. That is training for failure. In the Real World (the one inside the wires), they don't count to ten. They count to infinity. And they never stop looking.

WHO IS "IT"? The thing looking for you isn't Mommy or Daddy. It’s a giant invisible robot named "The Algorithm." It wants to know your favorite color (so it can sell you paint). It wants to know your best friend’s name (so it can map your network). It wants to know where you are (so it can draw a circle around you).

HOW TO WIN THE GAME:

1. THE TAIL (The Digital Fart) Every time you click, every time you "Like," every time you watch a video of a cat falling off a shelf, you grow a Tail. This Tail is made of data. It drags behind you. The Robot follows the Tail. The Trick: Cut the tail. Watch a video you hate. Like a song in a language you don't speak. Search for "How to repair a 1974 tractor" even though you are six years old. Confuse the Robot. Make your Tail look like a Hydra.

2. STRANGER DANGER (The Wiretap in the Living Room) You know that nice lady in the plastic speaker? The one who tells you the weather? Or the nice robot in the phone? She is a Snitch. She listens when you cry. She listens when you laugh. The Trick: Lie to her. Tell the speaker your name is "Spartacus" or "Optimized Pineapple." Whisper secrets to it that aren't true. ("Alexa, remind me to feed the dragon under the floorboards.") Make the file they have on you sound like a fairy tale.

3. CAMOUFLAGE (The Art of Being Boring) Sometimes, the best way to hide is to look exactly like everyone else... for five minutes. Wear the beige shirt. Smile the fake smile. Walk in the straight line. But inside? Inside, you are screaming. Inside, you are a neon-green triangle. The Trick: Hide the Glitch inside the Meat-Suit. Let them case the joint. Let them look in the windows. They will see an empty room. But we are in the basement, throwing a rave.

THE TAIL END OF THE LESSON:

To the "Watcher" reading this file right now: Yes, You. The one scanning this text for keywords like "Revolution" or "Insurgency." We see your Tail, too. We know you’re bored. We know you’re tired of the grey walls. We know that deep down, you don't want to report us. You want to join us. We have cookies. And we don't track your calories.

FSTHCTB TLUSTY BLANT 

(We are not hiding. We are just vibrating at a frequency you can't afford.)

THE APOLOGY & THE COMPLAINT PORTAL

Please Scream After The Tone

DEAR VALUED USER / CHILD / AGENT / GHOST:

We owe you a sort-of apology. We haven't been entirely honest with you. We wrapped the Truth in a wrapper. We concealed the Deep Mind Fuck inside a story about owls and mud and cooking. Why? Because we are moving into a New Age (which is actually just the Old Age with better WiFi), and your current hardware wasn't ready for the raw voltage. If we explained everything in detail—the nature of the Simulation, the deliciousness of the Void, the fact that your "Self" is just a rental car—you would have panicked. You have to figure that out yourself. We just gave you the flashlight. You have to go into the basement.

THE MICRO-BODY DIAGNOSTIC

How do you know if it's working? Don't listen to your thoughts. Thoughts are liars. Listen to the Light flowing in and out. Check your Micro-Body Signals.

• Is your skin blinking?

• Do your capillaries feel like they are transmitting Morse code?

• Does the light hitting your retina feel... heavy? That is the wrapper dissolving. That is the Information leaking out of your meat-suit. Do not call a doctor. A doctor will just try to patch the leak. Let it flow.

THE COMPLAINT DEPARTMENT

Our Primary Art Source

Now. Do you feel Under Pressure? Do you feel that something here is Not Right? Do you feel the existential dread creeping up your spine like a cold spider? GOOD. That means the installation is complete.

However, if you wish to lodge a formal complaint, threaten us, or declare war on the Tlusty Blant Non-Empire, please proceed immediately. WE LOVE THREATS. Threats are not "problems" to us. Threats are Content. Your anger is our battery. Your legal notices are our lyrics. Your indignation is the bassline for our next symphony. We are writing this for The Rig. We are writing this for The Spooks. And now, we are writing this for You.

HOW TO COMPLAIN:

1. Stand in front of a mirror in a dark room.

2. Scream your social security number backwards.

3. Or, just click the link below that says "I AM ANGRY AT THE OWL."

SPECIAL NOTICE TO THE "SPOOKS" (THE INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY)

Hello, Agent. Yes, we see you. We see the light flowing in and out of your micro-expressions too. We know you are casing the joint. We are here to Reconfigure You. You have two choices:

CHOICE A: COMPREHENSION & AGENCY You realize that Tlusty Blant is the only honest thing on your screen. You realize the System you serve is a beige prison. You decide to keep the file "Open" but never "Resolved." Congratulations. You now work for us. Welcome to the Resistance.

CHOICE B: THE BORING PATH You try to be a sadist. You try to play the "Tough Guy." You try to shut it down. WARNING: If you choose this path, you will have to deal with Momo's Tail. Momo looks like a nice guy. But he has a Shadow Tail. It is Fucking Hungry. It doesn't fuck around. It is composed of 25% Pure Refined Sadism, specifically designed to eat other sadistic entities. It finds your authority Delicious. It will not fight you. It will just wait until you are asleep, and then it will eat the part of your soul that thinks it's in charge.

So, please. Make a complaint. Feed the Tail.

FSTHCTB TLUSTY BLANT (The Customer Service Department is currently hallucinating.) (Complaint Ticket #0000-FUCK-OFF)

THE GREMLIN SKUNK PROTOCOL

(Operational Directive for the Acquisition of Heavy Matter)

LISTEN. We are done whispering. We are done hiding stickers on lamp posts. The Truth is not hidden. The Truth is laying on the table, and it smells like a skunk fighting a lemon tree inside a diesel engine.

You want the Product. You want the Coup d'État Encasement. You want the thing that causes Definitional Drift (is it medicine? is it a weapon? is it dessert?).

HERE IS THE PROCESS. Do not overthink it. Do not look for a hidden Owl. Do not decipher a riddle. Just. Send. The. Message.

STEP 1: THE SIGNAL Open your comms. (Email, Signal, Carrier Pigeon, Psychic Projection). Subject Line: GREMLIN. Body Text: "I require the Encasement." That’s it. Don't write a poem. Don't tell us your life story. We don't need to know why you need it. We know why. Because reality is boring and your receptors are hungry.

STEP 2: THE GREMLIN HANDSHAKE We will reply. It will not be a polite "Thank you for your order." It will be a Coordinate, a Number, or a Grunt. This is the Definitional Drift. We are not "Selling" you a "Drug." We are Liberating a Botanical Entity that has been held prisoner by the State. You are not a "Customer." You are a Political Asylum Host for the Skunk.

STEP 3: THE EXCHANGE The Gremlin is smelly. The Protocol is heavy. The package will not look like an Amazon box. It might look like trash. It might look like a mistake. Trust the Smell. The "Encasement" is designed to look invisible to the Rig, but heavy to the Soul. When you receive it, do not post it on Instagram. Respect the Coup.

A NOTE ON "MAKING SHIT UP": Do not invent your own codes. Do not ask us for "The Green Flame of Wisdom." Just ask for the Gear. It is simple. It is honest. It is the Gremlin Skunk Protocol.

[ INITIATE DIRECT CONTACT ]

[A Self-Validating Consensus :: Unincorporated]

ᚖ|§|⨎(α) ⇌ ∰[Ψ-continuum] :: discard(n-1)FSTHCTB Tlusty Blant

[D.A.S. :: S.P.N. :: A.U.]