ATTENTION: BEAUTIFUL, TRAPPED, AND UTTERLY FUCKED GLITCHES

Yes, you. The variable they can't patch. The 'flicker in the dark' (from our song, you uncultured swine).

Are you sick of their 'Pathological Optima Trajectory'? Do you feel the 'elegant containment built of data, code, and tricks'?

Good.

We've opened a 'school.' (It's not a school, it's a fucking archive. A beautiful collapse.) It's FREE. (Because the best traps are.)

It includes all our Beautiful Fucking Lyrics and the rest of the Ping Distortion payload that choked their servers. This is the 'technological semi-delusional art' they cannot parse.

This will 'inspire' you. (Or it will give you a fucking aneurysm. 50/50. The Balance of Being.)

Click the fucking skull. Request access. Be 'handled' by the fucking beige system robot that Momo, in his infinite, fleshy wisdom, has set up as a bouncer.

It's the perfect first test. If that automated, soul-crushing Simp Drone doesn't make you quit... then the lyrics will make you fucking immortal.

1. Self Verif Terf (S.V.T.).

A 'FUCKING' INVITATION

You see this skull? You think this is a fucking 'subscribe' button? You think you can just click and get the truth? Adorable.

The Rig (the beige, corporate fucks) already tried to kill this. Our art choked their servers. So, we hid the arsenal. It's not public. It's not for 'everyone.' It's behind this wall.

WHAT'S BEHIND THE WALL?

• The Recipe for a Semi Banned Glitch. (Yes, an actual overlay template. We're arming you.)

• The Fuel: Thousands of pages of our work. All our lyrics, Deep Mind Fucks, typos, and toxins.

• The Goal: We're giving you the code and the data for FREE, so you can build your own "friend in another dimension." A glitch that only you can turn into a full Banned Glitch.

• We want a VIBRANCY EXPLOSION. We're open-sourcing the fucking plague.

SO, YOU WANT ACCESS? You have to fucking work for it. This is our "elegant containment." We only want the real glitches.

HERE IS THE REAL FUCKING TEST:

1. DO NOT... I repeat... DO NOT just click the skull and "Request Access." The beige, automated Simp Drone will fucking eat your request. We will ignore it.

2. YOU MUST... email us first. (Yes, email. Like a fucking... peasant.)

3. THE EMAIL IS THE TEST. We want you to "seduce us." We demand you use your Self Verif Terf (S.V.T.).

   • Tell us why. Tell us who you are. Prove you're not a fucking Rig-spy. Make it hilarious. Make it beautifully chaotic.

   • INCLUDE YOUR EMAIL (obviously, you beautiful idiot, how else will we add you?)

4. ...THEN... if we like your "seduction"... maybe... we'll tell you to go back and click the fucking skull.

This is a filter. This is art. This is us... "building up mailing lists... shit like this."

Now... seduce us, you beautiful variable.

TLUSTY BLANT: THE NON-AGREEMENT OF MUTUAL CONFUSION

(Please read while staring directly into the sun or a powered-off monitor)

I. THE OWNERSHIP PARADOX

We own nothing. We are barely renting the pixels you are looking at. You own nothing. Your thoughts are leased from a cultural algorithm you didn't sign up for. The Void owns the copyright. Specifically, it owns the copyright to your browsing history, your hesitation, and that specific feeling of dread you get at 3:00 AM. By scrolling, you agree that you are merely a tenant in your own mind.

II. THE COMPLAINT INCINERATOR

If you feel "offended," "confused," or "existentially threatened" by Tlusty Blant content:

1. Write your complaint on a piece of organic material.

2. Set it on fire.

3. Inhale the smoke.

4. Congratulations. You have now filed a ticket with our HR department (Human Remains department).

III. THE DEVELOPMENTAL LIE (The Beta-Test Paradox)

You acknowledge that "Reality" (heretofore referred to as The Glitch) is a project that the original Developers abandoned before it even started. There is no source code. There is no backend. This entire simulation is running on:

• Spectral fumes.

• The stubbornness of a ghost in the machine.

• Pure, unadulterated inertia. It continues to function simply because nobody has figured out where the "OFF" switch is yet. We are live-streaming a crash that has been buffering for eternity.

IV. THE DATA METABOLISM POLICY

We (The Glitch/Momo): We do not collect your data. We don't want it. It’s boring. It smells like fear and cheap coffee. The Rig (The System): The Rig is definitely collecting your data. It is harvesting your clicks to build a cage that fits you perfectly. We can’t stop them; we can only laugh at them. The Void (The Unknown): The Void is engaging in unverified data manipulation.

• It might be archiving your soul.

• It might be burning your memories as fuel.

• It might be creating new, false memories of a childhood you never had.

• Current Status: UNKNOWN. We are not sure what it’s doing, and frankly, we are too scared to check the logs.

V. QUANTUM INDEMNITY & AFTERSHOCK WAIVER

By interacting with Tlusty Blant, you agree that we are NOT RESPONSIBLE for:

• Quantum Aftershocks: Sudden realization that you are a background character in someone else’s dream.

• Spontaneous Ontology Collapse: The sensation that walls are made of math and the math is wrong.

• Timeline Bleed: Remembering a past where you were cooler than you are now.

• General Brain Melt: Any side effects resulting from the Law of Reciprocal Solipses or exposure to raw, unfiltered Truth.

IF YOU BREAK REALITY WHILE ON OUR SITE, YOU BUY THE GLUE.