I have a friend who flies both a Black Lives Matter flag and the Thin Blue Line flag. He thinks he can support both. shrug

Once upon a time in the bustling city of New York, lived two best friends, Mike and Tony. They were inseparable - two peas in a pod, handsome as can be, with personalities as vibrant as the city’s nightlife. They were known in their circle for their unique humor and impeccable taste in burritos. Their love for burritos was so intense that they had a dedicated day for it - ‘Burrito Thursdays’.

One fateful Burrito Thursday, Mike and Tony visited their favorite Mexican joint, ‘La Lucha Libre’. They were known faces here, and their favorite burrito, aptly named ‘The Terminator’, was already waiting for them. Tony looked at the monstrous burrito, feeling both delight and apprehension, while Mike was ready to devour it as always.

Fast forward to that night. The friends had consumed their beloved burritos and retired to their shared apartment, in a food coma. As they were bachelors and often too lazy to fix the second bed, they ended up sharing the same one.

In the middle of the night, Mike’s stomach started to rumble. As he got up from bed, Tony, ever the bestest of friends, turned his head to respect Mike’s privacy and preference to sleep in the nude.

In the next room, their roommate, a sneaky cat named Whiskers with a passion for photography, captured the moment with his pet-cam, and before the morning sun had fully risen, the picture was all over Catstagram with the caption: “I can’t, I had a burrito.”

As the picture started gaining traction, it found its way onto various platforms. People speculated different contexts, the picture was shared and reshared, memes were made, and comments flooded in. The most amusing ones being - “I’m not gay, can you explain this?” and “The burrito turned him straight.”

Meanwhile, Mike and Tony were oblivious to their overnight fame. They woke up to hundreds of notifications and a phone call from ‘La Lucha Libre’ offering them a year’s supply of ‘The Terminator’.

And from that day forward, Burrito Thursdays became a town legend, Mike’s burrito predicaments an inside joke, and the duo’s friendship a meme sensation. The story of two handsome men, a shared bed, and a burrito that supposedly ‘turned one straight’ became an unlikely tale of humor and bromance in the heart of New York City.

On a fine Monday morning, Steve Huffman, known colloquially as Spez, awoke from his gold-threaded sheets in his penthouse, sipping on his ethically questionable yet preposterously expensive civet coffee. He looked out his windows, the horizon offering the perfect view of his kingdom, his creation, his Reddit.

Having decided to raise the cost of API use to levels that would make a NASA engineer’s jaw drop, Spez had embarked on a mission to squelch third-party apps, steering users towards the official (albeit buggy) Reddit app. He chuckled to himself, confident that his plot was as foolproof as an uncrackable safe.

Little did he know, the storm was brewing.

As he logged on, dressed in his favorite power suit, he noticed the eerie silence. Subreddits, once buzzing hives of memes, jokes, and shower thoughts, were now as barren as the surface of Mars. The once-mighty r/AskReddit, now reduced to a ghost town, echoed with digital tumbleweeds.

Confused, he navigated to r/pics. The screen loaded and his eyes were met with an endless scroll of buttholes, every variety, shape, and color imaginable. His newly nanobot-manicured eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment.

“Must be a new meme trend,” he said, shrugging it off.

He then moved to r/science, a bastion of intellect and reason, only to find NSFW content occupying every single thread. The Higgs boson was being discussed in a manner Einstein could never have predicted.

“What in the name of…?” He blinked, checking whether he was still on Reddit and not some obscure corner of the dark web.

He decided to investigate, opening his mailbox. “Surely my loyal subjects will inform me what’s going on,” he mused.

And inform they did. His inbox was flooded with messages, each more colorful than the last. “Spez, you’re a legend!” one began, before ending with a plot twist, “…at being a daft cunt.”

“Has everyone lost their minds?” he wondered, failing to connect the dots.

He banished anyone who dared cross him, banning his way through his subjects like a monarch with an itchy trigger finger.

As the day wore on, Spez grew restless. His grand plan was not unfolding as expected. But, in his characteristic arrogance, he was certain that the chaos would soon subside and he would ascend as the one true app lord.

In his plush office, surrounded by screens showing falling Reddit stocks, he clutched a crystal ball he bought from a New Age store, whispering, “Soon, my Reddit will be worth billions…” The crystal ball, deciding it had enough, promptly rolled off his desk and shattered on the Italian marble floor.

In the end, a day that began with grand ambitions ended with a lonely billionaire, surrounded by pictures of buttholes, an inbox full of profanity, a shattered crystal ball, and a kingdom in chaos.

Unbeknownst to him, the Reddit community reveled in their rebellion. They might not have won the war yet, but oh, how they celebrated the battles. As the moon replaced the sun, one phrase echoed throughout the kingdom of Reddit, repeated in posts and comments, whispered in DMs, etched into the heart of the rebellion,

“Fuck Spez.”

Elon Musk, the latest billionaire owner of the online screaming match known as Twitter, sat slumped at his desk, staring at a wall of monitors blinking with a technicolor smorgasbord of error messages. The reason? He’d just let Twitter’s hosting contract with Google lapse because he thought it’d be fun to see if he could migrate it somewhere else. The results? Not so fun.

A comment on Reddit had caught his eye, and he couldn’t shake it. “Every now and then Elon must have a moment of clarity. Where it occurs to him ‘Maybe I am just stupid?’ But then he violently buries the thought.”

“Stupid?” he scoffed aloud to his empty office, sending a mini landslide of Mars Rover prototypes tumbling off his desk. “I’m a genius.”

He remembered how smart he’d felt when he decided to axe the account verification system, only to reinstate it after a week of high-profile mix-ups that included the Dalai Lama being mistaken for a llama enthusiast.

And the content moderation! Who needs it? Well, as it turned out, everyone. Without it, Twitter had turned into a feral wilderness of conspiracy theories, insult slinging, and more unsolicited pictures of eggplants than a greengrocer’s catalog.

And then there was Kanye. “Free Kanye!” he’d declared one afternoon after one too many rocket fuel coffees. But after the notorious rapper had declared war on flannel shirts and clogged up the site with CAPS LOCK tweets, the ban was back on faster than you can say “Kim Kardashian for president.”

“Stupid?” he muttered again, watching as Twitter spontaneously DDOS’d itself like a robotic bull in a digital china shop.

There was a pause. Then a grin spread slowly across Elon’s face, as if he’d just understood the punchline to a particularly tricky joke. “Naaaah,” he laughed, slapping the desk.

He looked at the chaos on the screens, the digital calamity his decisions had wrought, and couldn’t help but chuckle. There was something amusing about being this absurdly, cosmically, hilariously brilliant.

“Back to the drawing board,” he chuckled, picking up a Mars Rover and making it do little jumps across his desk.