"What is Real?"

Existential Trump Transition Spooks

Nov 26, 2024

My weekend plan was simple: edit and organize closets, then prep the house for a holiday decor overhaul. Instead, I fell into several late-night AI rabbit holes. This habit of mine—picking at threads until the entire fabric unravels—is something I'd liken to staring at your reflection too long and accidentally scarring yourself. It's not your features that unsettle you but the realization that familiarity becomes foreign under intense scrutiny.

Lately, my friends and I keep circling the same existential questions: What is real? Who can we trust? These aren't casual musings—they're defining markers of our time. Yesterday, Shane Cashman warned that we've entered our Kafka era. In the age of AI, technology doesn't just blur reality; it muddies public perception with seamless precision. Trust becomes the casualty when faces, facts, and even presidents can be algorithmically constructed to deceive.

This morning, I stumbled upon a video of Elon Musk crudely mocking his ex-wife during an interview. The clip was so convincing I almost shared it, ready to join the chorus of disapproval. But a closer look revealed it was AI-generated. It left me wondering: How many people had accepted it as accurate? In a world where even the faces and voices of the powerful can be fabricated, skepticism isn't just wise—it's crucial to survival. It's our shield against the onslaught of manipulated reality.

Take skepticism as a theme and apply it to everything. Look at MAHA, the grassroots subplot we're all applauding. It's built on ideals of transparency and trust—but how does it thrive in a culture saturated with ego, artifice, and misdirection? First, there was the Big Mac debacle. Then, a vaccine-loving Attorney General whose sudden appearance threw off the movement's narrative. Now, the swirling conspiracy about the Means siblings, which consumed my inbox for a day. The question on repeat: Who can we trust? My reply on autorepeat: IDK.

Sunday's post on the Means siblings stirred a small storm. Some called it "too speculative." Others—some in positions of influence—urged me to dig deeper. I did that. Expect a follow-up tomorrow.

Meanwhile, politics has fully replaced Hollywood. Why Netflix and chill when we can livestream and panic? We are addicted to the drama. Reality now fully overrides the entertainment industry. Trump is casting DC, after all. Let us pause to reflect on the surreal state of our timeline: Joe Biden, our forgotten leader, drifts onto live TV looking like a lost tourist in the rainforest. MSM tears flow daily over plummeting ratings. The View is suddenly entertaining again as deranged TDS hits overdrive post-election. Everyone hates CNN. No one reads printed newspapers. And Elon Musk has taken up residence at Mar-a-Lago with little X, the "chosen protégé," estranged from his mother, who now claims financial ruin in their custody battle. Robotic dogs patrol the club's perimeter, cyber cars weave into the motorcade, and MAGA family field trips to Texas feature rocket launches into outer space. Amid it all, the build-up to upcoming confirmation hearings feels like something Michael Clayton might have dreamed up on illegal cough syrup: Tulsi, a secret Russian agent. RFK, facing files detailing his "sex demons," with "the nanny" threatening to testify before the Senate. It's Brett Kavanaugh on steroids, with weeks still to go.

Between briefings and scandal, politicians are also posing as influencers. Matt Gaetz is wishing us a happy birthday on Cameo. RFK Jr. was seen promoting the same holiday gift idea as Kris Jenner and Bill Gates. “Can you not, bro?” a forlorn follower commented in the now deleted post.

Kris Jenner Bill Gates RFK Jr. and Brody Jenner for Boxbollen

And, of course, we have Kim Kardashian. I fear that somehow, no matter the trend or timeline, we'll always have Kim Kardashian. She's online again—in lousy lighting, molesting Elon's robots in a SKIMS ad proving nothing is off-limits to her overzealous, exploitative vagina. Look at Kanye. Look at the iconic Marilyn dress she squeezed her fabricated derrière into, destroying one of the most historically loaded gowns of all time. People say she's lovely "in real life," and I believe them. But I'd still ask: Can she stop sexualizing everything new and sacred in culture?

The robots just got here. We were just wondering if they could fold clothes, wash dishes, groom a doodle. Thanks to Kim, we're forced now to consider what a cyber erection looks like after a driveway lap dance.

Does she really need this much attention? Must her tired seduction overshadow transhumism’s unnerving debut? And what about those poor kids — wandering the halls of that big sparse estate wanting a sandwich, but dad is in Tokyo with a naked lady dodging lawsuits and shopping for luxury cars, and mom is in the driveway making love to the new family robot.

Obviously, the bigger issue isn’t Kardashian’s crude antics—it’s how easily society embraces these constructs. When lead characters become indistinguishable from algorithms, how do we navigate trust? The AI era doesn't merely blur reality; it manufactures new ones. Narratives are engineered, and truth becomes just another variable.

So we have to wonder: Is this progress, or just an evolved illusion we're forced to embrace? Does this contrived content convince us we're in control while the algorithm quietly spins its web?

As amusing as all this is—and it is amusing—I wonder if I'll always miss the world before—a world where women flaunted real teeth and limitless creativity and desire were inspired sans cyber-infused fantasies birthing new realms for us to conquer.

I mean, robots had barely arrived before their porn censors were activated. Kafka would probably cringe, too.