tri-cicle

[tri-cicle]

I was short on rent—like $300 short—and my landlord is the kind of guy who once tried to sage the plumbing.

So I told him, “Honestly, I don’t think I should have to pay full rent when the apartment is clearly haunted.”

He stares at the ceiling and goes, “If you can prove that, I’ll knock off this month and cover the exorcism.”

Bet.

I post on Craigslist: “Looking for a Ghostbusters enthusiast to pretend to be a paranormal investigator. Must be willing to act possessed if needed. Bring gear. Must beep.”

A guy named Vance responds within ten minutes. Shows up in a homemade Ghostbusters uniform with a fog machine, a modified Shop-Vac, and goggles made from kaleidoscopes.

He walks in and yells “WE GOT A CLASS 5 FREE-ROAMING VAPOR!” before licking the wall and whispering “tastes cursed.”

My landlord moves out that night.

I couldn’t pay Vance, so I gave him my PS5. He saluted and said, “For the greater good.”

I live here now. Rent-free.

And I sleep with the lights on.

[tri-cicle]

In 5th grade, the lunch table basically became a stock market. Apple slices? Mid-tier. Fruit Roll-Ups? High value. But peanut butter? Peanut butter was gold.

It started with one student trading a PB&J for two snack packs and a Capri Sun. After that, the market went wild. People were splitting sandwiches, pre-cutting trades, assigning “peanut brokers.” Someone made a spreadsheet. In excel.

Then the school banned peanut butter. Completely. "Allergies," they said. Economy collapsed overnight.

But the 5th grade class didn’t stop. They went underground.

Cubby deals. Notebook code names. Sandwiches hidden in hollowed-out pencil boxes. The most elite trade? One peanut butter cracker… for a pack of Pokémon cards.

It all came crashing down when the teacher opened a pencil case and found a sealed Ziplock bag. Two perfect triangles. Extra crunchy.

The class went silent. Teacher just stared. “Seriously?”

It got confiscated like contraband. Put in a plastic evidence bin next to the confiscated slime and one rogue Beyblade.

To this day, no peanut butter has been allowed at lunch. And no one ever topped that hustle.

[tri-cicle]

So it’s me and two friends, we’re like 16, at the gym after school. None of us have a license yet. We’re sweaty, tired, lifting way too heavy for no reason. And outta nowhere, one of them goes, “Bro… I need a condom. Like now.”

We all look at him. He doesn’t explain. We don’t ask.

Closest CVS is a mile away. And it’s crazy windy. Like, full sideways gusts. But we’re idiots. So we go.

We take this janky back route behind the PetSmart. Hopping fences, slipping on mulch. At one point, I was using a plastic CVS bag as a shield. My other friend wore it like a cape.

By the time we make it there, we look like we just survived a natural disaster. He walks up to the counter, red-faced, and goes, “Hi… uh… just these.” The cashier didn’t even blink.

We made it back to the gym alive. Nothing wild happened after. But honestly? That dumb little mission? One of my favorite memories.

[tri-cicle]

Craigslist said: “$75/hr. Must be buff. Must look mad. Bonus if you can yell.���

I thought I was getting hired as security or maybe for one of those prank videos.

Nah.

This guy was filming TikToks at the gym and wanted someone to stand nearby and scream gym-specific insults to “motivate” him. Like a background hater. Said it boosted his engagement.

I’m like… alright. Easy money.

So I started small: “Is that your warmup or are you just weak?” “Bro, your form’s uglier than your macros.” “You’re a grown man with 25s on the bench. Get bigger.”

And he loved it. Kept nodding mid-set like I was giving him spiritual power.

I told him, “You recording for TikTok? You’re still gonna be mid.” He said, “YES, that’s perfect. More hate.”

People at the gym were genuinely confused. One dude offered to fight me. A lady filmed us for ‘evidence.’

Anyway, the guy paid me in cash and a pre-workout bar. His video got like 200k likes.

And now I’m in the comments as “That one toxic gym bro.”

I guess I went viral… for bullying.

[tri-cicle]

So I’m at Trader Joe’s, minding my business, looking at frozen gnocchi, when this employee walks by and says, “Nice taste.”

I laugh awkwardly. He raises an eyebrow and goes, “Real good choice.”

Now listen. I don’t mind being hit on. But he’s staring at me like I’m the only man who’s ever understood cauliflower.

So I go, “Hey, I’m flattered, man. But I’m not gay… if that’s what this is.”

He leans in.

Voice low. Eyes dead.

“I’m not either. But if I don’t look the part… they’ll kill me.”

I blink. He continues.

“You don’t know what it’s like. The struggle. The pressure. The constant smiling. Do you think I want to compliment oat milk?”

I’m frozen. He walks away. Another employee sees us and nods solemnly.

I never saw that guy again.

But now every time someone at Trader Joe’s compliments me… I wonder if it’s real.

Or if they’re just trying to survive.

[tri-cicle]

So I went to a conference to support my friend who’s actually smart.

I’m just there for moral support and free granola bars. But there’s a mix-up with the badges, and someone hands me a speaker lanyard.

I say nothing. I just wear it. For vibes.

Suddenly I’m ushered backstage. Someone says, “You're up after Dr. Lang. You’re the AI ethics panel, right?”

I panic and say, “Totally. Huge ethics guy.”

Fifteen minutes later I’m on stage, mic’d up, sitting between two professors with actual PhDs. They start debating machine consciousness. I nod thoughtfully, then say:

“What if the real intelligence… was the friends we made along the way?”

The crowd claps.

Not politely. Emotionally.

Afterward someone asks me to be on their podcast. I say I’m “between projects.” I don’t even know what that means.

Anyway I now have 200 LinkedIn requests and an offer to consult for a startup.

For what? I don’t know. But I’m charging $85 an hour.

Minimum.

[tri-cicle]

Needed a couch. Went on Craigslist. Found one that looked nice. Cheap. The guy said it was "basically new" and just “a little rustic,” which should’ve been my first warning. But I shrugged it off. Showed up, and it was literally half a couch. No backrest. No cushions. Just a frame and broken dreams. I stared at it, confused. I tried to walk away, but the guy guilt-tripped me about “honoring my commitments,” like we were signing a treaty or something. I panicked. I paid twenty bucks, and like an unwilling hero, I hauled it home out of shame. Now, every time someone comes over, they just stare at it like it’s modern art, eyes full of pity, and ask if I’m “going through something.” I am. I’m going through the five stages of grief. Over a Craigslist couch.

I’ve made peace with it now, though. It’s a daily struggle of disappointment and surreal pride. Sometimes I look at it and wonder if I could’ve just spent an extra few bucks for a normal couch. Then, I remember—oh wait, I paid twenty bucks. This is art.

[tri-cicle]

So, I’m just waiting for my coffee at this tiny, overcrowded cafe. You know, minding my own business.

Then this guy just sits down across from me. Like, doesn’t even ask. Just plops down like he owns the place.

I’m confused, but I don’t want to be rude. So I just give him a nod. He nods back. Cool. We’re nodding now.

Then he starts talking. About his ex. About his job. About how his cat hates him and his landlord’s a vampire who only collects rent at night.

I haven’t said a word. Not one. And this guy’s practically giving me his entire life story. Full-on confession mode.

Finally, he pauses. Looks me dead in the eye and says, “You’re a really good listener.”

And I just. Blink. Because I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m just waiting for my coffee.

But he keeps going. Ranting. Spilling every secret he’s ever had like I’m his personal therapist.

By the time my coffee’s ready, he thanks me, says he feels better, and leaves without another word.

I never even got his name.

Moral of the story? If you sit still long enough, someone will accidentally use you as free therapy.

[tri-cicle]

Sung Jin-Woo’s English VA Had No Business Going That Hard

Let’s talk about Aleks Le. Everyone was hyped for Solo Leveling, but nobody was ready for how much power he brought to the dub. The ARISE line? That wasn’t voice acting. That was a summoning ritual. Actual magic.

People were skeptical at first—Solo Leveling lives and dies by its hype, and if the delivery was off, it’d ruin everything. But Aleks Le? He understood the assignment. You could feel the shift in his voice.

Episode 1 Jin-Woo? Awkward, nervous, please don’t let me die. Episode 5? Cold, confident, kneel.

And then—the ARISE. The moment. The line. And he delivered. Not just a voice, but a force of nature.

Dude didn’t just play Jin-Woo. He became him.

[tri-cicle]

Bruce Wayne walked into a coffee shop, trying to blend in. The barista beamed. “Congrats! You’re our 1,000th customer today—you win free coffee for a year!”

Bruce hesitated. “Uh… great. I’ll take a black coffee.”

The guy behind him scoffed. “Dude, you’re Bruce Wayne. Don’t you have, like, a golden espresso machine?”

The barista blinked. “Wait… Bruce Wayne? Gotham’s richest man? Why are you in this part of town?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “I, uh… just wanted a change of scenery.”

At that moment, his phone rang. Alfred’s voice came through, annoyed. “Master Wayne, your meeting ended 20 minutes ago. You were supposed to be back at the tower.”

The guy behind him raised an eyebrow. “Wait… if you’re here, who’s that guy in the Lamborghini outside?”

A voice from the driver’s seat called out, “Can I take this thing back now? The suit is itchy.”

The barista gasped. “Was that—WAS THAT NIGHTWING?”

Bruce sighed as sirens blared down the street. “I’m just taking my coffee to go.”

[tri-cicle]

Ever seen Rubber (2010)? It’s about a sentient tire that kills people with its mind. Yes. A literal car tire. Cinema peaked here.

[tri-cicle]

New spongebob episode idea and its wild:

A mysterious "Dream Coral" blooms near Jellyfish Fields, causing everyone in Bikini Bottom to share a collective nightmare where their deepest fears and desires mash together...well for most people. SpongeBob’s cheerful underwater utopia collides with Squidward’s silent black-and-white art gallery, while Patrick’s dream is just infinite mayonnaise. Chaos erupts when Plankton takes control of the coral to infiltrate Mr. Krabs’ subconscious and steal the Krabby Patty formula—only to get trapped in a loop of Krabs’ recurring dream about being hugged to death by $100 dollar bills. To wake everyone up in bikini bottom, SpongeBob must perform a song over squidward's scratchy clarinet (Squidward’s idea) atop the coral, merging all dreams into a nonsensical musical number that resets reality, thanks to the horrible music notes. The coral withers, but Patrick fantasizes about giant jars of mayonnaise for a week.

[tri-cicle]

My dream job is being the lighthouse keeper of an island that doesn’t exist on any maps. Once a week, a silent crew drops off supplies and an envelope full of cash. No questions, no explanations. My only job? Keep the light on. No matter what moves in the fog. Sounds chill right? The lighthouse will even have an air fryer

[tri-cicle]

I tried to dodge a bullet like he did. Instead, I got stuck in a glitch where I’m neither real nor fake, just existing in a void. NUMBERS. EVERYWHERE.