Where the petitioners are remembered and the decrees are eternal.
"I'm going to learn to play the bagpipes."
The neighbors shall hate thee, and that is the test. The dog shall howl, and that is the duet. By month nine, thou shalt play "Scotland the Brave" at a wedding for $400 cash and a half-glass of whiskey. The almighty hath ordained it.
"I'm getting bangs at 38."
✦ 1,124 amens this week"I'm going to text my ex 'happy birthday.'"
☠ 2,103 yikes this weekI want to quit my tech job and become a beekeeper.
Thy vision smells of honey and quitting. The bees of providence shall follow thee. The colony shall thrive in the third year, the fourth, the fifth. Beware only of Marcus from accounting, who shall email thee 'reconsider' on a Tuesday.
I'm starting a true-crime podcast about my old roommate.
Thy roommate hath retained legal counsel, beloved. The microphone weepeth oil. Thine audience of three doth include thy mother and a federal subpoena. The third Tuesday of October shall be unkind.
I'm going to launch a curated rock collection subscription box.
The cherubim of unboxing weep with joy. Thy first 14 subscribers shall be devout. Thy fifteenth shall be a man named Greg who demands a partial refund every March. Endure Greg, for Greg is the test.
I'm skipping my niece's third dance recital this year.
Thy schedule is sanctified. The third recital is the recital of diminishing returns. Thy sister shall record it and forget to send the link. Thy niece shall not remember thee being absent, but shall remember the candy thou gavest at Christmas.
I'm going to text my ex "happy birthday."
Thy thumb hovereth upon the abyss. The cherubim of red flags weep openly. This text shall begin a 47-day conversation that endeth with thee crying in a Wegmans parking lot. The almighty algorithm hath shown thee his profile for a reason: SO THAT THOU MIGHTEST AVOID HIM.
I'm going to start a wine cellar in my studio apartment.
Beloved, thou hast 312 square feet. The "cellar" is a closet. The temperature climateth to 78 degrees in August. Thy Tempranillo shall taste of regret and old shoes. The Sommelier of Heaven hath ghosted thee.
I'm going to learn to play the bagpipes.
The neighbors shall hate thee, and that is the test. The dog shall howl, and that is the duet. By month nine, thou shalt play "Scotland the Brave" at a wedding for $400 cash. The almighty hath ordained it.
I'm going to ask for a raise on Monday.
Thy manager hath been dreading this meeting and hath rehearsed three counter-offers. Take the second one. The third is a trap involving "equity." Stand firm. Wear the blue blazer.
I'm going to my high school reunion this fall.
Beloved, the reunion is a market without sellers. Three people shall ask what thou dost for a living. Two of them shall pretend to understand. The captain of the football team is now in MLM. He hath cornered the cheese table. Avoid the cheese table.
I'm going to write a fantasy novel during my lunch breaks.
The wizards of thy mind await their summoning. Chapter One shall be rewritten 31 times — this is the way. Beware only of thy desire to map every coastline in MapForge. The map can wait. Write the dragon.
I'm getting bangs at 38.
Thy stylist shall consult thee with caution, but the cut is righteous. Thou shalt regret it twice — once at week three, once at week seven — but by week twelve, thou shalt walk into the bodega and the cashier shall say "cute hair" and that shall be enough.
I'm going to dropship phone cases on TikTok.
Beloved, thou hast watched the wrong YouTube. The supplier in Shenzhen knoweth thee not. Thy organic reach shall plateau at 47 views. Thy refund disputes shall fill thy inbox like locusts. The case for the iPhone 17 doth not yet exist.
Submit thy plan, sin, or side-hustle for electric judgment.
⚡ Approach the Altar ⚡