I think I'm going to change my handle and profile picture(s) every day, and maybe, every hour...mostly from the tedium of pent up energy lodged in a fortress of boredom. This isn't jail. I've always had 'the door' as an option. That's for quitters.
When the caged bird sings, I suggest noise-cancelling headphones.
I couldn't actually get through the whole prompt for Schnujo's activity. ADHD issues, you know.
I cringe at the thought I could pass on my stuff here to another (bypassing actual family), rather than have a true will and testament in place. Though, we met to make arrangements (not finalized). My living will is in place. Anyone here want my organs? How shall I divvy up my eyeballs??
Hmm, who wants to be heirs of my WDC goodies? I could pass tomorrow. Does this mean just my stuff, or can someone assume my identity, so I can go on living forever? Is there an internet equivalency to cryogenically freezing your intellectual properties like a brain?
Can a robot replace me, continue entering random generated poems in activities after I'm ashes?
Rather than being a cyborg, I'm going to live to 95, at this rate. Resting heart rate and more covered here:
Some would say I'm already assembled from a collection of body parts. Buyer beware. Hey, what about:
a reverse mortgage on stuff in my portfolio. Thoughts just keep coming. Sorry, Jody. I had too much coffee. You know how I'm wired. I think I have Aspberger's, too. I know only three or four face emojis. Five.
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