Pimento Mori
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pimento-mori.bsky.social
Pimento Mori
@pimento-mori.bsky.social
540 followers 1.6K following 380 posts
Pissy satirist & author, "Vote Loki: 2024" and "God Of Stories"
Queer, autistic, and angry. Clean underwear and a dirty mind. 🏳️‍🌈
https://archiveofourown.org/series/3509920
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pimento-mori.bsky.social
oof, so she ain't the only one there's also this dickweed 🙄
screenshot of some miserable asshole whining about Taylor Swift's engagement in reply to a random user who asked for context "they're getting married. that's the last time I am speaking on the subject. I'm now blocking all mentions of the couple because it's all you're going to hear about from now until their wedding day. it will be worse than her eras tour." (I told you he was a miserable asshole lol)
August 26, 2025 at 8:30 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
Flavor Flav being more cooler about the news than half the men on the internet really says a lot about both

in a world full East Coast Jays, be a Flavor Flav ⏰
August 26, 2025 at 8:03 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.
I wrote exactly this sort of thing a full year ago, complete with all the ramifications and analysis, and now it's happening in real life

what the fuck are we even doing right now????
screenshot: Nisa flipped through the channels until she landed on the interview. Zoltar’s widow was seated at a table in the lab, nodding and speaking into a microphone as she addressed a small speaker. Nisa felt chills as she listened to the machine speaking in an incredibly lifelike artificial rendering of Stefan Zoltar’s human voice, telling her that he loved her and their children very much. Most of their conversation had been edited for privacy, but the snippets that were released were gut-wrenching in their emotional intensity. “It’s him, it’s really him,” she said into the camera, wiping her eyes and taking a few deep breaths to regain her composure. “He’s here, and he can hear me. We’ve been talking every day. He remembers lots of things that were just between us. Our little inside jokes, our love language. We even laughed the way we always did when I brought up something funny that happened last summer on vacation. I remember it like it was yesterday, and so does he.” The footage featured her sharing a laugh with the speaker, and then the camera cut back to the reporter. “I’m here with staff psychologist Dr. Smith, just down the hall from the room where Mrs. Zoltar is having her daily visit,” she said, turning to the man seated beside her. “Some people have said that a voice box on a table seems a little too impersonal, given the context,” she pointed out. “I have to admit, it does have a bit of a séance feel to it. Can you help our viewers understand the psychology behind this decision?” “Oh, certainly,” Dr. Smith said, smiling. “It’s perfectly reasonable to think that talking to a loved one through an artificial interface that looks more human would be better, but we need to remember that this is not a séance. This is more like a time capsule, an interactive archive of a person. But they are not present in the room in any way, and a robotic or holographic effigy would more likely be emotionally harmful to a next of kin, especially children.” screenshot: Nisa’s stomach clenched at the thought. What the hell are these people doing? “This can deepen the existing trauma around their loss, and even destabilize the emotional processing of their grief,” Dr. Smith continued. “We’ve found that the most appropriate way to facilitate these reunions is to treat them as one would treat a phone call with someone who is a very long distance away. There is ongoing verbal interaction between the client’s archival profile and their family, but we do not recommend supplanting physical representations when re-establishing contact.” Nisa wondered how exactly they had arrived at that conclusion, and at whose expense. The reporter went on to interview several of the company’s software engineers, one of whom teared up on camera as he recalled his first post-revival conversation with their founder. “He recognized us all by voice, remembered our names. He actually told us how proud he was of all of us for making it happen. He thanked us for our hard work. It was the most surreal moment of my entire life.” “Death is a natural and necessary part of the process of life on this earth,” declared a man carrying a protest sign that read BIG TECH IS PLAYING GOD! as the reporter engaged a small contingent of demonstrators outside of the company’s headquarters. “This is blasphemous. It’s dangerous. Death is real, and it’s final. We can’t just turn ourselves into a computer program and pretend to be alive again. That’s not humanity, that’s a nightmare. It would be Hell on earth.” screenshot: Nisa glanced back up at the TV to see Zoltar’s oldest child, who couldn’t have been any older than ten, sitting beside his mother and speaking timidly to the box that sounded like his father. Nisa involuntarily clutched her stomach and cringed at the palpable emotions that played across the child’s face. He smiled weakly now and then, but seemed visibly unsettled the entire time. “This is so fucking wrong,” she said under her breath. “The full segment is set to air this Sunday at 1pm Eastern, exclusively on Channel 6 World News. Stick around after the break, we’ve got your local weather forecast coming right up.”
August 4, 2025 at 10:12 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
got it, pls tell the kitties for me that they're lovely and majestic
screenshot of the website where I voted for OP's podcast
April 17, 2025 at 12:16 AM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
they're turning on him, LOL
screenshot of a tweet by James Tate (@JamesTate121): "This is Paramus, NJ, 4 Feb. (Route 4, I believe.)" The accompanying image is a photo that appears to have been taken from the side of the road of a traffic scene passing underneath an enclosed pedestrian bridge. In the windows of the bridge, there are 5 large handmade signs that spell out, "MUSK STOLE YORU TAX DATA". There are people standing in the bridge behind the signs, but it is unclear if they are the same who put them there. In the distance, there is a road sign that reads, "Spring Valley Road, 1/4 mile".
February 6, 2025 at 1:36 AM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
I had no idea Tesla had a fireworks mode
a news photo of a Tesla Cybertrash - sorry, I mean Cyber truck - literally on fire in the drop-off lane directly in front of a very tacky entrance to a Trump mega-hotel
January 2, 2025 at 2:46 AM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
This is the most "Gotham City just seconds before something terrible happened" image I think I've ever found. Inspired, I plan to have that Something Terrible™️ written and posted by NYE.
A photo of the 2024 Christmas tree lighting ceremony in Rockefeller Center, taken from within the crowd of excited spectators: the towering facades of the nearby buildings, lit up by spotlights. The fountain path is flanked by wire-frame angels covered in white strand lights, each holding a trumpet aimed high. At its center is the 74-foot-tall Norway spruce, lit up with 50,000 multicolored lights; it is topped with a star weighing 900 lbs and around 9.5 feet wide, covered in a reported $1.5 million in Swarovski crystals.
December 25, 2024 at 4:32 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
[snippet]
excerpt from a fanfic in which a certain Florida governor gets a Christmas Eve visit from a Santa-ish drag queen, Nikki Klaus, presented as prose in between a rewritten version of the original "Night Before Christmas" poem: "Who are you?" he demanded. Nikki's eyes twinkled as she put a finger to her lips. She sashayed to the tree with a feminine grace, And then turned to me with a grin on her face. Swinging a sack filled with presents and swag, She looked like a pin-up girl, dressed all in drag. Her lashes were long and her hair sprayed up high; Her crimson dress flowed with a split to show thigh. Her lipstick was bright red; she smiled as she spoke About happiness, giving, and other things woke.
December 25, 2024 at 3:37 AM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
this poem has lived rent-free in the back of my head for 25 years now

it blew up the character limit, so it's a screenshot (with alt text, cuz I love you people)
screenshot of the poem, "When The Pawn", by Fiona Apple (which is also a 1999 album title): when the pawn hits the conflicts he thinks like a king what he knows throws the blows when he goes to the fight and he'll win the whole thing 'fore he enters the ring there's no body to batter when your mind is your might so when you go solo, you hold your own hand and remember that depth is the greatest of heights and if you know where you stand then you know where to land and if you fall it won't matter 'cuz you'll know that you're right
December 24, 2024 at 3:27 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
in related news, … LMAO
screenshot of an Amazon listing for a tshirt in retro style that says the name "LUIGI" 5 times stacked like an old Atari ad, and it has the metric underneath the descriptor that more than 50 thousand have been bought in the past month, making me wonder "why" lol
December 22, 2024 at 5:46 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
Yup. I get this shit all the damn time. Sometimes I wonder if they're shitbots, but then I remember that real actual people have been like this for longer than we've had bots, and it makes me wanna pick a void and start screaming.
screenshot of some asshole comment on a piece of writing, in which the commenter says, "I really enjoyed this chapter—it’s amazing! I have a few thoughts on how it could be even better." and the author replying, "… turning off comments? … adding anti-AI scraper code to the post? … more cowbell?"
December 22, 2024 at 5:07 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
how the hell do I even describe this monstrosity of a chandelier to a reader, without literally calling it a biblically accurate angel made of LEDs
LMAO
a huge ballroom chandelier made up of three nesting rings, lit up from inside, tilted askew from one another
December 21, 2024 at 5:40 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
as promised: he's big, he's red, he always knows if you've been naughty - and he ain't Santa

archiveofourown.org/works/61337095
(artist: Dan Mora) a brilliant comic-book style illustration of Marvel's Mephisto, heavy on reds and warm fiery tones; he resembles a well-muscled human man, but with red skin and hair, pointed ears, and fangs; he is sitting on his throne with his knees wide apart, in a defiantly immodest pose, wearing nothing but a long loincloth draped over his midsection; he's making the standard "dastardly villain" face with a wide, toothy grin and menacing eyes; his throne is made of hundreds of (human?) bones, spinal columns, and skulls fused together; one hand is wrapped around the front of an armrest, the other raised up holding a human skull; behind him, a flaming hellscape
December 18, 2024 at 12:43 AM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
Soon.
An artist's rendering of the comic book devil Mephisto, from the waist up. He's posing dramatically with a slight smirk on his face. He is drawn in mostly fiery colors, his eyes glowing like flames, ears pointed, his red cape visible over his shoulders, hair looking wild.
December 8, 2024 at 12:26 AM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
December 1, 2024 at 1:26 AM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
this image lives in my head rent free lately
a Bizarro.com single-frame comic, of a pregnant person on a clinic bed and a nurse applying a sonogram, but on the screen is an annoying pop-up ad for soda. the nurse says, "We'll see your baby in a minute. Your plan doesn't cover the ad-free version."
November 27, 2024 at 11:03 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
but I think this one might have been my best dunk yet
(archiveofourown.org/works/60337327)
The rally was an all-hands-on-deck event packed with the usual ghouls from Washington, with a smattering of D-list celebrities from music, Hollywood and Silicon Valley. Detroit hip hop artist turned transphobic reactionary Skid Mark was on hand, rehashing his viral TikTak stunt of livestreaming himself tearfully shooting a 6 pack of beer because it had Pride colors on it. Classic rocker Ted Pungent ranted in a cowboy hat and cargo shorts for twenty solid minutes about feminists and taxes; once-popular professional wrestler Bulk Brogan roared himself hoarse while struggling to rip his shirt off on stage; tech bros like PayBuddy founder Peter Lieth and embattled billionaire Leon Husk, whose fifth divorce had just gone sideways in court, whose antics on and off the stage quickly prompted speculation that he was probably high on more than life that night.
November 23, 2024 at 2:18 AM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
Speaking of that feckless #Muskrat: I found myself wondering what would happen if he pulled his Most Valuable Prick shit on Nick Fury. The answer I came up with:
The hazards of working at an intelligence agency reception desk typically included the risk of being shot, blown to bits, taken hostage, and being threatened by belligerent politicians. Currently, Marjorie was enduring an obnoxious billionaire with bad breath and not an ounce of self awareness. After ten minutes of talking about his space shuttle, he leaned onto the counter and regarded her with a boyish grin. "So, uh … want to earn a horse?" he asked. She blinked at him. "Huh?" "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Husk." An agent approached the desk and looked over at him expectantly. "Right this way. Mr. Fury will be available in a few minutes." "Ah! Thank you." He turned back to Marjorie and gave her a wink. She responded with a withered stare. The resolution of the cameras in the new facility were impressively sharp. So sharp, in fact, that Fury could actually see the sunburn on Husk's forehead and the tan lines on his temples from his sunglasses. He stood beside the security team and watched the screen as Husk made himself comfortable in one of the thick leather chairs and tapped his hands on the table. After a long pause, he took his cell phone from his pocket and scrolled through it, then dropped it on the floor. He leaned over to retrieve it, and as he wrapped his fingers around it, he slid his other hand to his pocket and then under the table. He fidgeted with something for a moment and sat up, brushing imaginary dust from his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. Maria pinched the bridge of her nose. "How stupid does he really think we are?" Fury sipped his coffee. "I don't know, but frankly it's insulting." "Pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Fury," Husk said, offering his hand. Fury kept his in his pocket and simply nodded. "Mister Husk." Husk waved a hand modestly. "Please, you can just call me Leon." Fury nodded again. Ever since he had been doxxed by a conspiracy theorist turned tabloid reporter years prior, it seemed like every puffed up jackass with an internet fan club was vying for a selfie alongside the mysterious American spy with an eye patch and trucker mouth. And now this guy. "So, … how's the family doing?" Fury asked. Husk brightened at Fury's interest. "We have another one on the way, any day now," he said proudly. "Already decided on a name." Fury raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee. "A-10-U-8," Husk continued, beaming. "You know, … attenuate." He wiggled his fingers as quotation marks. "Easy to spell on their homework," Fury said politely. Husk nodded. "True." They stood staring at one another for a long moment, Fury sipping from his mug as Husk sipped from a waxy paper cup. "Well," Husk grinned. "As you already know, Tekla Motors has really taken off these past few years. Our cars are on the road in over twenty countries. We got a shuttle into space, alongside thousands of our satellites. Our acquisition of Tweetr is going well, and we just launched a cell phone brand, too. So that's, uh … well, it's a lot of people interacting with our tech in their everyday lives." Fury nodded. He wondered if the phones exploded as often as the cars, but kept his curiosity to himself. "Congratulations." Husk smiled, and they sat in silence for a moment. "It's a lot to, you know, manage," he added. "The interactions, I mean. The vehicles and devices, they all interact with each other, and the satellites. Car gets stolen, you can find it anywhere in the world right from your phone. Cell towers go down, everything just hops to the satellites. It's all connected for the customer - one big, continuous interface." Fury sipped his coffee. Husk sipped his water. "Is there a specific homeland security concern you'd like to bring to our attention?" Fury asked. Husk shrugged. "Could be. To be honest, I haven't even looked. It's too much data all at once, unless I knew what I was looking for."
November 22, 2024 at 11:40 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
I'm not saying this is about teh_Muskrat, but yes it is.
#CarefullyRenamedPoliticiansAndCelebrities
#PoliticalCaricatures

archiveofourown.org/works/54541540
Nisa snorted. “Husk’s kind of a walking disaster these days. His shit keeps either blowing up, catching fire, getting recalled, or just falling out of the sky—oh, and one of his satellites almost took out the Chinese space station. So, he’s been sucking up to Stark over on Tweetr, joking that they should 'collab on a rocket' and some other weird shit. Stark pretty much just ignored him, even at conventions. It all came to a head around Christmas when he tweeted at Stark that Tekla’s latest sports car would fit perfectly into his collection. And for the first time ever, Stark actually replied.” Mobius paused his notetaking and looked at her expectantly. Nisa smirked. “He said, 'Thanks, but it’s already dangerous enough being an Avenger’.” Mobius snorted in spite of himself. "And then, just like that, Stark’s Tweetr account was suspended.” Nisa laughed. “And so was the official account for Stark Industries. It was like watching a pissed-off teenager in a breakup. They're still making memes about it." Nisa’s smile turned serious. “And then, a couple weeks later at the CES convention, suddenly it wasn’t so funny any more.”
November 22, 2024 at 11:17 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
definitely wasn't talkin shit about M_tt R_mney here 😉
"If you ask me, I bet that guy in Florida's only running for president to get the Secret Service protection." She shook her head. "And then there's Mutt Rimney, back from obscurity." "The businessman?" Mobius asked. "Vulture capitalist," Nisa corrected. "But he only got about 10 weeks into his campaign and had one weird shitshow of a scandal." Mobius looked up with interest. "Racketeering? Insider trading?" Nisa shook her head. "He got trapped in one of his car garage elevators, and when they sent the rescue team into the property to get him out, they found … well, bunkers full of women." Mobius raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me they were alive." "Oh yeah, they were fine. He was running some kind of cult headquarters underneath the property, a system of bunkers made into makeshift 1950s-style offices. There were about fifty women down there, recruited through his wife’s MLM, using classic typewriters to rewrite Atlas Shrugged as a crossover fan-fiction with some sort of Mormon text. Something about the angel Moroni and his twelve interns spreading the gospel of the free market, and how Christ is an NFT, and every soul who confesses him can see their name counted as a record in the blockchain of the Kingdom." Mobius blinked. "That's … a new one. Movie script?” Nisa gave him a pained look. “A stage musical, if I recall correctly.” Mobius cringed. “You sure you want to go back?”
November 22, 2024 at 10:55 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
Max Headroom runs for POTUS, hilarity ensues
screenshot from an excerpt of a story: “He's never said much, only that he deleted most of his recollection so he wouldn't have to think about it.” Nisa said, then smiled. “You should have seen it back in July, when the SCOTUS released their ruling—as soon as the news hit that he’d won valid citizenship, the internet went berserk. People from all over the world were uploading videos congratulating him, and he livestreamed a birthday party. Times Square had a message scrolling on the marquee for him. Same thing at Network 23 in London, where he used to work. It was pretty cool to see.” "And now he's running for president?" "Yeah, but I kinda don't think he's serious about it. Or he just doesn't expect to win by any stretch, and he's just doing it as another satire stunt." Nisa laughed. "He did a commercial back in the 80s for the worst soda flavor ever. Said he only did the ad campaign because he thought it was too funny not to, especially since it was named after the party drug of the decade. And that they'd asked him, a two-dimensional person, to pitch such a shallow product - it was obviously destined to bomb."
November 19, 2024 at 6:57 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
speaking of Kennedy Jr. and the topic of rabies … (carefully renamed companies and/or celebrities)
screenshot of an excerpt from a story: “And in other election news, a spokesperson has confirmed to World News 3 today that presidential candidate Richard F. Kennedy Jr. has died.” Nisa spun around and stared at the TV. A video montage of his press appearances rolled as the newscaster continued. “Cause of death has not yet been disclosed at the time of this broadcast. We’ll keep you updated as more information becomes available. You can sign up for instant updates and behind-the-scenes content on all of your favorite news topics on the WorldNews+ app, free to download from any app store—” Nisa muted the TV again and started scrolling Tweetr. The details were still hazy, but a handful of “insider” accounts—all with ironclad track records for accurate celebrity gossip—were claiming he had died of rabies, presumably contracted during recent consumption of roadkill meat. Nisa cringed at the ensuing discourse that ranged from armchair medical conjecture to memes featuring infamous serial killer Dr. Hannibal Lecter, captioned, “I wouldn't have eaten that.”
November 19, 2024 at 6:50 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
ok I think I found it (in mobile browser):
screenshot of search engine bar screenshot of a search engine settings page, regarding AI features screenshot of how to turn off AI features in a search engine
November 19, 2024 at 4:19 PM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
Keep breathing. I implore you.
“What we hold in our hands is the most powerful tool in the world: connection," Loki continued. "I am completely serious when I say to you that this connectedness is nothing less than sacred. It is your birthright to be seen, and to witness one another existing, in whichever ways you see fit." Another wave of cheering overtook the crowd, and he nodded to them until it quieted down. "And for this, you may very well be the most powerful generation in modern times. I can see the difference, and I think you do, too. I see you refusing to inherit a hatred of people who, to earlier generations, may as well have not existed—they were merely words on the front pages of newspapers or images on television screens on the nightly news.” Excerpts from vintage news reels played across the screens, many in black and white, alongside older newspapers and magazine covers, many bearing some uncomfortably cringe synopsis or another around significant world events. "Generations ago, people were fooled into turning their backs—or worse, their weapons—on one another, based solely upon the limited understanding they’d been fed at the time. That era is over." He spoke the word with a tone of finality, and the crowd roared in response. “Because now, countless cultures are no longer mysterious or invisible to you. You have made lasting friendships with other people in places that your parents never had the opportunity to understand the way that you do. It’s getting much more difficult now for your leaders to sell you a war against a country or a community where you have already made friends, isn't it?" The crowd whistled and applauded. “They know this, don't they? This is why they work so hard to cheat and gerrymander, to rob you of your rights, to silence and separate you, and steer you away from what rightfully belongs to all of you. Your voice is so powerful, that in some states, they’ve tried to raise the voting age just to keep you boxed out for just a little bit longer. We have marched by the millions to protest the murder of innocent people in their illegal wars. And yet, when you stand up to this and call it out, they laugh at you. They continually frame your convictions as weak or woke." The crowd booed. "Well, that’s their weakness, not yours. They are so terrified of you, in fact, that they've been scrambling to isolate you, to tear down your means of connection. Look at what they’re doing to your internet. Look at the way they are deliberately breaking your social networks and your archives, just to keep you from turning on them." "I want to leave you with this: no matter what happens next week, no matter how ugly it gets, do not give up on yourselves, or each other. This is only the beginning of our story, and we are the authors of our own destiny. Go out into your world, and embrace it. Embrace one another, look out for your communities. No matter what, we've got this."
November 7, 2024 at 4:50 AM
pimento-mori.bsky.social
writing is keeping me sane, and I hope it can keep you sane as well as we shrug into fascism
“It is so easy to goad others into violence by simply poking at their petty little insecurities, isn't it?” he asked, poking the air in front of him. “An ignorant man would try to tell you that the truth of the world is ‘kill or be killed’ and ‘rule or be ruled’, a philosophy which sells very well to those with the upper hand. Anything can be made to make sense to those who won’t have to share in the consequences.” A wave of applause spread across the stadium. “The thing about violent rhetoric is: per its very nature, it cannot de-escalate even when urgently necessary for the sake of the public good. What we have endured as a country over just the past 4 months illustrates this quite perfectly. Think of it,” he said. “If they had simply dedicated all of this energy and all of these resources to actually helping the American people, or fixing anything at all, they would have no need for such debasing tactics. But, fixing things is not their aim—they revel in a broken world, because it is their only path to power. People in a safe and stable country have no need for such fear-mongering and warlike posturing, and would reject it on sight.” He turned another corner of the stage, looking thoughtfully across the sea of nodding faces. He paused with his back to the podium, looking out across the silent crowd. “It is easy to look into the face of this monstrous arrangement and feel powerless and small. Helplessness can quickly turn to hopelessness,” he said. “And were it up to them, they would keep you trapped within it. Some of you that I’ve spoken with have related to me your life’s work in social activism, in community organizing, in watchdog groups, all to safeguard your way of life against the creeping threat of authoritarianism. They know that you are exhausted and afraid. That is the point. And as older generations pass down the torch, we must remember that it is not only a beacon, it is a warning. A torch can light the way, yes—but it can also light the timber at our feet if we are not vigilant.” He turned the corner of the stage and took his place back where he had started, facing the camera. “For right now, I want to speak to the youngest among you, those who have only recently aged up into civil participation and the power of casting ballots.” The teens in the crowd “You have grown up in a time when people can talk to one another across the planet, in an instant, via the internet, and this gives you a unique perspective for the age. You are no longer dependent upon the interpretations of your elders—you have the power to look and see for yourselves what is really going on out in the world. Not through carefully phrased reporting which conveniently fails to show you the full story. You can simply talk to real people, and hear directly from them what is happening wherever they are in the world.” Behind him, the screens displayed a world map dotted with huge clusters of population, connected by countless lines leading in every direction. "But for all the blessings of your connectedness, there is a consequence. The one thing I have heard the most from your generation is that you feel overwhelmed by the world that you are about to inherit. And to be fair, it is overwhelming. Every day, there is a new danger and new suffering to behold. School is daunting and unsafe, and entering a workforce where you'll likely not be paid well or treated kindly often feels like a pointless and punishing exercise. There are the looming effects of catastrophic climate change and ongoing war. All of this is weighing heavily on your hearts and shoulders." The screens faded to collages of viral social media posts from young adults across the country, bluntly declaring their anxiety and emotional fatigue. "You've told me that you feel like no one takes you seriously, simply because you are young. That they mock you for your warm hearts and your empathy. They dismiss you and your ideas about how to craft the future that you want for yourselves. Some of them even sabotage your hard work toward implementing these ideas, and scorn you for daring to even try."
November 7, 2024 at 4:46 AM