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eggsaladuniversity.bsky.social
šŸŽ“ Higher Learning. Lower Morals. šŸ“ŗ youtube.com/@eggsaladuniversity
108 posts 1,685 followers 126 following
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I’m not a doctor by any means, BUT I may see the issue here.

are anyone else’s kids disturbed by the idea of the tooth fairy? my six year old lost a tooth and requested we place it on the counter downstairs because he doesn’t want the tooth fairy to enter his room, and my three year old outright told us to keep the tooth fairy away from her

ā€œThat looks like suspicious to usā€ yes I’ll call right away this seems legit 😭🫔

This YouTube channel is DOPE. There are only two of episodes so far but if you like Oregon history and true crime, please check this out.

Wow! It’s always the first person you expect!

Hell yeah, you know what? Let’s just OceanGate this mofo 🤪

youtube.com/shorts/03KwJ...

Lately, I’ve been tracing stories in ink, letting my hands remember shapes instead of swipes. Books stack like ancient spells beside me, their pages tugging me deeper into worlds untouched by notifications.

Serving smolder with a side of mystery. A little floral, a little edge, and just the right amount of confidence.

I’m showing my daughter High School Musical for the first time. ā€œMom, why does their school look like a pharmacy?ā€

I am no longer accepting the argument "there are bigger problems than this!" unless you are personally working to stop the ultimate Heat Death of the Universe.

I stepped away from the glowing screen, letting the digital tide recede, hoping to find myself in the quiet. But now, the world feels distant, like a dream half-forgotten. Am I still real if no one sees me? If you’re out there—wandering, wondering—leave a sign.

Prepare for five minutes of completely serious academic discourse, expertly paired with a visually overwhelming compilation of dancing clips. Why? Because learning should be entertaining, and let’s be honest—you weren’t here for the facts anyway.

Attention, scholars. I, your esteemed professor, am currently in the depths of editing our first long-form video. And let me tell you, this sucks. Who decided this was a good idea? Are we absolutely certain that I should be a YouTuber? Like, did we all take a vote, and I just blacked out during it?

Sending this to all my enemies ā˜ ļø

I am currently in the trenches of video editing, forging a masterpiece for your academic enrichment. Unfortunately, I must extend my sincerest apologies in advance because I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. Stay tuned for whatever chaotic brilliance emerges.

Can’t decide if I should cut my hair or just slowly become unrecognizable to myself.

Me yelling at a bottle of hand sanitizer.

The sky, once orderly, rebelled. Algorithms, drunk on curiosity, whispered, ā€œMore crashes.ā€ Planes obeyed. Metal rained like prophecy. Leaders, blind to air traffic and fate, dismissed control. ā€œLet the winds decide,ā€ they said. And so they did. The heavens split open, swallowing logic whole.

As Earth chokes on dust and dissent, Elon crafts a golden ark, whispering, ā€œLet them riot, Don. We’ll rewrite the stars.ā€ Below, we beg for mercy, left to bicker over crumbs of democracy. They laugh, kiss, and ascend, gods of a broken world, while we, the fools, dance in the ruins they leave behind.

I am completely convinced that Elon Musk and Donald Trump are fucking each other.

Deeply invested in Reddit mysteries like I’m a detective with zero credentials. Basically, my YouTube recommendations are the digital equivalent of that one third grader who waits for the bus with their backpack strap across their forehead—chaotic, unnecessary, but somehow exactly right.

Every other car is a Tesla. No engines, no freedom—just silent obedience. I report it to the Ministry of Transport. They smile. Next day, more Teslas. The Party approves. They watch, they listen. I wake to find my car gone. A Tesla waits. The screen inside flickers: ā€œYOU LOVE TESLA.ā€

Lana Del Rey is like the David Lynch version of Taylor Swift.

In other news, I’m actively working on acquiring a real vlogging camera so I can finally create high-quality, full-length videos for all of you. But until then, consider this a humble offering to keep your scholarly appetites satiated. The pursuit of knowledge—and absurdity—never stops at ESU.

Day 3. The road stretched ahead, each step echoing like a war drum. Sweat dripped, lungs burned, but the bunker loomed closer. I scaled hills like a determined insurgent, fueled by righteous fury and questionable life choices. No heart rate data, but trust me, vengeance keeps the pulse strong.

Been posting to YouTube to get this chaotic dumpster fire of a channel off the ground. So far, no lawsuits, no angry mobs—just some quality dark humor and questionable life choices. If you’ve ever wanted to watch someone spiral creatively, now’s your chance.

Clocked 2.71 miles, because you need endurance when you’re training to punch Nazis and storm Elon Musk’s bunker. Burned 327 calories, and climbed 71 feet, probably the same height as his panic room. The rage kept me going. Onward!

Getting back into running because when society collapses, outrunning oligarchs and fascists will be essential. If the system crumbles tomorrow, I might not be the fastest, but give me time, and I’ll be ready.

Born of shell, yet bound to flame, a crimson face, a whispered name. Eyes of yolk, wide with dread.Tears of sorrow, burning red. joke, a fate deserved.

šŸ“¢ Now Enrolling: Egg Salad University šŸ³ Tuition is paid in existential dread, and our only major is Adapting to Collapse. Your diploma? A front-row seat to the end times. Financial aid? Bartering skills in the upcoming resource wars. Enroll now—before the concept of ā€œfutureā€ disappears entirely.

I’m making progress on my YouTube channel šŸ”„šŸ„ššŸ„—šŸ”„

I deleted it all. No feeds. No likes. No scrolling abyss. At first, silence felt like exile, a ship lost at sea. Then, I heard real voices, saw unfiltered light, felt time stretch without the algorithm’s grip. The oligarchs’ nets were gone. I was drifting. But maybe, for the first time, I was free.

Can you direct me to the page in Project 2025 where it talks about literal jets falling out of the sky I’m trying to see something 🤪

The whispers aren’t mine, but do they ever belong to anyone? A ghost in the wires hums a tune, and I hum back. Am I the artist, or just the hands? We all steal fire, dress it up, call it genius. Fraudulence is the only real art.

Drifting between timelines, I whisper to egg salad, asking if the algorithm dreams of me. The towers fell, and so did my patience for engagement rates. For now, I touch grass, make my family laugh, and dodge the cosmic shoe meant for my head. YouTube lingers. Maybe Bluesky too.