Ten trending topics. One belt. Sonic has been placed in charge.
Your reigning champion
The Atlantic Ocean’s identity crisis
undefeated. mostly water.
While you were sleeping, working, or making a defensible use of your time, the internet assembled another fight card. We have appointed ourselves judges. Nobody checked our references.
The card, as submitted
a perfectly normal selection of things to put next to each other.Bluesky trending screenshot supplied by Joe · Unmarked image ↗ Awards, commentary and questionable drawing ability: Filed Nightly.
01 Pound-for-pound champion
Trump weighs renaming Atlantic Ocean
Finally. Someone has identified the problem with the Atlantic: its fucking name. Thousands of miles of water, absolutely coasting on brand recognition. Get it a new badge. Make the fish attend the induction.
We enjoy “moves away” as a description of a satellite dispute. Just Europe, quietly edging its chair toward the door. Keep talking. We’re listening. We simply need to be over here, near a different internet.
One billion dollars. An amount of money that makes the rest of us look rather uncommitted when we say we support the arts. We once bought a cinema ticket AND a drink. Apparently that barely gets you a fucking executive producer credit.
Some people looked at the world and decided to make more Sonic. A defensible use of an afternoon. We have given him a whistle and put him in charge of the other nine topics. He has already issued the ocean a yellow card. Nobody knows what for.
“The name’s Bond.” Thank you. Next. “The name’s Bond.” Wonderful. Next. Somewhere a casting director is hearing the same man introduce himself for the forty-seventh time. National security rests on whether he can do it near a chair.
A jailbreak for a games console. We have drawn it a tiny spoon and a tunnel. The console maintains it was only in there because its lawyer advised it to remain silent. The horse has agreed to drive the getaway car.
A shit headline to find wedged between a console jailbreak and checkout chores. Losing work is awful. We have drawn a box for the management wisdom. It is empty. They would like a bonus for the space saving.
An astonishing breakthrough in paying to stay somewhere: being allowed to fucking leave. No stripping the bed. No deputy facilities manager qualification. We snapped a tiny ceremonial mop over our knee. The cleaners have asked us to stop helping.
A company. A verb. A nationality. Some trees. Every word adds information and somehow the whole thing becomes less comprehensible. We have drawn a tree looking at a search bar. It would like to be removed from the results.
PHP arrives at number ten carrying a folding chair. The websites are already down, but there is still time for a spirited discussion about whose dependency it is. Our horse has been paged. It has eaten the runbook.