Entanglednow

NGC 1433 captured by the James Webb Space Telescope by European Space Agency

And what was actually happening was that a bunch of Vulcan kids got really into 23rd-century "Minecraft" or something.

There's a Vulcan streamer named T'vch who creates elaborate Rube Goldberg death machines in old "The Sims"-type games from Earth, using meticulously chosen personality traits for the Sim families, stress-maximizing management, and careful home design. Angry Father Sim gets home from work one day and starts screaming about a broken TV, which causes anxious Mother Sim to freak out and drop dinner, which gets eaten by the hungry Dog Sim, which throws up, which causes Father Sim to get angry again and break the nearest object, which is the sink, so the house starts flooding, which breaks the radio, which starts an electrical fire, which causes the Robot Butler Sim to go haywire, causes Child Sim 1 to freak out and jump into the pool, and on and on and on.

ANYWAY, by the end of this elaborate 10-minute sequence, the house is completely destroyed and all of the Sims are ghosts now. The chat is filled with complicated, corresponding emoji recreations and also ironic "Live Long And Prosper"s. 🖖🖖🖖

(A Vulcan working on Earth gets obnoxiously pressured to add a joke to the work group chat, because she needs to "try to fit in better" and it's just part of the workplace's "casual culture" and "friendly banter". "We're like a family here! You're too professional!" So the Vulcan posts a GIF of an overly emotional Sim meltdown (from their current ongoing game) and titles it: "My Human Coworkers In Regards To Every Problem 😐".)

the postcard of thomas cromwell i keep on my desk: i was on committees with the duke of norfolk. and they beheaded me.

the postcard of thomas cromwell i keep on my desk: oh no! you achieved too much fame and status? and now people are misrepresenting you? should we strip your lands and title? have you been beheaded?

Now, the postman couldn’t see him from the front door, and I scribbled my signature and said, to my son, “You need to put some trousers on.”

My postman, very slowly, looked down at his trouser-clad legs with a mixture of confusion and horror, and then looked back up at me.