#neurocivicdispatch

Little Morsel: Edition 6

Neurochemical Nationalism: The Ratings of Retribution

A satirical biopsy of the hippocampus, the republic, and the dopamine-fed spectacle of cruelty.

Pleasure Is Policy

The nucleus accumbens doesn’t care about your moral compass. It lights up for revenge the same way it lights up for cheese, cocaine, or conquest. And in this administration, cruelty isn’t a glitch—it’s the dopamine loop.

Scientific consensus confirms:

Dopamine surges in the ventral striatum during acts of revenge.

The prefrontal cortex, our moral regulator, gets bypassed when tribal righteousness takes the wheel.

The result? A feedback loop of violence, applause, and policy.

“Revenge activates the same reward pathways as aged cheddar. But only one gets served in the Rose Garden.”

Trial by Torpedo

Eleven people. No names. No trial. No confirmation. Just a boat, a blast, and a press release.

JD “Just Dance” Vance twirled onto the stage:

“Killing cartel members is the highest and best use of our military.”

Pete “Drunkard” Hegseth followed with a toast:

“We smoked a drug boat… 11 narco-terrorists at the bottom of the ocean.”

No evidence. No remorse. Just dopamine and doctrine.

“They called it justice. She called it her son. And when the sea swallowed him whole, the silence was louder than the gunfire.”

The Addiction Loop

Perceived threat

Righteous rhetoric

Dopamine surge

Public applause

Policy reinforcement

Empathy suppression

Repeat

This isn’t governance. It’s gratification. And the people on that boat? They were just the offering.

The Crusade of Casein

You hunt for venison. You love your dog. You bless your bullets. You cry at church.

But empathy isn’t selective. It’s either ritualized or rationalized.

“You’re not evil. You’re addicted. You’re not heartless. You’re compartmentalized.”

The hippocampus doesn’t care if you vote blue or red. It just wants the dopamine. And righteousness tastes like casein.

The Ratings of Retribution

Justice, now brought to you by your favorite sponsor. Drone strikes with commercial breaks. Execution clips trending on PatriotTok. And a leaderboard for moral disengagement.

“Retribution is the new reality show. Empathy never made it past the pilot.”

The Colosseum Protocol

Rome had lions. We have algorithms. Rome had thumbs. We have likes.

The Rose Garden becomes the new arena. The UFC fight becomes the new ritual. And the republic becomes a ring.

“The crowd doesn’t ask for truth. It asks for climax.”

Welcome to PatriotTok

Where justice is algorithmic, empathy is shadowbanned, and executions go viral. Swipe up for drone strikes. Swipe down for moral disengagement. Comment “USA” if you think due process is overrated.

“On PatriotTok, cruelty isn’t a bug—it’s the brand.”

The Cheese Board of American Righteousness

They gathered like apostles at the Last Supper, if the Last Supper had been catered by Kraft Singles and sponsored by Lockheed Martin.

Trump chewed on a wedge labeled Justice with the same expression he reserves for golf scores and indictments. JD Vance nibbled Vindication like a man who just discovered nuance was a garnish. Pete Hegseth devoured Revenge with the enthusiasm of a frat boy at a tailgate. Stephen Miller didn’t eat. He just stared at the Power cheese like it owed him a childhood.

“It was a charcuterie of cruelty. A tasting menu for the hippocampus. And the crowd? Oh, the crowd. They didn’t ask for truth. They asked for seconds.”

The Mothers

Not the ones on podiums, but the ones screaming into the void. Their children weren’t confirmed traffickers. They were just gone.

“She didn’t want revenge. She wanted a name. But the dopamine had already been served.”

Closing Invocation

This edition is not just satire. It’s a biopsy. Of the hippocampus. Of the republic. Of your neighbor who thinks empathy is a liberal conspiracy.

Look in the mirror. You’re not immune. You’re just better at hiding your dopamine addiction behind a tote bag and a rescue dog.

You hunt for venison, but cry during Pixar. You vote blue, but cheer when the drone strike hits “the bad guys.” You say “nuance,” but you mean “I want to feel righteous without guilt.”

“You’re not evil. You’re just exquisitely compartmentalized.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it? Empathy isn’t a personality trait. It’s a discipline. A ritual. A refusal to let your pleasure center write policy.

So here’s your final slice:

“May your dopamine be tempered, your outrage be earned, and your cheese board labeled with actual facts.”

Because satire isn’t just a mirror. It’s a scalpel. And this edition? It cuts.

Memory doesn’t just preserve love songs and childhood scents. It preserves grudges. It preserves hate. The Nazis at Madison Square Garden didn’t vanish; they went home and rocked babies to sleep, humming lullabies of resentment. Those babies grew up, taught their own, and now their grandchildren are storming capitols, chanting at rallies, clutching cheese labeled “revenge.” This is the hippocampus trap at scale: the inheritance of rage as tradition, prejudice as heirloom, spectacle as ritual.

Restraint is maturity, even when you are right. Without it, we’re not citizens — we’re just dopamine animals with badges, ballots, bullhorns. Or worse: bullies, bandits, and boomers, teaching the next generation how to feed the loop instead of how to break it. This is Little Morsel #6: The Hippocampus Trap. A dispatch on memory, rage, and restraint. That is the morsel for today.