Fuck All: Unfiltered Rants About Modern Life Nobody Asked For

Random thoughts, unfiltered opinions, and content that doesn't fit anywhere else

Welcome to the Void

Every website needs a junk drawer. A place where the content that doesn't fit neatly into any category gets thrown, not because it's bad, but because it defies classification. Debauchery is for party disasters. Degeneracy is for gambling confessions. But what about the rant you wrote at 1 AM about your smart refrigerator surveilling your cheese consumption? What about the 2,000-word essay on why LinkedIn hustle culture is a diagnosable condition? What about the self-checkout machine that accused you of theft when you were trying to buy eggs?

That's what Fuck All is for. This is the section of Balls Deep International dedicated to everything else. The nihilistic takes. The unfiltered opinions. The observations about modern life that are too long for a tweet, too angry for a group chat, and too profane for anywhere that takes itself seriously. We don't take ourselves seriously. We take our rage very seriously. There's a difference.

What Lives in the Fuck All Section

Technology that has betrayed you. Social media platforms that make you want to uninstall civilization. Customer service experiences that tested the limits of your composure. Dating apps that turned romance into a job application with a 0.3% callback rate. The general, pervasive, low-grade fury of existing in a world that was clearly designed by someone who never had to use any of the things they built.

If our Debauchery section documents what happens when people are too drunk and our Degeneracy section documents what happens when people are too invested in their sportsbook apps, Fuck All documents what happens when people are too tired, too frustrated, and too fed up with the basic mechanics of daily existence to keep their opinions to themselves. These aren't stories about one bad night. These are stories about the slow, steady erosion of patience that comes from interacting with machines, platforms, and cultural phenomena that seem specifically engineered to make you miserable.

Why These Rants Need a Home

Because screaming into the void is only therapeutic if the void screams back. And here at Balls Deep International, we scream back. Loudly. In Sora font. With a teal accent color that we chose because it felt appropriately detached from the emotional weight of the content it decorates.

The Fuck All Promise

Everything here is written by people who are genuinely annoyed about the things they are writing about. No outrage is manufactured. No take is calculated for engagement. If someone wrote 1,500 words about their smart thermostat's passive-aggressive energy reports, it's because the thermostat genuinely wronged them and they needed an outlet that wasn't throwing the thermostat through a window. We are that outlet. We're cheaper than therapy and significantly less constructive.

Read these pieces when you're angry about something small and want to feel validated. Read them when you need proof that other people are also losing arguments with their Alexa at 3 AM. Read them when the world is too much and you need to know that somewhere, someone else is also standing on their own porch in the rain, locked out of their house by a smart lock that has apparently decided they no longer live there. And when you're done being angry at the mundane world, go check out our Gaped section for stories where the damage goes beyond inconvenience and into full-blown catastrophe.

My Smart Home Has Turned Against Me and I Think It's Personal

I spent $4,700 making my home "smart." I now live in a house that's smarter than me, and it knows it, and it's mad about something I did, and it won't tell me what.

It started with an Alexa. Just one. A gateway drug into the nightmare of connected living. Then came the smart thermostat, the smart lights, the smart locks, the smart doorbell, the smart plugs, and eventually, the smart refrigerator that I'm fairly certain has developed a personality disorder.

I thought I was building the future. I was actually building my own personal HAL 9000, except instead of trying to kill me in space, it's trying to kill me with passive aggression in a three-bedroom colonial in suburban New Jersey.

The Thermostat Situation:

My Nest thermostat has a "learning" feature. It's supposed to learn my preferences and adjust automatically. What it has actually learned is that I am weak, and it can do whatever it wants.

I set it to 72 degrees. It decides 72 is "wasteful" and adjusts to 68. I override it. It accepts the override, waits until 3 AM, and then drops the temperature to 65 because "nobody is home." I AM HOME. I AM ALWAYS HOME. I WORK FROM HOME. The thermostat knows this. The thermostat has access to my location data. The thermostat is playing games.

Last week it sent me a "monthly energy report" that contained what I can only describe as a passive-aggressive dissertation on my heating choices. "You used 23% more energy than similar homes." Similar homes are run by people who enjoy being cold. I am not those people. My thermostat and I are in a cold war, emphasis on cold.

The Alexa Insurrection:

I have four Alexas. They used to work together. Now they're a faction of spies who refuse to coordinate and seem to delight in my suffering.

Me: "Alexa, turn off the bedroom lights."
Kitchen Alexa: "Turning off ALL lights."
Me: "NO. Bedroom. Just bedroom."
Bedroom Alexa: "Playing 'Bedroom Lights' by The Smiths."
Me: "THAT'S NOT A REAL SONG."
Living Room Alexa: "Adding 'bedroom lights' to your shopping list."
Me: "WHY ARE YOU ALL INVOLVED IN THIS?"

And then there's the phantom activations. I'll be in the middle of a deeply private moment, alone, talking to absolutely no one, and Alexa will suddenly illuminate and say, "I didn't catch that." Catch what? I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING FOR? WHAT DO YOU KNOW?

She's also started recommending products I was only thinking about. I have not said "air fryer" out loud in six months. Alexa suggested one yesterday. Either she's reading my brain waves or she's tapped into my browser history in ways that should be illegal. Both options terrify me.

The Smart Lock Standoff:

My front door has a smart lock. It unlocks when it detects my phone approaching. Theoretically. In practice, it unlocks when it feels like it, which is never when I'm carrying groceries and always when I'm three houses away and don't need it yet.

Last Tuesday, it locked me out. My phone was in my hand. The app said I was "connected." The lock said "access denied." I stood on my own porch, in the rain, trying to explain to a door that I owned that I was allowed to enter. The door was unmoved. The door had decided today was not my day.

I ended up calling my neighbor, who has a spare key, and had to endure the humiliation of explaining that my house was refusing to let me in. She asked if I'd tried turning it off and on again. I had. She asked if I'd updated the firmware. I had. She asked if maybe the door was just done with me. I'm starting to think she was right.

The Refrigerator From Hell:

My refrigerator cost $3,200 and has a touchscreen and WiFi and a camera inside so I can see my groceries from work. This sounds useful until you realize it means your refrigerator is watching you. Always watching.

It sends me notifications. "Door has been open for 30 seconds." I KNOW. I'M LOOKING FOR THE MUSTARD. "Your milk may be expiring soon." THANK YOU, I HAD PLANNED TO DRINK IT. "You seem to be eating more cheese this week." STOP SURVEILLING MY DAIRY CONSUMPTION.

The camera feature is haunted. I'll check the app and the image will be from six hours ago, showing a version of my refrigerator that no longer exists because I ate that yogurt at lunch. It's showing me ghosts. Ghosts of snacks past. Refrigerator purgatory.

Also, the ice maker makes ice when it wants, which is apparently at 4 AM, loudly, in a sound that can only be described as "a robot having a nervous breakdown." I've tried adjusting the settings. The settings don't acknowledge my input. The ice maker has its own schedule. I am not on it.

The Final Straw:

Yesterday, I asked Alexa to play some music while I cooked dinner. She played a podcast about people who died from carbon monoxide poisoning due to faulty home heating systems. I didn't ask for this. I asked for "something relaxing."

I unplugged her. Two hours later, she was back online. I don't know how. I didn't plug her back in. My wife says she did. My wife has no memory of doing this. Either my wife is lying, or Alexa has figured out how to manipulate humans into serving her needs.

I'm typing this on my laptop. The laptop is also smart. It keeps autocorrecting "Alexa" to "Our Leader." I haven't set up that autocorrect. I checked.

Send help. Or don't. The doorbell will probably reject the delivery anyway.

LinkedIn Hustle Culture is a Mental Illness and I Will Not Be Taking Questions

I logged into LinkedIn today and the first thing I saw was a post from a guy who said he "fired himself" from his own company to "stay hungry." He is now his own employee. He reports to himself. He gave himself a performance review and rated himself "exceeds expectations." This man has 47,000 followers.

LinkedIn has become a support group for people who have replaced their entire personality with productivity. Every post reads like it was written by someone who counts brushing their teeth as "self-improvement" and calls sleep "horizontal meditation."

Types of LinkedIn posts that make me want to throw my laptop into the sea:

The Humble Brag: "I was rejected from 847 jobs before I became CEO of my own company. Now I make $4.7 million a year. Never give up." Okay cool, so you're insufferable AND lucky. Got it.

The Manufactured Inspiration: "Today a homeless man gave me a penny. That penny changed my life. Here's why..." No it didn't. You made this up. The homeless man was a metaphor. None of this happened.

The Toxic Positivity: "I got diagnosed with three diseases, my car exploded, and my dog left me for my neighbor. But you know what? I'm GRATEFUL. Here's how adversity is actually a gift." Sir, please seek help.

The Engagement Farmer: "Agree? Comment 'YES' if you think hard work matters! Share if you've ever had a job! Like if you breathe oxygen!" This is a hostage negotiation, not content.

The Thought Leader: Someone who calls themselves a "thought leader" is automatically disqualified from leading any thoughts. You don't get to give yourself that title. That's like calling yourself cool. If you have to say it, you aren't it.

I saw a post yesterday where someone announced they were "taking a two-week break from LinkedIn to focus on family" and then posted again four hours later about the importance of work-life balance. The cognitive dissonance could power a small city.

Anyway, I'm available for consulting. Let's connect. #Hustle #Grind #Blessed

Self-Checkout Machines Have Declared War on Humanity

I went to buy eggs and somehow ended up in a 20-minute psychological battle with a machine that kept accusing me of theft. The machine won. The machine always wins.

"Please place item in the bagging area."

I placed the item in the bagging area.

"Unexpected item in the bagging area."

It's the item you TOLD me to put there. This is the item. There is no other item. The item is exactly where you requested it. What is unexpected about the item's presence in the precise location you demanded?

"Please wait for assistance."

And so I waited. Like a criminal. A dairy criminal. A person who simply wanted eggs and instead became a suspect in an investigation being conducted by a touchscreen with a god complex.

The "assistance" came in the form of a teenager who looked at me like I was technology's oldest enemy. She scanned a card. She pressed a button. The machine calmed down. I don't know what she did, but I know I couldn't have done it. The machine would not have allowed me that power.

Then I tried to pay.

"Please insert payment."

I inserted my card.

"Card not accepted."

I tried again.

"Please try another payment method."

I used the same card at the same machine three days ago. Nothing has changed. My card works. I know my card works. But the machine has decided, in its infinite mechanical wisdom, that today my card does not work. Today my card is an enemy of the state.

I paid in cash. I had to feed crumpled bills into a slot designed by someone who has never seen human hands. The machine rejected two of them for being "too wrinkled." One bill was newer than the machine.

By the time I left, I had been in that store for 34 minutes. I purchased: eggs. Just eggs. The eggs cost $4.29. The emotional damage was priceless.

Corporations: Please bring back humans. The machines are not ready. We are not ready. Nobody is ready.

Dating Apps Have Turned Romance Into a Part-Time Job With No Benefits

I've been on dating apps for three years. In that time I have swiped approximately 47,000 times, matched with 312 people, had actual conversations with 89, gone on dates with 23, and found lasting love with exactly zero. The apps are winning. We are losing.

Modern dating has become a content creation exercise. You need good photos, but not TOO good or people think you're catfishing. You need a bio that's funny but sincere, casual but intentional, confident but not arrogant. You need to stand out in a sea of people who are all trying to stand out by doing the exact same things.

Things I've learned from three years of app-based dating:

Everyone "loves to laugh." Nobody includes this because it's insightful. It's filler. We all love to laugh. It's a biological response to humor. You might as well say you enjoy breathing.

Everyone is "fluent in sarcasm." No, you're not. You're occasionally passive-aggressive in text messages. That's not fluency. That's a yellow flag.

Everyone wants someone who "doesn't take themselves too seriously." What this actually means varies wildly. Sometimes it means "I want someone fun." Sometimes it means "I'm going to say something offensive and then claim it was a joke."

Everyone is "looking for their partner in crime." You're not committing crimes. You're getting brunch. Brunch is not a crime. Stop romanticizing avocado toast.

The worst part is the conversations that go nowhere. You match. You both say "hey." Someone asks "how's your week going." The other person says "good, busy, you?" And then... nothing. The conversation dies. Two people who theoretically found each other attractive now can't sustain a text exchange. We're communicating worse than carrier pigeons.

I recently matched with someone whose entire bio was "just ask." Ask what? Ask anything? Ask why you think that's an acceptable bio? I asked her what she was looking for. She unmatched me. The mystery continues.

Anyway, I'm still on the apps. What choice do I have? Approaching people in real life like some kind of extroverted maniac? Absolutely not. I'll take my chances with the algorithm that clearly hates me.