Mars Review of Books is a literary magazine featuring the sort of writer who thinks Moldbug is the greatest stylist to assault the written word and lists their Urbit address. Yeah, it’s a group substack.

“With the sudden death of Sports Illustrated, they decided to take on the responsibility of offering yearly swimsuit editions.”

is Thiel running out of places to spend his money or something

  • David GerardOPMAEnglish
    10·
    2 years ago

    I almost want to read Justin Murphy on The Network State, but not enough to lift a finger

    I mean,

    • Amoeba_GirlEnglish
      18·
      2 years ago

      ultra-hermetic metamasonic brotherhood

      the neoreactionary movement is a contest about who’ll come up with the most new ways to say “jews”

    • selfMAEnglish
      9·
      2 years ago

      it is fucking chef’s kiss that the only reply to whatever the fuck I just read (unauthorized Illuminatus! fan fiction?) is some LinkedIn realtor begging Justin to buy condos from them to use as cult compounds

      • blakestaceyMAEnglish
        11·
        2 years ago

        When the AOE enters the Texas compound, there’s nothing there.

        Just cryptographically locked black boxes. They can take them, but they can’t access or use or analyze them, and we just reboot from backups later.

        relevant xkcd

    • geriksonEnglish
      6·
      2 years ago

      We descend to an underground tunnel system we built without permits using profits from the apparatus.

      On our underground DIY bullet train, we arrive at the Appalachia compound before the AOE even breaks down the door [in the Texas compound]

      so

      this “virtual enterprise” has managed to build a fucking train tunnel (trains?! how woke!!!) under thousands of miles of private, state, and federal land, without anyone knowing. And what’s the prevent the dastardly crypto-Jewish law enforcement from simply deducing the path of the fucking tunnel, and breaking down the doors on both ends at the same time??

      These people love to imagine themselves as the French resistance, but with the Gestapo being bungling fools, and their every scheme being foiled by techno-deus-exes being pulled from the author’s ass whenever needed.