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Ali FitzgeraldThe New Yorker |
The Overton window of bonkersness has shifted so far that songs like “Still Stabbin’ ” sound Sinatra-esque.
Maternal Labubus and whimsically shaped surveillance drones available now.
Including one that transports you back to the year 2000, where bitcoin and N.F.T.s are simply the names of new boy bands.
Those filthy, degenerate daisies have grown back.
Improv with the antichrist, an accusatory interview with a klepto demon, and more.