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JUST IN - Trump agrees to a 2-week ceasefire with Iran.

New Census data shows people are fleeing Los Angeles. Hollywood’s decline is now projected to be worse than the auto industry in Detroit. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can turn this around if we use common sense.

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US and Israeli strikes are deliberately targeting Kurdish regions of Iran — border posts, police stations, military bases. This isn’t random. This is preparation. The CIA is already arming Kurdish forces for an uprising. Now airstrikes are clearing the path for thousands of Kurdish fighters from Iraq to pour into western Iran. They’re engineering a civil war inside Iran. While Trump claims he “forced Israel’s hand” and Colonel Macgregor says our bases are destroyed — the US is quietly opening a fourth front. This war is expanding by the hour.

Can't believe the Burger King CEO just burgermogged the McDonald's CEO with more aura than any corporate moid has ever had. bro is frame dominant with a Whopper. it's over for the golden arches

The Shape Store is the afterlife for black people. It represents the bacchanalian tempest of chaos that stirs in their hearts. It is neither heaven nor hell, but a tense purgatory of motion, wonder, violence, and colors. The Shape Store is what they grasp for while alive. The Shape Store represents the Platonic perfection of consumer indulgence that fulfills the black impulse for status hierarchy. The absurdity of the premise highlights the purposeless trinketry in the shoes, chains, and clothes they steal, harm, and kill for. At a macroscale, there is functionally no difference between a limited edition pair of Jordans and a green rhombus made of plastic. The Shape Store is perpetually in a nighttime urban liminal space. Beyond the corporate McDonald's playpit funhouse aesthetics, everything is lit with the hostile comfort of streetlamps and concrete. The sky is a kindred darkness, beckoning ancient memories of African dirt finally cooling to a reasonable temperature in the dead of night. The Shape Store embraces incoherent traffic from clown vehicles. You can go to JeffVanderLou in St. Louis right now and find at least three black men stuffing themselves into toddler car frames with lawn mower engines, zooting around at 30 miles per hour between sidewalks and streets like Roblox NPCs. A ghetto rigged solution to suspended driver's licenses becomes a hidden portal into a childlike whimsical sensation that only Miata owners could ever hope to come close to in the civilized dimension. This tender succulence is immortalized in Black Afterlife, a world where the joy of vehicles is divorced from the risk and mental anguish of navigating rules or considerations that traffic normally invokes. The Shape Store is a place where squabbles and beefs openly occur without any sobering reality of death to haunt the participants. Much like the pool punch pudding plodding of dream combat, occupants of the Shape Store fight in ragged sitcom-esque tussles. They grab each other in gesticulating pratfalls, shaking each other around onto the ground. They point fingers to make their opps heads explode into a cloud of smoke like Looney Tunes characters, falling onto the ground in stiff wooden cartoonish fashion only to pop up later and dance a jig. The Shape Store is decorated in the same clinical simple colors and setpieces that remind black people of the mandatory public school attendance from early childhood before a self imposed 8th grade permanent hooky graduation. A place and time where they saw the most color in their physical lives that wasn't immediately degraded into ramshackle shades of black, brown, and gray. The Shape Store is simple, easy, intuitive. It is a place where the rules only exist to the point of visceral emotion. Logic is restricted to 5 second periods of visual coherence. Games are simulacra of their real life counterparts. Chess is arbitrary uniform pieces being slammed onto the board while slogans are chanted out like magic spells by old uncs wearing suits and fedoras, their versions of wizard's robes. Gambling is just shaking pieces on tables with winners being decided by who screams the loudest. Carnival games reward unconsidered raw speed and velocity and they always end in explosions. The Shape Store is the perfect balance between form and formlessness. The shapes are hard enough to retain their shape, yet soft enough to throw or be thrown into without pain or injury. It is a colorful padded room where nobody can harm anybody. Much like basketball, it allows for the furthest displays of violence and aggression without actually having to cross into a realm of consequence. Objects can be thrown at anybody any time for any reason without consideration, but unlike a snowball fight, nobody has to deal with the labor of constructing something. The Shape Store's only bodies of water are all 1-foot shallow, making sure that nobody ever has to swim. The Shape Store is pristine theatrics, a place where the inner primate can hop, jump, run, swing, and tumble to its hearts content. The Shape Store is always noisy, never allowing the disturbing silence to encroach its patrons. The Shape Store always smells vaguely of weed, play-dough, and grape juice. The Shape Store is perfect in that it is a store where nobody ever pays for anything and everyone is a customer. The shapes are abundant, but each one is unique. The 12 basic shapes and 6 basic colors available are essentially infinity to the black mind, the endless dimensionality of facing two mirrors against each other allowing for the satisfaction of eternity while heavily reducing the RAM usage on God's computer. The Shape Store is a mirror image of the modern black urban environment. Blacks live inside of video games every day of their lives. Everyone who is an outsider is an NPC who can be harassed or harmed without consideration. Any object is loot, any environment is destructible, any importance is relegated to physical stats, and jail is just the respawn lobby. The Shape Store is the sandbox, infinite time limit and infinite fun for the discerning customer. The Shape Store is black afterlife, a place of ease and peace through turmoil. A perfect playpit hamster wheel where nobody has to do anything or be anyone so they can do everything and be anyone else other than themselves. It is the world in the black mind reduced to parity of what a dim consciousness perceives it to be: Colors and Shapes.