Tag: balls

Written by Balls

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Wake up. It’s 10am. Don’t go to the gym – sleep in a bit more. Jack off. Can’t get it up. Pull out the sock from 2019. Rosa Luxembourg cutout over the front. Nice. Instantly get hard. Fuck it. Cum in fifteen seconds. Don’t pull out. Let it sit for a bit – you wanna keep moving, but not so fast you forget to look around you. Fuck it again, this time soft. Now you’re ready for the day.

Check your laptop. Discord app dings – that’s adventure. One notification from Iskra. But you can’t see it. A prompt fills the screen asking for your government issued ID. You live in the UK. Fuck. New privacy law. That sucks. You put in your license details. Then you notice something. User, “ordo” rejoined. Needs to verify just like you. But they clicked the wrong button. Image of their ID gets put in the general chat. Click the photo. Zoom in. Horror. It’s Keir Starmer.

Blind rage – that’s good, go with the flow. Cabinet. Take out a beer. Drink it. Drink another. Drink Three. It’s not enough to get most people even tipsy. But you’re a pussy. It fucks you up. Go to the living room. Roommate on the couch. The roommate is fat. The couch is damp. Doesn’t matter. Push them both aside. Find the weak spot in the floorboard. Pry it open. Metal box just below. Hell yeah – that’s your stash. Ignore the discord nitro Xbox live promo codes. Push aside the dvrt usb archives. Reach in. Go deep. Go 3.4 inches, hard. Your fingers find a handle. Then a blade. Still sharp, hidden to avoid the Blade Licensing Act of 2026. There it is.

It’s clear now. The opportunity – two birds, one stone. One chance. Look at the ID again. Get the address. Put it in your GPS. Hop in your car. Drink again. Put the keys in the ignition.

Travel isn’t always pretty. The journey changes you. But the destination is suddenly clear. Grip the knife. Grip the wheel.

Enjoy the ride.

This address was delivered by Administrator Balls on August 3rd, 2025, to a large and enthusiastic crowd of supporters.

When I started Chudgus.life, I knew I would encounter challenges. I sacrificed $11.87 to Namecheap for the domain and one month of hosting using offer code HOST25, and boldly devoted one hour of my time to changing the WordPress default template colors. Through all this, I pushed on, because I wanted the opportunity to create something new. In my visions I saw fields of green, abundant with enlightening literature crafted by the talents of the cesspit we call “Iskra.” This mission, I believed, was just and right, and my firm hard would temporarily break from Hinge swiping on my caseless, cracked (unrelated) iPhone 15 to guide it into existence.

But every Great Man of history will inevitably encounter misguided opposition. Tesla had his Edison, Hitler had his Churchill, and the Black couple sitting next to me at the re-release of Revenge of the Sith had our otherwise silent movie theater. Now, I must reckon with the specter of Jacob Little.

Mr. Little insists that I devote my time towards restoring the iskra.money archives. It is true that these files, which I graciously host on a sub-collection of Chudgus.life, are incomplete. Some suffer from formatting errors, missing images, or missing attributions. I do not deny these facts, nor do I believe this state of affairs is ideal. But what Mr. Little so jewishly misses is that, like the tip-based worker who served the black couple dinner before my Revenge of the Sith re-release screening, I remain uncompensated. And as a result, my time and effort is subject to limits. Oh, how I wish I could snap my fingers and restore the iskra.money archives in their entirety. But reality is not so generous, and thus I have to make decisions on how best to allocate finite resources.

It was true that I was following in the footsteps of a former project, the hallowed “Iskra.money.” But when building something out of the ruins of old, only a fool would construct his bricks from the ashes. We must instead put the sum of our energies into new projects – new articles, new posts, and new collections. To look backwards is to deprive the future of our talents.

And so I refuse to entertain this request. I will not put any more time into “polishing,” “re-importing,” “restoring the images to,” or otherwise working on the iskra.money archive at all. As the black couple who sat an unfortunate mere inches from me at the Revenge of the Sith re-release could attest, we must not let the old societal expectations hold us back from complete and honest self-expression. This is a new time. We must acknowledge the greats, but we can’t allow ourselves to become so bound to them that it encumbers our future progress.

Thank you.

Written by Balls

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The Logi is born of fire, brimstone, and neoliberal Twitter accounts. The Logi is forged by half-read Wikipedia articles. The Logi, as a result, is a menace to police society and an impediment to productive discussion. What is to be done with such an individual?

First, we must understand the Logi’s repulsive demeanor. By far the most striking feature is the unearned confidence, a cruel imitation of someone with reputation or intellectual caliber, but curiously lacking in either. On rare occasions when the Logi attempts to support their assertions with something besides blind arrogance, it post articles it does not read or studies it has not even bothered to summarize. What could explain this perplexing behavior? Well for a Logi, the conclusion of any such material is already a certainty, akin to a theological concept of predestination where the Logi alone has pre-divined truth. Thus, such links inevitably remain blue because their contents are already known! Such is the core essence of the Logi’s character: an unassailable belief that they alone see truth through a sort of unquestionable holy talent of sight, yet paired with the stubborn unwillingness to ever open their eyes to the truths. Because in their very personal universe, their own dreams and notions are more convincing than whatever mere suggestions could be made by material reality. The safety and comfort of the Logi mind palace is quite enviable!

The Logi is incapable of admitting even the smallest mistakes, an assertion any third party will undoubtedly agree with in confidence after only three minutes of conversation. Whenever rhetorically pinned, he will wriggle and worm, like a snake or a jew, out of even the slightest acknowledgement of fault. First, the Logi will suggest that the mistake was never made. If by some miracle the Logi can see it has made an error, this was an error of dictation, not logic: thankfully, it was simply semantic! And if it was not semantic, then it was not material to the argument. A skilled orator might then attempt to argue the material relevance of the point at hand, but this is a mistake, because the Logi will simply pivot; connivingly asking why such focus has been allocated to only one statement when there are so many more to address. Every argument with such a creature becomes an impossible Gorgon, each head a falsity birthed from some neoliberal Twitter user or Soros-operated reddit account.

To a Logi, good faith debates are not crucibles of truth from which reality can emerge, but venues where realities are brought in and used as hammers to bludgeon opponents into submission; not a space for compromise or productive conversation, but games of sport to wield predetermined conclusions like swords; not a buffet of worthy ideas, but a city sewer for one to regurgitate unread “facts” and misleading summaries in a drunken stupor. To a Logi, every discussion is in fact a devious trap where idiots and thieves mean to pry his golden calfs away from their protective mother. And so the Logi resists these things at all costs, by any means necessary, and must never permit himself to issue any sort of correction.

I do not believe that anyone is originally or inexonerably of bad character. But what is to be done with such an entity like the Logi?

The solution is obvious, and so this problem is left to the reader as an exercise in good judgment.