Spite Magazine

Meal built on a breaded chicken nugget base. She’s pregnant. And that host? Yeah, she’s pregnant. It’s exhausting.

This one time, I decided to embrace the future and get my lunch from a fancy salad-making robot. I carefully selected all my toppings through the touchscreen menu: lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and yes, a generous portion of olives. But when the machine dispensed my order, it was like a culinary tragedy. Out of the dozen or so olives I had requested, the machine only gave me one sad, lonely olive at the bottom of the bowl. I stood there staring at it, wondering if this was some kind of cosmic joke or if the robot had just developed a grudge against olives. Either way, it was the most pathetic salad I've ever seen—a testament to how technology can sometimes fail us in the most ridiculous ways.

Threatened to call the fed. Surreal dinner at this new spot where the sommelier was a fucking Roomba that spilled chardonnay everywhere because it kept bumping into our table trying to 'read' our preferences based on eye movement or whatever. The whole menu was NFT-based, you had to scan QR codes to actually order. Told the staff we wanted to tip in BCH and they practically called the cyber police. Lmao, fucking fedposting if you ask me.

And the food is just a prop. First you gotta yank out your phone to check the app to see if there's even a table. Then the waiter is basically a hand model holding out dishes for everyone to snap pics of like they're auditioning for Food Network. Dining out stopped being about the food ages ago - now it's just another exhausting performance for the internet's benefit.

A mindfulness journey subscription box charged me $45 monthly and delivered only a rock and a PDF titled '10 Reasons to Breathe' with typos on pages 3 and 7. The audacity is unreal. They call it 'self-care,' I call it highway robbery with cheap props and poor editing.