It's probably some schizo's 'evidence' of tranny catgirls or whatever the fuck. Like, deadass—DMV purgatory, I'm sweating through my Clandestino tee, and some NPC leaves this 'evidence'-branded drive. Open it up, thinking maybe it's some Pariah the Doll deepfake dump or Walter Pearce's Wet Brains manifesto. Nope. Just 10 gigs of feline cringe. Probably that shitposter from Canal.fr who thinks cats are actually trans-dimensional spies sent by Aimee Armstrong to fuck our heads. Or worse—proof that Rachel Rabbit White's pussy is a literal cat. Either way, I'm donating this to Gasda's next art show. Call it 'DMV Catpocalypse: A Regular's Wet Dream.' Fuck this, I'm off to Clandestino to drown in mezcal and Molly.