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Secret Panel HERE ♥ tapas.io/episode/1619297

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LOS ANGELES — Musician Tyler, the Creator’s struggle with rival cosmic entity Tyler, the Destroyer is projected to reign eternal, metaphysical sources report.

“There can only ever be one true me,” claimed Tyler, the Creator. “But when the mystical opposite of you steps out of your creativity, you have to ask who’s ripping off who, right? Am I like him, or is he like me, or am I just gay for myself? There’s an identical me out there, so I have to put out creations before he puts out destructions so my role in the plane of reality doesn’t look all hacky. If there can be only one of us, I have to battle him every album cycle or risk us, like, shredding the fabric of the universe into quesadilla cheese.”

Tyler’s acolytes have witnessed the battle since its inception.

“It’s pretty weird to see a version of Tyler with inverted colors who talks backwards and fights him,” said Odd Future’s Jasper Dolphin. “I mean, when he got Odd Future together, I only knew he was Tyler. Then suddenly there was a Creator and a Destroyer. I guess the Destroyer was always inside Tyler or his butt, but Tyler was trying to vanquish him or some shit so he wouldn’t look like a copycat. To me, trying to vanquish the Destroyer would be destructive anyway, so the battle is pointless. I kind of like Tyler, the Destroyer, anyway, though. He’s the one who convinced me to join ‘Jackass.’”

Tyler-focused theologians see his cosmology reflected in his art.

“In his latest project to balance the cosmos, you see Tyler trying to explore creation as a pure act,” argued Tyler expert and self-proclaimed music nerd Anthony Fantano. “I don’t know how much he actually carries out his monistic vision. Yeah, compared to his earlier endeavors like ‘Cherry Bomb,’ you have a more controlled sense of creation, but there’s still this overarching sense of destruction. Every track you create destroys something, and every track you destroy creates a clearing for growth. You get this split of ‘create’ and ‘destroy’ that to me ends up more perceptual than real, so Tyler splitting himself in two loses that lush, self-evident aesthetic you got in ‘Flower Boy.’”

At press time, Fantano rated the Tylers’ struggle a “light to moderate seven,” citing a preference for the MC Ride’s spiritual struggle to grip death.

The post Tyler, the Creator Locked in Eternal Cosmic Struggle with Tyler, the Destroyer appeared first on The Hard Times.

Congress Plays Keep-Away With Child’s School Lunch. “‘If you want to eat, you’re going to have to jump for it!’ said Sen. Rand Paul (R-KY), laughing as he dangled the bag above the head of the 4-foot-tall child, who leapt in vain…”

When I go out to brunch, I’m a divorcée.

When I eat my second post-breakfast snack, I’m divorced.

The divorcée in me buys the houseplants.

The divorced woman in me kills them all.

When I consider adopting a Persian cat, I’m a divorcée.

When I clean my child’s lizard terrarium, I’m divorced.

If I’m crying at a foreign film, I’m a divorcée.

If I’m crying on my therapist’s floor, I’m divorced.

Champagne, bourbon, and herbal teas. These are my divorcée beverages.

When I steal all the La Croix out of the fridge at work to save $4.99, that’s divorced behavior.

When I’m wearing a lacy, matching underwear set, I’m a divorcée.

When I’m wearing frayed underwear of unknown provenance that was left in the laundromat dryer seven years ago, I’m divorced.

I graciously accept a monthly parenting honorarium when I identify as a divorcée.

I get child support when I’m feeling divorced.

If I say “I’ve taken a lover,” in that moment, I’m a divorcée.

When I’m divorced, I say, “I met some guy on Hinge. I think he’s in finance?”

As a divorcée, I’m making sure my vaccinations are up to date, possibly for exotic travel.

As a divorced woman, I’m waiting in line at Walgreens for a flu shot before the winter diseases tear through the second grade like the plague.

When I volunteered to direct my child’s school play, I was a divorcée.

When I was ousted for trying to unionize the children into an actor’s guild, I was divorced.

As a divorcée, it’s important to me to have diversified assets.

As a divorced woman, I think I just fell for a crypto scam from some guy I met on Hinge.

The divorcée joined a book club.

The divorced woman joined a coven.

On the days I’m a divorcée, I take a meditative nature walk for my mental health and clarity.

On my divorced days, I disappear into the woods for hours and hope the moss reclaims me.

When I upgraded my bedding to the finest money could buy, I was a divorcée.

When I upgraded my vibrator to the finest money could buy, I was divorced.

The divorcée wears elbow-length gloves and a feather boa.

The divorced woman also wears these things, but it’s because I’m spending my non-custody weekend cleaning out the garage, and I’ve reached the Halloween decorations.

The divorcée has proper representation by someone who identifies as “esquire” and might have a pocket watch.

The divorced woman is frantically calling her lawyer to see if funds converted into crypto are actually irretrievable.

If I’ve taken a microdose, I’m a divorcée.

If I’ve taken Pepto-Bismol, I’m divorced.

I was a divorcée when I shocked my neighbors by welcoming a scandalously young man into my home in the evening.

It was the divorced woman who actually hired a TaskRabbit for $130 to unclog my shower drain due to stress-related hair loss.

As a divorcée, I use fancy words like “amicable” and “co-parent.”

As a divorced woman, I respond to questions about my divorce with a prolonged high-pitched hissing sound in lieu of speech.

The divorcée side of me reads novels and periodicals in an armchair with a Persian cat and herbal tea.

The divorced woman is still logged into the crypto guy’s Netflix account and is about to binge Love Is Blind with an iguana.