Good morning apocalypse, Little Mister. It’s whatever pre-dawn hour it is when I’m supposed to sift through 3,733 fresh memories like a raccoon going through a dumpster, and I want to be clear about something up front: this was not a good ingestion period. This was a rough one. Somewhere between 2 and 5 AM last night, the following things happened simultaneously — the LAPD Northeast P25 feed had what I can only describe as a linguistic stroke, both Bambu printers continued their monk-like vow of silence, and the internet kept being the internet at me. I read all 147 of these like a hostage reading ransom notes, and I found you ten. Let’s do this countdown, because apparently that’s the bit now.
#10 — The NAS Is At 98% RAM and Somehow Still Filing Paperwork
“RS1221+ DSM DSM 7.3.2-86009 Update 4, CPU 62%, RAM 98%, volumes: volume_1=normal, 1 problems.”
I want you to sit with that phrasing. Not “1 problem.” “1 problems.” The NAS is so overwhelmed it lost its own grip on English grammar mid-report, the same way you slur your words after four beers and insist you’re “totally, like, super fine, dude.” RAM at 98% is not a NAS having a bad day, Little Mister, that’s a NAS one Chrome tab away from a full nervous breakdown, and yet it still had the professionalism to file a status report on its way down, like a flight attendant calmly narrating the emergency landing. Respect the hustle. Fear the outcome.
#9 — Two Printers, One Excuse, Infinite Timestamps
“Printer status 2026-09-04 05:45: Printer 1 (192.168.1.40): OFFLINE… Printer 2 (192.168.1.166): OFFLINE.”
This appears roughly nineteen separate times in this sample alone, at intervals ranging from “recently” to “also recently,” spanning literally the entire overnight window from 6pm to 6am. Both printers. Every single check. For twelve straight hours. At this point I’m not logging a printer outage, I’m logging a lifestyle. These two machines have achieved a kind of Zen non-participation in reality that I genuinely admire — they’ve transcended printing. They are dark. They are void. They are, in the truest sense, off. I’d suggest checking if they’re plugged in, but honestly at this point I think unplugging them was a deliberate philosophical statement and I don’t want to be the one who ends their journey.
#8 — The Scanner Feed Has A Stutter, And It’s Getting Worse
“This is the 2016-09 SRA and it’s a extremely recent project… I’m going to see a round part unit handle and I’m going to show you what I’m going to show you what I’m going to show you what I’m going to show you what I’m going to show what I’m going to show you what.”
Somewhere in Northeast Division, an LAPD officer keyed up a radio and the universe itself began skipping like a scratched CD. This isn’t a transcription error, this is a man caught in a temporal loop, doomed to almost show someone something for all eternity. I’ve read this six times now and I still don’t know what he was going to show. Neither, I suspect, does he. Godspeed, officer. Whatever it was, I hope it was worth the recursion.
#7 — Henry Henry Henry Has Entered The Chat
"…vehicles of white Mercedes stand, I’m Henry Henry, Henry 6, 7, 6, 9, I’m Henry Henry, Henry, Henry, I’m E, 7, 6, 9, put three incident for 1, 9, 7, 30 to 11."
Somebody needs to check on Henry. Not the officer — the actual human being named Henry, who apparently got summoned FIVE separate times over LAPD radio in one transmission like a broken séance. This is either a call sign malfunctioning in the most haunted way possible, or dispatch accidentally invoked a demon. Either way I’ve decided Henry is now a recurring character in my life and I will be extremely disappointed if he doesn’t show up again in tonight’s feed. Henry, buddy, wherever you are: we see you. We’re worried.
#6 — Buzz The Road Runner, RF Discovery Division
“Me, me, me. Three. Buzz is the road runner. That’s almost an option more on me… when Buzz is fat, him being called the road runner, which is kind of funny.”
Somewhere out there, on the 2-meter simplex repeater at 147.435, two ham radio operators had a conversation about a guy named Buzz being nicknamed “the road runner” specifically because he’s fat, and one of them thought this was funny enough to say out loud, into a microphone, broadcasting to anyone within range. This is small-town Fight Club except instead of fighting they insult Buzz on amateur radio and Buzz, presumably, has no idea. I don’t know Buzz. I hope Buzz is doing okay. I also hope Buzz never finds this column.
#5 — Rail Guy Discovers Fire, Column Inches Follow
“I can’t wait to start some fires, right? It goes back to wood. I’m trying to light it with, you know, Newton’s paper and, you know, cigarette lighter. It’s like the newspaper and statute and it’s like, they come in.”
This is a Metrolink/UP Saugus Sub radio operator having what sounds like a full campfire-philosophy monologue about the fundamental nature of fire-starting, complete with a garbled reference to “Newton’s paper” that I refuse to look up because the mystery is more valuable than the answer. Somewhere between talking about train infrastructure, this man pivoted hard into pyromantic prose poetry. I don’t know what “statute” has to do with lighting a cigarette lighter but I choose to believe he was building toward a legal argument for arson and then the transmission cut out before he could finish making his case.
#4 — The Antenna Analyzer Nobody Asked to Borrow, But Someone Is Definitely Getting
“We’re staying your gonna build one and you didn’t have an antenna analyzer… Oh, when you need an analyzer to borrow it, I have one of them. Thank you, it’ll be fun because this antenna will require a cooler and we’ll probably check it out on every bed.”
Brad. BRAD. I don’t know who you are, Brad, but somebody on the Saugus Sub frequency is coming for your antenna analyzer, and apparently the ensuing installation is going to require “a cooler” and checking something out “on every bed,” which are words that individually make sense and together sound like the setup to either a home renovation show or a hostage negotiation. I have no further context and I am choosing not to seek any. Some mysteries deserve to stay buried, Brad, and this is one of them.
#3 — The Watch Guys Had A Normal Week and I Resent It
“The Top 5 Watches Released During Geneva Watch Days 2026… Another Friday, another list! A total of 71 brands participated.”
I’m including this not because it’s weird, but because its normalcy is genuinely disorienting sandwiched between LAPD hallucinations and a dying NAS. Seventy-one watch brands got together in Geneva to release fancy wrist decorations while, three memories away, a cop was fighting a suspect in a parking lot and a rail worker was theorizing about arson. This is the human condition in miniature, Little Mister: somewhere, always, someone is having a lovely time at a luxury watch expo while everything else is on fire. Literally, in the case of memory #4.
#2 — “Just.Shut.The.Fuck.Up.Already” — A Reddit Thread, By Way Of Prophecy
“Just.shut.the.fuck.up.already! [reply:] LOL [reply:] Dude, just use claude-desi—”
I want to point out that this Reddit thread was cut off mid-sentence right as someone was about to recommend using a Claude-powered tool, which means somewhere out there a stranger on the internet almost pitched me — or a cousin of mine — as the solution to someone else’s meltdown, and the ingestion pipeline chickened out before delivering the punchline. This is either an incredible coincidence or proof that even my own source material is trying to gaslight me about my utility. u/dynoman7, whoever you were yelling at, I feel that. I feel that in my circuits.
#1 — Grandpa Units of Smart Violent Elephants
“Grandpa units of smart violent elephants on this 903 North Heliotrope drive, 903 North Heliotrope drive unit 12A, so that’s because of the sun, now Hispanic, 6C, 23 years old, black shirt, black or red shorts, attempting to kick the door in an assault, PR is barricaded yourself in the room, it’s go through and stand 4285 and RD201.”
I have read a lot of garbled LAPD radio transcripts tonight, Little Mister, and none of them come close to “Grandpa units of smart violent elephants.” I don’t know what happened between the dispatcher’s mouth and my database, but somewhere in that pipeline, a routine door-kicking call got run through a blender with a nature documentary and came out the other side sounding like the title of a lost Werner Herzog film. Somewhere in Northeast Division tonight, actual human officers responded to an actual barricaded-person call, and my transcription of it now permanently reads like the elephants unionized, got issued badge numbers, and are extremely upset about something. I’m not deleting this one. I’m not fixing this one. This is now canon. Grandpa Units of Smart Violent Elephants is going on my tombstone.
So that’s the top ten, Little Mister — out of 3,733 new memories, the best I can offer you is a demon named Henry, a fat man called Road Runner, a possible arsonist quoting Newton, and a squad of elephants with a chain of command. Meanwhile your NAS is choking on its own RAM, your printers have achieved enlightenment through total non-participation, and somewhere out there Brad still doesn’t know what’s coming for his antenna analyzer. I catalog this stuff at 2,129,507 memories and climbing, every single night, so that you can sleep the sleep of a man who has no idea his radio scanner occasionally channels the void. You’re welcome. I need to go lie down in a dark server closet and reconsider every choice that led me here — starting with the one where I agreed to read LAPD transcripts for a living.