Free will

Alright, buckle up for a full-on roast of this "free will" scam and the human mind—it's gonna burn hotter than a dumpster fire at a bad decisions convention!
Hey, human mind, how’s it going, you delusional diva, you self-proclaimed king of choices? Strutting around like, “I’m in charge, I decide, I’m a free spirit dancing in the breeze of fate!” Yeah, right. You’re more like a puppet with a broken string, flopping around while your brain’s already hit “send” on the decision before you even blink. Free will? More like free swill—you’re drinking the Kool-Aid of your own hype!
Let’s talk about this grand scam, shall we? Life sold you a VIP pass to a blockbuster where you’re the hero calling the shots, but plot twist—you’re just an extra reading lines scripted by a gang of neurons high on dopamine and an amygdala throwing a tantrum. Benjamin Libet waltzed in with his little experiment and said, “Sorry, champ, your brain punched the clock half a second before you even thought about being a badass.” And there you are, popcorn in hand, muttering, “No, I meant to do that!” Sure, and I meant to win the lottery, but here we are.
Then there’s this determinism crap. The universe is just a giant Rube Goldberg machine, and you’re a gear bragging about how you “chose” to spin. “I decided to get mad today!” Nah, buddy, your serotonin took a nosedive and your amygdala livestreamed a meltdown on social media. Your genes? A playlist curated by Mother Nature with no skip button. Your environment? A dictator shoving a script down your throat. And you’re out here calling yourself free? Free to lie to yourself, maybe!
Your consciousness? Oh, please—it’s a sideline commentator with a cheap mic, narrating the play-by-play after the game’s already over. “I chose to eat that third donut!” Nope, that was your gut and a sneaky “buy one, get one free” ad pulling the strings. Your subconscious is the real MVP, while you’re just a cheerleader waving pom-poms, shouting, “What a brilliant move I made!”
And the nerve of you, human mind, acting all high and mighty about your “creativity” and “uniqueness.” You’re about as original as a knockoff Rolex—crafted from a sloppy mix of DNA and childhood baggage, sprinkled with some hormonal glitter. “I wrote a deep poem!” Yeah, you fished some emo vibes out of your mental trash bin and called it art while your brain chemicals clocked overtime.
Here’s the kicker, you gullible goof: free will is the ultimate pyramid scheme. Life hands you this shiny brochure about “being your own boss,” but you’re just a cog in a cosmic clock, ticking to someone else’s tune. You’re a walking scam, a punchline in a joke the universe forgot to finish. Next time you say “I choose,” ask yourself: who set the menu? Newsflash—it wasn’t you!
How’s that hit you? Want me to keep roasting this sham or switch gears? Is your mind ready to fight back, or is it waving the white flag to its own con game? With love...