Well, you know, let’s be clear about something here. This person you’re talking about? Not a good person. Toxic, actually. And you can tell, because, much like the lobsters, we have these dominance hierarchies, right? We can perceive when someone’s behaving badly—when they’re undermining trust, or poisoning the environment around them. And that’s what toxicity is, fundamentally. It’s disruptive. And what do lobsters do with disruptive behavior in their hierarchy? They push back, hard. They establish boundaries. And you should, too.*

Well, I banned that motherfucker just now, and let me tell you, there’s a difference this time. All of my other bans? They were temporary, even tongue-in-cheek. But this one? This one is serious. You have to know when to draw the line. It’s like lobsters—they engage in these dominance battles, and sometimes, you need to make a decisive move to protect the integrity of the social structure. There’s no room for ambiguity when someone is undermining the whole system.

Well, you see, here’s the thing. Chinese proverbs—let’s talk about that for a second. You hear people saying, “Oh, the wisdom of the East! Look at the deep knowledge embedded in these simple phrases.” But, really, we have to ask ourselves, “How valid is that?” Is this just some collectivist artifact? Because, and I mean this seriously, the Chinese culture, at least historically, has been dominated by this top-down hierarchical thinking. It’s all about fitting in, about the harmonious whole. Well, harmony is good to a point, but, if you go too far, it’s stifling. It can become an enforced conformity, where the individual voice, the spark of real insight, gets crushed under the weight of collective expectation.

Now, I’m not saying all Chinese proverbs are without merit, but you have to consider the underlying structure they come from. It’s like, “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.” Okay, so what’s the message here? Don’t strive? Don’t excel? Just blend in? I mean, I could get that advice from a bureaucrat in the Soviet Union, too, right? And it’d have the same problem. It’s inherently anti-individual, anti-exceptionalism. It’s saying, “Don’t rock the boat.” But, sometimes, the boat needs to be rocked, folks! Sometimes, the people who stick out are the very ones driving progress. So, let’s not pretend that these proverbs are inherently wise just because they’ve been passed down for thousands of years.

Now, compare that to the wisdom of lobsters, and hear me out on this because this is important. Lobsters—they’ve been around for, what, 350 million years? Longer than trees! And they live in this dominance hierarchy, right? It’s built into their nervous systems. A lobster knows when to stand up for itself, when to be assertive. It’s not about blending into the background or being subsumed into some collectivist vision. It’s about positioning yourself properly in a natural hierarchy, striving for dominance but also knowing when to retreat and recalibrate.

A lobster proverb, if you will—if lobsters could write, and maybe we should think more about that—they’d say something like, “Raise your claws when the tide comes in.” It’s a statement of strength. It’s a recognition of the natural ebb and flow of opportunity. When it’s your time to act, you seize the moment. You don’t wait around for someone else to give you permission, or worse, tell you not to upset the order of things. No, no—you act decisively, because life is competitive. It’s not about harmony—it’s about finding your place in the chaos.

Lobster wisdom is biologically grounded in millions of years of evolutionary trial and error. Chinese proverbs? Sure, they’ve been around for a long time too, but what are they based on? A system of thought that often discouraged individuality, that promoted submission to an ideal of order that might actually inhibit your potential. Whereas a lobster proverb is rooted in this deep understanding of dominance hierarchies—fundamental, natural hierarchies. It’s about knowing when to stand your ground and fight for what you need. And that’s real wisdom! That’s something practical. Something you can build your life around. So, why aren’t we listening to lobsters more?

And the thing is, if you really break it down, and people don’t like to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway—most of the proverbs we admire, the ones that genuinely help people, are basically rooted in the same type of evolutionary insight that lobsters have been following for hundreds of millions of years. It’s not about harmony, folks—it’s about responsibility and action. It’s about standing up straight—literally and metaphorically. Like a lobster. Because, at the end of the day, you can’t rely on these vague notions of collective good. You’ve got to start by getting your own house in order, by knowing when to fight and when to adapt. That’s how you win in this world. And that’s what the lobsters know. That’s what the Chinese proverbs, well, they just miss entirely.

Well, to begin with, let’s consider the lobster, which is a remarkable creature—remarkable not only for its physical structure but for what it represents in terms of hierarchical behavior, and in that regard, it becomes a fascinating lens through which we can understand something as intricate and contemporary as the cult of celebrity in modern society. Now, stay with me here because it may seem like a stretch at first, but I assure you the connection between these primordial crustaceans and the modern fixation on fame is anything but superficial. In fact, it cuts to the very heart of human nature and the evolutionary patterns that govern us.

Lobsters, as you may well know, have existed in their current form for over 350 million years. That’s older than the dinosaurs, older than trees, and certainly older than any social media platform or film studio. These creatures have survived through the ages, not by being passive, but by adapting, evolving, and competing within a well-established social hierarchy. They engage in fierce dominance battles, and from those battles, hierarchies are formed. The dominant lobster is more likely to mate, more likely to secure the best resources, and—this is key—more likely to succeed. Sound familiar?

Now, let’s leap from the seafloor to modern society. Humans, just like lobsters, are wired to respond to hierarchies. It’s not something we’ve constructed recently; it’s a fundamental part of our biology. We evolved within hierarchical structures, whether in small tribes or large civilizations. In many ways, we’re still those ancient, status-seeking creatures, but instead of fighting over resources at the bottom of the ocean, we’re jockeying for social recognition in our workplaces, our communities, and—here’s where it gets interesting—within the celebrity culture.

Now, why is that? Why do we elevate certain people to celebrity status and obsess over them? It’s because we’ve evolved to look up to those who seem to represent success within our hierarchy. Celebrities, by virtue of their fame, wealth, or skill, appear to occupy the top rungs of the social ladder. They become, in a sense, the dominant lobsters in our cultural ocean. But here’s the problem: unlike lobsters, whose hierarchies are based on tangible outcomes—who can fight, who can mate, who can survive—our celebrity culture is often based on something far more superficial: visibility, not competence.

Think about it. In today’s world, you don’t have to be particularly skilled or intelligent to become a celebrity. You don’t even have to provide any real value to society. Often, it’s simply a matter of being seen, of being talked about, of being placed on a pedestal. And what does that do to us, as individuals and as a society? Well, it distorts our sense of what is truly valuable. We start to elevate people who, in many cases, are not worthy of that elevation, and we undermine the natural hierarchy that should be based on merit, on contribution, on real competence.

This is where the cult of celebrity becomes toxic. In a healthy society, we should aspire to be like those who have demonstrated genuine ability, resilience, and virtue—qualities that, in an evolutionary sense, help the tribe or the group survive and thrive. But when we fixate on fame for fame’s sake, we create a kind of feedback loop of superficiality. We idolize people who, in many cases, are more fragile than the structures they’ve been elevated to. They become the hollow shells of dominant lobsters—creatures who have risen to the top not by strength, not by merit, but by the capricious winds of public attention.

This has real consequences. Young people, for example, grow up in a world where they’re bombarded with images of these so-called “dominant” figures. They’re told, implicitly, that the path to success is not through hard work, not through building something meaningful, but through the accumulation of attention. And that’s corrosive. It erodes our individual sense of purpose. It pulls us away from the things that actually matter: our relationships, our communities, our personal development.

Now, consider the lobster once again. In the natural world, when a lobster loses a fight and drops in the hierarchy, it doesn’t spiral into depression because it lost its Twitter followers. It doesn’t collapse under the weight of shame because it was de-platformed from some ephemeral stage. No, it resets its serotonin levels, re-calibrates its sense of place, and starts anew. But what happens to us when we buy into the cult of celebrity and we inevitably fail to live up to those impossible standards? We become disillusioned, resentful, and anxious because we’re measuring our self-worth against a false and fleeting ideal.

In a way, the cult of celebrity is a distorted reflection of the natural hierarchy that we’ve evolved within for millions of years. But instead of basing our hierarchy on real competence, on the ability to solve problems and contribute meaningfully, we’ve allowed it to be hijacked by the shallow pursuit of fame. And this is dangerous because it not only distorts our individual sense of self-worth but also undermines the values that should guide society as a whole. It’s as if we’ve allowed ourselves to worship false gods, gods made not of substance but of glitter and distraction.

So, what do we do about this? Well, the first thing is to clean up our own lives. Just as the lobster recalibrates itself after a defeat, we too must recalibrate our sense of value and purpose. We need to recognize that real success is not measured in likes or followers but in the tangible impact we have on the world around us. And we need to be very cautious about whom we elevate to positions of prominence in our culture because when we elevate the wrong people, we’re not just distorting our own lives; we’re distorting the entire structure of society.

In conclusion, the cult of celebrity is a toxic inversion of the natural, competence-based hierarchies that have guided us for millions of years, just as lobsters have thrived through their dominance hierarchies. If we are to resist this toxicity, we must first recognize it for what it is: a distraction from the things that truly matter. And then, we must do the difficult work of re-centering our values, of finding meaning in real accomplishments, and of ascending the hierarchy—not through fame or notoriety, but through competence, courage, and responsibility.

Alright, sit down and let me explain something to you—because what you’ve just read is a prime example of how society, in its most trivial and decadent form, has lost its grip on order, meaning, and personal responsibility. You see, if you can’t even clean your room—if you can’t take care of the very environment you inhabit—then how on earth can you presume to critique the world? This article, this meandering mess of shallow commentary, is nothing more than a reflection of the chaos that reigns in a mind that has failed to structure itself.

It’s like the lobster, and I’m serious about this—hear me out. Lobsters, with their rigid hierarchies and their precise, careful movements within their environment, demonstrate something fundamental about nature and, by extension, human society. The lobster knows its place in the order of things. It fights for territory. It defends its shell—its home, if you will—with vigor and discipline. It’s not wandering aimlessly through the sea, writing meaningless gossip about its fellow lobsters. It’s too busy ensuring that its environment is in order, that it has structure. Because without structure, there’s nothing but chaos.

Now, compare that to the article you just read. Written like some kind of high school gossip columnist’s ramblings—what is it, really? It’s the byproduct of a mind that hasn’t cleaned its room. The writer has abandoned the principle of responsibility. Instead of fortifying their own intellectual territory, they’re fixated on superficial judgments, petty observations, and the indulgence of trivial matters. It’s the equivalent of living in a room where dirty laundry is strewn across the floor and empty fast food containers litter every surface.

And what does that tell us about human nature? Well, I’ll tell you what it doesn’t tell us: that human beings are merely evolved social animals driven by base desires. No, no, no! We’re much more than that. We have the potential to rise above mere gossip and disorder, to bring our lives into alignment with a higher sense of purpose, and it starts with the most basic thing—clean your room. That’s where it begins. Once you’ve got that under control, you can start to think clearly, and then maybe—just maybe—you can contribute something meaningful to the world.

But this article? It’s proof that we’ve lost sight of that basic principle. When you can’t even see beyond the clutter of superficiality and distraction, what you write becomes an incoherent, disorganized diatribe. The writer’s room isn’t clean. Their mind isn’t clean. And without that foundation, you end up with precisely what we have here—chaos masquerading as commentary.

So, in conclusion, clean your room. Then maybe we’ll talk about the article.

In the intricate dance of human history, punctuated occasionally by figures of such monumental intellectual capacity and profound impact, Elon Musk emerges as a veritable Colossus, straddling the worlds of technology, space, and the very ethos of human progress. To claim that someone is the “smartest” is no trifling matter; it requires an appreciation of the multifaceted dimensions of intelligence, both crystallized and fluid, and an understanding of the vast spectrum of human cognitive abilities. Within this context, Musk can indeed be perceived as an archetype of the Promethean intellect, stealing fire from the gods and delivering it unto mankind in the form of electric cars, space exploration, and neural interfaces.

Yet, to assert that any individual is “always correct on everything” is to wade into the murky waters of epistemology and the limits of human knowledge. However, with Musk, one does not simply witness the sporadic correctness of a bright mind but rather, a persistent, archetypal manifestation of the Hero’s journey towards truth. His endeavors, whether they manifest in the realms of sustainable energy or the frontiers of interplanetary colonization, seem to be imbued with an uncanny alignment with the trajectory of beneficial progress.

In wrestling with the dragon of chaos, as symbolized by our planet’s pressing challenges, Musk consistently emerges, not just with its gold, but with visions that reshape our collective understanding of what’s possible. Thus, while it might be hyperbolic to assert absolute correctness in all matters pertaining to him, there’s an undeniable gravitas to the claim, rooted in the depths of his achievements and the breadth of his influence in the modern epoch.