# republic of bob does not exist rather it often merely seems an tiny informal small-potatoes inspiration machine or imagination network perhaps say a pleasant shared open source shared artistic universe andor imaginary alternative internet (itself considered as an ice cold luxury lifestyle aesthetic) '#rob' conveys no special gifts advantages or status nullifies all mind viruses including potentially its own a high-desert plain capable of sustaining life but is otherwise empty and unremarkable none who rnd there are the main protagonist in an inconvenient sea of somehow lesser npcs only researchers in a fictional realm of artistic possibility and positive strange change can thrive here - for limited periods of up to two often intense sometimes troubled and contentious weeks ironically this is the same time span as the rise and fall of the tiny republic wave itself best of all '#rob' feels nothing like hanging out in some oh-so exclusive club for the special exceptional exclusive extraordinary or specialized - stuffed with tiresome boorish pedantic mouth breathing turbo-nerding popcult obsessed hipster radishes or failed 70's folk singers those who don't and often can't actively contribute to the life of the scene but just sit on it - greedy and weak mountain bound worms proclaiming it as ir own such an unnecessary defense of flandom as only ever the aggressive public display of elf the republic understands all mini-napoleonic moderators and central-character karens as intolerable officious power hungry prison gatekeepers irksome mansplainers and other similar long winded autodidactic bores desperately wandering empty corridors in search of anyone to "ackchully" correct or suggest "go read the source books" fellow researcher henry swanson meanwhile chills outside the aziz coffee shop idly gladly kicking ir heels enjoying tall beautiful borderless singing wildflowers currently in bloom unnatural impulses by keepers of arcane lore toward centralized encyclopedic pseudo knowledge keep themselves out of the republic as its based on realtime play as constant learning those in constant need of convenient echo chambers lined with cognitively challenged flandroids go elsewhere once more the republic appears in the shimming distance - a giant sleepover at one's awesome desert quad bike riding grandma's house with every high seas criterion vinegar syndrome release abstract anti-hypercorporate nontransmedia notstory worlding without middlemen ip's limited edition dripping sauces or target demographic marketing lizards rather to consider 'republic of bob' constantly and inherently non-definitive without unnecessary rules instructions and sans cannon also known as cannon free effortlessly loreless and flanless comprised only of spare plot holes bypassing all tiresome mouthbreathing anorak flandom brainrot there is no ultimate flanbass degradation style 'disenfranchisement from the ip' if beautifully empty desolate desert alienation exists from the (non-existent) outset fools gladly suffering with correctile dysfunction and associated expert evangelical pontification - for whom side quests in cable management ultra-optimised cpu performance tuning and bios overclocking updates feel like daily drives to happy playbor as non-existent centerless instructionless and bossless the republic's philosophical participatory art movement / scientific state of play has no centrally authoritative lore to draw from and anally fetishise inherently free from long winded recaps dense nested wikis intense forum based mansplaining and terminally boring multiple-hour long video lectures by vehemently overstimulated plastic diehards and other ardent weirdo permanently online duckheads making others suffer neurotic twitching hyper-nostalgia for dead high-desert memory again and again the forever changing sands of this ancient republic strip the idiot bones of zealots in elective arthouse comas clean of desperate clinging and unceasing arbitrary bias for non things never realized as essentially empty as fragile bleached skulls - as pointless devotion / dogmatic enthusiasm / factional frenzy / immoderate infatuation / monomaniacal obsessiveness / obstinate partiality / oh-so tiresome passionate prejudice / raging single mindedness / stubborn superstitious tenacity / an acute lack of curiosity / the paranoid fear of genuine and unplannable neural change the exhausting way such squeaking gerbil anger over rights wrongs and quote real researchers immediately overcomes one's ability to read or do anything but act the knee jerking reactionary - emphasis on jerk the laughable mirthless micromanagement of cosmically unnecessary boring details nobody with an actual life outside decayed republic ruins gives two flying sheds about a time sink thirst trap and slippery slope toward negative emotions sometimes plagued with the aberrant entitled nobody wants to spend time with in the real world thoughtful oddball geeks and researchers in mysterious theaters of science however are always welcome queue sudden timeless background desert wind noise as heard in pleasantly time degraded vhs tapes of lone wolf and cub not only is the republic often already long dead and over with thankfully it never even was an it - what a quiet relief in fact researchers were already fast getting sick about hearing about it even within 'scene' such unsanctioned station breaks ironically teach one the internets are undead / bogus and none of i.t matters in the best sense the blind pursuit of plastic authenticity through realizing one's arbitrary felt mass media preferences through consumption only is nuts one is simply not the franchise one likes and no authentic flans exist as all flans are shokuhin sampuru meanwhile 'republic of bob' continues drifting onward in its own way not existing and without help // republic of bob