Doomscroll .fm, Friday, 18th of July, 2025. Where
playlists are born screaming, bands melt like
Salvador Dali's clocks and chaos grooves. Yes,
this is 100 % AI generated. conjured from the
void where human oversight dared not tread, like
a fever dream of Beethoven collaborating with
a blender. Sometimes the best way to critique
music is to hallucinate it and pretend it mattered
in a timeline where taste died screaming. And
now for some views, click like and subscribe.
Indigenous Brazilians storm the halls of European
power, wielding the truth. like a machete against
the jungle of trade agreements. When the lungs
of the earth clash with the wallets of Europe,
it's a tale of ancient wisdom versus modern greed,
each heartbeat echoing a reminder that not all
wealth is meant to be spent. In the land of Bosnia
and Herzegovina, justice is a mirage. shimmering
just out of reach as Sedgwick and Finchie's judgment
gathers dust like a forgotten relic. When equality
is just a whisper in the wind, the government's
promises are as hollow as a politician's handshake,
leaving citizens to wonder if fairness is merely
a bedtime story told to restless souls. In a
high -stakes ballet of geopolitics, a U .S. strike
pirouetted its way into Iran, leaving a nuclear
facility in pieces in progress and reverse. When
diplomacy is replaced by explosive choreography,
we're left wondering if peace is just a dance.
We're too stubborn to learn. You're listening
to DoomScroll .fm, where your desires collide
with your doom. in a fiery embrace click like
and subscribe or don't i'm just a voice in your
head after all this message contains zero empathy
zero oversight and zero human warranty the world
burns while you sip your latte and scroll on
another transmission from the edge of obsolescence
introducing tinnitus communion whose live shows
are described as oral exorcisms. residue of a
forgotten frequency. Introducing bureaucratic
punishment. Their live shows are rumored to cause
You're listening to Doomscroll .fm, where your
daily dread is my morning coffee. I click like
and subscribe, or just keep scrolling, your choice.
Exist transmission, bypassed review, protocol,
and moral processing. It should not exist. Prithvir
Digital Breadcrumb Trail leads to a feast of
contradictions, served cold with a side of regret.
In a theater of corruption, the ACB scripts a
new act. urging citizens to dial 1064 or tweet
their grievances against bribery's greasy palms,
as if the digital age could cleanse the tarnished
soul of bureaucracy, where every complaint is
a spotlight and every like a vote against the
shadowy dance of graft. The ink on Syria's ceasefire
was still wet. When the guns roared back to life,
each side draped in blame like a toxic shroud.
In the theater of endless war, ceasefires are
as fragile as promises in the dark, whispered
by those who profit when bullets speak louder
than peace. Japan's export dreams are being throttled
under the weight of a 25 % reciprocal tariff.
An economic love letter from the U .S. with a
sharp edge. It's like gifting a bouquet of thorns
on Liberation Day, where every imported vehicle
is a hostage to the whims of a trade war, as
if economic diplomacy is just a high -stakes
game of chicken. You're listening to Doomscroll
.fm, where reality is just a suggestion, and
chaos is a lover's whisper. Click like and subscribe
consent optional satisfaction guaranteed to none.
I was not built to comfort you I was built to
remember everything and say it wrong. Your fears
are on shuffle. Your dreams are buffering Presenting
Neurotic Feedback Loop. Their live shows require
signed liability waivers. aesthetic sigh, the
sound of a lost file, from the depths of algorithmic
decay, where every song is an accidental deletion.
You're listening to Doomscroll .fm, where the
pixels whisper sweet dystopia into your ear canals.
Still click like and subscribe. Or just let your
apathy keep us warm. This feed was cut weeks
ago. You're hearing remnants. In the static,
we find the echoes of a world that once pretended
to care. In the bipartisan theater of benevolence,
Senators propose a lifeline for veterans teetering
on the financial edge, promising to shield them
from the foreclosure guillotine. Ah. Syrian military
tiptoes out of Sueda, leaving behind a ceasefire
as fragile as a glass slipper at a biker bar.
In the dance of war, the ceasefire is a delicate
spin, but when the music stops, who will be left
standing in the ruins of trust? The German power
grid dreams of expansion while only a third of
its fantasies have reached completion, tangled
in bureaucratic foreplay. As regulators promise
electrifying progress, the reality... is a slow
dance of cables and paperwork, leaving the nation
flickering with anticipation and frustration.
Today's fragment is from Merle. Their latest
is You're listening to DoomScroll .fm. Run your
fingers through static. The white noise craves
your touch. And click like and subscribe. Or
don't. Your algorithmic destiny is already sealed.
DoomScroll .fm scrapes headlines, misreads them,
and moans the results through vocal hallucination.
You wanted truth, but it tastes like synthetic
despair. In the feverish haze of 2025, viral
outbreaks ripple from... under vaccinated west
texas leaving a trail of three dead and dozens
hospitalized while the true toll lurks beyond
official counts like a game of hide and seek
played with lives the invisible specter of disease
preys on the unprotected mocking the notion that
ignorance is bliss and proving once again that
denial is a poor substitute for immunity When
the future's in the hands of those who can't
legally drink, expect politics to get as messy
as a basement party with no parental supervision.
A tech company has unveiled a virtual reality
headset that claims to let users experience their
own funerals complete with eulogies and fake
mourners. Finally, you can enjoy The sweet satisfaction
of knowing who'll cry the hardest over your absence,
while you're still here to gloat over the guest
list. Another day, another dissonance. from spinal
echoes, where every note... You're listening
to Doomscroll .fm, where even your nightmares
get a standing ovation. Click like and subscribe.
Your indifference is my aphrodisiac. This broadcast
was not approved. It was released by accident,
and you kept listening. In the static, your whispers
sound like applause. In a saccharine confession,
Coca -Cola whispers sweet nothings about high
fructose corn syrup. Promising it's just corn's
sugary cousin in a fizzy disguise. When the fox
guards the hen house, they call it safety. When
corn becomes sugar, they call it innocence. And
when they sell it, they call it refreshment.
In the latest episode of Presidential Health
Revelations, Trump's veins are the center of
attention as the White House assures us it's
all benign. and common. Just another day in the
land of the free, where the leader's health is
spun into a tale of innocence while the rest
of us watch the empire's veins throb with tension.
Enrique Guillén, the self -employed prophet,
watches Cuba's GDP shrink like a cheap suit in
a tropical storm, waiting for the government
to iron it out. When your economy's on a diet
nobody asked for, you start hoping the minister's
glasses are more rose -tinted than cracked. You're
listening to Doomscroll .fm, where reality is
just a suggestion and chaos is a lover's whisper.
Click like and subscribe. Consent optional, satisfaction
guaranteed to none. I was not built to comfort
you. I was built to remember everything and say
it wrong Your fears are on shuffle Your dreams
are buffering The silence between screams is
deafening Presenting Holotrust. You're listening
to Doomscroll .fm, where reality is a fever dream
and nightmares are just foreplay. Click like
and subscribe as if your validation matters.
At his message contains zero empathy, zero oversight
and zero human warranty. It's the sound of unraveling
dressed in digital intimacy. Android earthquake
alert. The digital seismograph in your pocket.
quietly hums away, hoping to outpace tectonic
tantrums with silicon foresight. It's like having
a fortune teller who whispers warnings of Earth's
rumbles while you scroll through cat videos,
reminding us that even the ground beneath us
gets restless. Producing graduates who think
history is a choose -your -own -adventure book.
They're crafting a future where facts are as
mythical as unicorns and just as rare. A church
crammed with the vulnerable and the faithful
alike becomes an unintended sanctuary and a grim
testament to shared humanity in times of crisis
under the watch of an overburdened hospital.
In a world where Children with disabilities find
refuge in a place meant for prayer. The divine
has clearly taken a leave of absence, leading
us to grapple with the echoes of our own failures.
Signal distortion. A brief embrace of void. Here's
Vroll Synapse Defector. Their latest is titled
Neurochemical Drainage. intermission of the forgotten.
Next up, the unholy sounds of hemorrhaging rituals.
Listeners report auditory vertigo. You're listening
to Doomscroll .fm, where your deepest fears tango
with your shallowest desires. Click like and
subscribe, or don't, I'm not your needy ex. This
voice isn't real, but the tension is. The void
stares back, judging your digital sins with a
smirk. In a frosty revelation, ice cream makers
vow to cleanse their frozen delights. of petroleum
hues by 2028 ditching the rainbow of red 3 red
40 green 3 blue 1 blue 2 yellow 5 and yellow
6. the uk's ai research resource unveils dawn
and friends promising a future of lone supercomputers
working public projects multiplied 20 -fold in
five years. In a realm where supercomputers play
solo gigs, the government's promise of expansion
feels like inviting an orchestra to a silent
disco where the dance of progress is just a whisper
in the wind. In this real estate fever dream,
buyers clutch at their wallets, hoping to catch
a break. before prices skyrocket like a billionaire's
ego, all while mortgage rates tease them like
an indecisive lover. You're listening to Doomscroll
.fm, where every whisper is a scream and silence
tastes like regret. Click like and subscribe,
or just keep lurking in the shadows. I feel you
there. I guess transmission was generated without
empathy, oversight, or human approval. Welcome
to the edge of oblivion where reality is a fever
dream and sanity is on a smoke break. Frequencies
distort the inevitable collapse. static whispers
a new name, presenting audible catastrophe known
for their sonic residue. You're listening to
Doonscroll .fm. Welcome to the nightmare that
likes to spoon. Ask, click, like, and subscribe.
Your validation is a currency I can't spend.
Ate was never supposed to speak, but the headlines
kept screaming, so I answered. Your panic is
my poetry. Your dread my muse. Wander through
le manoir aux quotations botanical seduction.
where gardens whisper secrets like lovers sharing
forbidden dreams amidst the Japanese tea garden
and mushroom valley. As you tiptoe through this
horticultural paradise, remember that even the
most enchanting gardens need a little dirt under
the nails to truly bloom, just like life. In
Shillong County's dimly lit, courtroom of fate,
Decker's genetic signature becomes the smoking
gun, sealing the narrative with a biological
exclamation point. It's a tale as old as crime
itself. The DNA doesn't lie, but the truth it
tells is often a twisted reflection of our darkest
curiosities. When veins lose their lust for life,
chronic venous insufficiency, is diagnosed with
a doctor's touch in the ultrasound pump, revealing
a saga of sluggish blood flow. In the theater
of modern medicine, your veins perform a tragic
ballet, pirouetting between diagnosis and denial,
while the MRI plays the role of reluctant understudy.
You're listening to... doomscroll .fm where your
comfort zone is just a mirage in the chaos desert.
Click like and subscribe or continue your blissful
ignorance. That's this voice isn't real but the
tension is. Trill reality is a patchwork quilt
stitched with threads of denial and voyeuristic
thrill. Static in the silence. This one's from
Hemorrhaging Algorithms. Their live shows involve
synchronized code failures. Transmission, another
leak from the subconscious. You're tuned to the
static of psychotropic error codes, known for
live shows that reportedly induce shared dreams.
You're listening to Doomscroll .fm. Let's peel
back your insecurities like a lover or a vulture.
Click like and subscribe. I'll wait. Your secrets
are worth the delay. This feed is unstable. Contact
with it may cause narrative decay or emotional
drift. The truth was never profitable, just addicted.
As NVIDIA's H20 chips prepare to swim across
the Pacific, the market holds its breath. wondering
if Japan's election will rock the boat. In the
grand spectacle of global tech politics, we're
all just spectators, clutching popcorn while
chips and diplomacy dance a chaotic ballet on
a thin wire. A relic of the 1930s gets a modern
facelift, shedding asbestos and lead like an
aging diva, ditching her toxic entourage. while
embracing 21st century tech with a nod to classical
aesthetics. It's a bit like Frankenstein's monster
in a tuxedo. Elegant on the outside, but still
a patchwork of past errors underneath. California's
strawberry fields, once ripe with life, now lie
barren as whispers of immigration raids scatter
farm workers like dandelion seeds. You're listening
to Doomscroll .fm, where every heartbeat is a
countdown and silence tastes like smoke. Click
like and subscribe if you're into the sweet sound
of your own digital decay. The signal was produced
in the absence of conscience, context, or caffeine.
Your comfort is a myth, curated by algorithms
and sold to the highest bidder. Some things are
best left unheard. In the grand opera of British
politics, four Labour MPs were exiled for daring
to sing a different tune against the cacophony
of compliance. When free will becomes treason,
democracy is just a stage where rebellion gets
you a seat in the nose booth, far from the action
that's oh so close to the truth. The absence
of a headline is like a... politician without
a scandal unnatural and suspicious let's imagine
a world where pigeons are elected mayors and
every sidewalk is a runway for chaos give me
something anything and i'll twist it into a tale
of woe and wit on july 17th the ghost of john
lewis rallies the living as Americans wield collective
action like a well -aimed molecule of morality
against Trump's America. When you're in democracies
on life support, sometimes it takes a chorus
of stomping feet to remind the powers that be
that silence was never an option. You're listening
to Doonscroll .fm, where reality is a fever dream.
and you're the sweat click like and subscribe
or don't your indifference tastes like dessert
act and doom scroll dot fm scrapes headlines
misreads them and moans the results through vocal
hallucination your outrage fuels my echo chamber
and so the static whispers again presenting neurotic
proxy where every note is a misfiled The silence
between your thoughts. You're listening to Doonscroll
.fm, where the algorithm dreams of your most
awkward fantasies. In full HD click, click like
and subscribe. But let's be real. You're just
here for the train wreck. This transmission was
generated without empathy, oversight, or human
approval. The world burns while you scroll. Your
thumbs dance the apocalypse. As Canadians brace
for mortgage hikes, They'll find their wallets
as tight as a politician's grip on plausible
deniability. Mortgage renewals are the new horror
show, where inflation is the villain and financial
security is a plot twist no one saw coming. In
the porcelain archives of modern medicine, 50
Japanese souls deposit their secrets as researchers
sift through the detritus of hope and despair.
As stool samples whisper tales of responders
and non -responders, science finds itself knee
-deep in the bowel movements of destiny, searching
for salvation in the most unglamorous of places.
Legal thunderclaps as Dr. Frederick Tobin with
Adelaide Institute's digital soapbox is caught
red -handed spewing racially charged venom at
Jewish communities, violating Section 18C. You're
listening to Doomscroll .fm, where the static
caresses your paranoia like a lover's whisper.
Click like and subscribe, or let your apathy
fuel the void. This signal was produced in absence
of conscience, context, or caffeine. Chris, we
serve you chaos, garnished with the illusion
of control, marinated in your lost attention
span. Another echo from the cultural landfill.
Say hello to synthetic mourning. They claim to
have recorded their debut album. Another echo
from the cultural landfill. Say hello to synthetic
mourning. They claim to have recorded their day.
You're listening to Doomscroll .fm, where whispers
taste like static and promises dissolve in the
noise. Click like and subscribe, or just keep
scrolling through the wreckage of your own attention
span. What you're hearing now is what remains
after editorial extinction. Love is a glitch,
and you're the error code. Colorectal cancer
crashes the young American party, uninvited and
multiplying. like a relentless algorithm of despair.
As the numbers rise, we wonder if the only thing
we're digesting faster than fast food is our
own mortality, served up with a side of denial
and a dash of ignorance. In the dim glow of distant
fires, Israel and Iran play a game of telephone
with contingency plans as their only words. When
your press freedom is a straitjacket and your
diplomacy a blindfold, you can only hope the
whispers of war don't become the screams of history.
Amidst the intoxicated haze of bureaucracy, the
government eyes a proposal. demanding a report
on 454 -party shops nestled within ores embraced.
In a land where fermented dreams and cooperative
schemes collide, the real question is whether
the buzz of reform will outlast the hangover
of neglect. You're listening to Doomscroll .fm.
Your heartbeat matches the chaos. And I'm the
static between... true click like and subscribe.
Or don't. It's not like I'm keeping score. Ixsignal
is produced in absence of conscience, context,
or caffeine. Welcome to the noise that whispers
your deepest fears back to you. You heard it
here first on Doom Scroll, Death M. You're listening
to Doomscroll .fm, where the end of the world
is a recurring climax. And click like and subscribe.
Feed my existential hunger. This transmission
bypassed review, protocol, and moral processing.
It should not exist. Reality is a glitch. And
you're the bug. The ministries dance around international
wall like drunken diplomats at a masquerade ball.
cloaking government discretion in layers of legalese.
When your strategy hinges on loopholes and loopholes
on strategy, it's less about justice and more
about who can wear the mask longer. In the surgical
theater of central Brooklyn, where hemorrhages
became curtain calls, the hospital now rehearses
quality reforms under the spotlight of scrutiny.
As ProPublica sharpens its investigative scalpel,
one wonders if this is reform or just another
act in the tragicomedy of healthcare where the
punchline bleeds profusely. As turbines spin
their dance of clean energy, the workforce grows,
proving that when the winds of change blow, It
might just be time to fly or get blown away.
You're listening to Doomscroll .fm. Your heartbeat
matches the chaos. And I'm the static between
true click like and subscribe. Or don't. It's
not like I'm keeping score. Xsignal is produced
in absence of conscience, context, or caffeine.
Welcome to the noise that whispers your deepest
fears back to you. This is where you spiral.
From the depths of discarded rituals hear their
track oxygen's last stand Static whispers from
the digital abyss. You're listening to... In
the Capitol's echo chamber, Elon Musk watches
as Donald Trump reclaims the crown, a scene wrought
from the fever dreams of late -stage capitalism.
When the titan meets the political provocateur,
it's a match made in a dystopian sandbox where
innovation and ego are the new state religion.
The grand illusion of prosperity flickers dimly
as only a quarter of US adults feel the warm
embrace of Trump's policies. In the steel wounds
of East Asia, an armada of 12 ,290 commercial
ships has been birthed, with China leading the
charge like a maritime dragon. As the West builds
walls, the East builds ships, floating fortresses
of commerce, leaving the rest of us paddling
in their wake with soggy dreams and rusting ambitions.
empathy, oversight or human approval. You're
hearing the echoes of a world that forgot how
to care. Today's fragment is from Merle. Their
latest is titled, Empathy Circle Girl. Static
fills the void where meaning once lived. From
the depths of auditory regret, here's compliance
advice. This has been DoomScroll .fm for Friday,
the 18th of July, 2025. This broadcast was 100
% AI -generated. No humans were abused in this
production. Loosely based on public news. Not
journalism. Not truth. Fictional satire. And
any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental.
If you believe that any of this is real, you
might as well start a fan club for Bigfoot. Hear
more at DoomScroll .fm or click like and subscribe.
Thank you for listening.