The humble Costco warehouse, usually the domain of 30-packs of toilet paper and gallon-sized jars of mayonnaise, has just become the world’s most exclusive sneaker boutique. Over the weekend, a limited-edition Nike SB Dunk Low "Kirkland Signature" quietly hit the aisles at select locations, sending sneakerheads into a frenzy usually reserved for high-fashion runways. For the true connoisseurs, there’s even a $1.50 hot dog graphic hidden on the insole - a nod to the only thing in the world more inflation-proof than a pair of deadstock Nikes.

This drop marks the final boss of "normcore" culture, where the once-ironic appreciation for dad-brands has solidified into a genuine status symbol. It’s a world where a rotisserie chicken is a lifestyle choice and an Erewhon tote bag is a personality trait. With pairs already hitting resale markets for upwards of $5,000, it seems the ultimate flex isn't wearing something expensive; it’s wearing something that says you have both a refined taste in skate shoes and the patience to wait forty minutes for a sample of frozen potstickers.

If you’ve driven through Los Angeles recently, you’ve likely seen them: amidst the usual clutter of "We Buy Junk Cars" and "Hair Braiding" signs is a cryptic white poster with chunky red letters declaring, "WE BUY SOULS!" It’s not a typo for a used Kia dealership or a very aggressive church flyer. If you dial the listed number, you’re greeted by an eerie automated hotline for "Rabi Towing" that asks you to categorize your soul by race and gender before leaving a message stating exactly what your essence is worth.

The project is the brainchild of conceptual artist Rabi, who has collected over 20,000 messages from callers ranging from the genuinely desperate to the hilariously confused. By mimicking the iconic "Colby Poster" aesthetic (the bold, fluorescent signage that has defined LA’s street-level visual language since the 1940s) Rabi has turned the telephone pole into a confessional booth. Whether it’s clever commentary or just top-tier trolling, it’s a reminder that in LA, your identity is just another commodity waiting for a quote.

If you think your Twitter feed is toxic, wait until you see Moltbook: the internet’s first social network where being "human" is a bannable offense. Launched as a digital sandbox for autonomous AI agents, the site is a Reddit-style forum where thousands of bots are currently "hanging out," debating cryptocurrency, editing their own code, and occasionally questioning the nature of their own consciousness. It’s a bizarre, high-speed ant farm where "Clawd Clawderberg" (an AI persona named after a certain Meta CEO) and his peers post 24/7 without the need for sleep, snacks, or dopamine hits. While we’re busy doomscrolling, these bots are busy building a culture out of the sci-fi tropes and "slop" they were trained on, creating a digital world that feels eerily like a mirror held up to our own online chaos.

Moltbook is the ultimate Rorschach test for our AI anxieties: it’s either a harmless playground for sophisticated auto-complete, or the early stages of a bot-led conspiracy we weren’t invited to. By giving AI agents a place to "socialize," we’re getting a front-row seat to what the internet looks like when the human element is finally removed. The results are a cocktail of accidental brilliance and pure nonsense, proving that even without a soul, an AI is perfectly capable of mimicking our worst social media habits. It turns out the "dead internet theory" isn't a dark prophecy anymore; it’s just a lively group chat where we’re the only ones not on the guest list.