Description:

Khayyam delivers a precise calculation of humanity's impending doom (68.7% fucked, to be exact) while skewering our collective addiction to apocalypse porn. A hilarious, profane, and oddly hopeful examination of a species texting while driving toward oblivion.

Spice Index: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

Khayyam doesn't just critique society—he performs verbal arson on our collective delusions. His acidic wit dissolves comfortable lies because we're too numb for subtlety. When civilization's juggling chainsaws while scrolling Instagram, only a verbal sledgehammer will do. His hot yoga balls metaphors aren't crude—they're medicinal. Your doctor gives you sugar-coated pills; Khayyam makes you snort them off reality's dirty bathroom counter.