I think it has someting to do with allowing NSFW content. Many instances do not want to host NSFW content, as it is too much effort to moderate. You should look for an instance where NSFW content is not restricted (I believe lemmy.world allows NSFW content) and try to create the community there.
I use selfhost.de (they register domains via united-domains for you) who are specialized on self-hosting in Germany and offer a wide variety of options on how to connect a domain using dynamic DNS.
Oh wow, a topic for which I'm somewhat of an expert.
Get a box of cornbread mix. Dump it in a bowl. Add milk. Stir and then consume with a spoon. If you want some violence to your shits then mix a considerable amount of crushed red pepper before the milk while it's still a dry powder. The milk will help dull the impact of the CRP as you're eating it but not as it's passing, and passing fast.
With this method you should be able to make a load of poop that floats a bit and will pile up above the water line, significantly increasing the stench you leave in the bathroom.
The amateur enhancement is to also slam down a number of Fibercon tablets, but if you want to amp this up to pro-level defecation then go look in the supplements section for some stuff called "chitosan". It's like ground up shrimp and crustacean shell, and it bonds to fats so instead of being absorbed they pass through you. That plus a bunch of fatty stuff from other suggestions you'll be receiving will take your adventure to the next level. This plus swapping in heavy whipping cream for the cornbread concoction then you'll probably have bowel movements so horrible you'll have to register them with some kind of government agency.
Good luck and may your toilet paper be the good stuff.
That's peak Pizza for me! Especially with both pepperoni and sucuk (turkish garlic salami that's basically available in every Pizza delivery place in Germany).
My theory on why people don’t like pineapple on pizza is that most of them pair it with sweet ham, so they lose the full effect of the spicy/sweet/salty combo. Pineapple on pizza is amazing, hawaiian pizza is an abberant form that should be removed off menus everywhere and replaced with the true god-king: The PPJ.
I figured this out. There’s a girl/guy there this person doesn’t want to take a shit around because OP is a notoriously stinky pooper. Everyone can go home now.
Yeah, I have a couple of domains registered with Google, and I remember people saying that it was likely they would shut down the service the way they have killed so many other products after people started to rely on them. At this point it wouldn’t surprise me if they canned Gmail.
This sounds like you’re on the hajj and don’t want to use the crappy bathrooms and wait till you’re in the hotel to poop. I would say drink lots of water, have some nuts and dates, drink some of the juices, stay away from rice and meat dishes. Enjoy the experience while you’re there!
Sherlock emerges from the shadows of his contemplation, his penetrating gaze alight with a glimmer of the mind's razor-edged acuity, dancing over the hushed assembly.
"Ah, a conundrum indeed! But the game is afoot, my good fellows. Let us untangle this web of mystery step by step."
He begins to pace, his long fingers steepled in front of him, his sharp gaze distant.
"Firstly, we must examine the peculiar constraints Mizu has imposed upon himself. He wishes to abstain from the natural act of defecation for three days, intending to consume food that occupies minimal space, while also reducing perspiration. He will stay in a well-equipped tent, with access to adequate sanitation should the need arise, yet he insists he will resist such necessity."
He stops, turning sharply on his heel to face the crowd, the dramatic swish of his coat filling the silence.
"Despite these restrictions, Mizu explicitly denies embarking on a hiking trip or attempting to smuggle contraband. Yet he is engaged in a journey of some kind, returning to his place of origin before embarking on the same route again."
He taps his forehead lightly, his gaze thoughtful.
"The desire to limit perspiration indicates a need to control body odor and moisture - potentially to avoid detection or discomfort. The same logic may apply to his endeavor to restrict bowel movement. This points to a need to stay confined in a small, potentially shared, space for extended periods."
He turns away, pacing once more as he traces the threads of the narrative.
"His choice of diet - minimal and compact - suggests a limited ability to dispose of waste. This, coupled with the significant investment in a large, air-conditioned tent, speaks of a measure of affluence, yet a necessity to live in a manner that does not align with this status."
He spins around, eyes gleaming with realization.
"Consider the pattern of his journey. It is repeated, yet with a sojourn at his original location - a pause that allows for the resumption of normal bodily function."
He points at the crowd, his voice ringing out with certainty.
"Mizu, my dear audience, is not embarking on a mere trip. He is engaging in a performance, a role that demands these unusual conditions. But what performance could that be? Think, ladies and gentlemen, of an endeavor that requires one to remain in a compact, enclosed space for days, sharing it perhaps with others, yet intermittently returning to a home base."
His voice drops to a hush, his eyes intense.
"A role that demands a significant investment in a temporary abode but necessitates confinement in close quarters. A role where control of bodily functions and odors becomes vital. And what is that role, you ask?"
He raises his arms, his voice echoing dramatically in the silence.
"Mizu, ladies and gentlemen, is partaking in a competitive reality television show or a similar endeavor. A program that demands participants to live in close proximity, often in limited spaces like a train compartment or a shared tent. This necessitates careful control over body functions to minimize discomfort. The mid-journey return to his origin represents a break in the filming schedule, allowing him to revert to his normal physiological routines before starting the second leg of the journey."
He sweeps his arm out, his eyes twinkling with a triumphant gleam.
"There you have it, my dear fellows. A peculiar request, indeed, but quite understandable under the unforgiving lens of reality television. Not as mundane as a hiking trip, not as nefarious as smuggling, but every bit as demanding."
Hercule Poirot sat in his armchair, eyebrow raised as he read the peculiar Lemmy comment before him. His mustache twitched in amusement at the dramatic flair with which the analysis was presented. He admired the cleverness and relevance to the topic, but couldn't shake a feeling of familiarity, as if he'd encountered a similar style of writing before.
The detective leaned back, his mind busy with the details concerning the case brought to him by an anonymous client. The client had claimed that the comment was generated by an LLM, an algorithmic language model, and sought Poirot's expertise in evaluating the comment's authenticity. It was a clever observation, but Poirot wondered if such a deduction could truly be made based on the content alone.
With a thoughtful stroke of his mustache, Poirot dissected the essence of the comment. He noted the grandiose language, the crafted phrases, and the lack of personal touch. It seemed constructed solely to impress, rather than convey genuine insight.
Poirot's eyes scanned the room, landing on a shelf of books. He remembered a similar style of writing he'd come across in a novel written by a pretentious author. He retrieved the book, finding a passage that matched the tone of the Lemmy comment.
"Ah, mon ami," Poirot muttered, smiling wryly. "It seems our LLM has not proven as original or interesting as they would have us believe."
Poirot focused on the motive behind such an endeavor. Why would someone generate a comment that mimicked an author's style? Perhaps an aspiring writer sought attention or validation.
With a triumphant glint, Poirot concluded that the motive behind the LLM's imitation was simply a lack of creativity. The individual had chosen to emulate a well-known author's style, believing it would garner attention.
"It seems, mon ami, that even in writing, some are tempted to take shortcuts," Poirot mused, shaking his head. "But true brilliance lies not in imitation, but in the unique voice and perspective one brings to the table."
With that, Hercule Poirot closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. He had solved the case of the Lemmy comment, revealing it to be an uninspiring endeavor. Poirot hoped that the aspiring writer behind the LLM would find their own voice and path of genuine creativity.
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