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Welcome, seeker of truth! Sit down. Make yourself uncomfortable. It’s time you finally met the two goblins who have been steering your life’s flaming clown car into a ditch since Day One.

Their names?
Sir Dopamine of the Shiny Distractions
and
Duchess Validation von Needy McApprovalpants.

(They’re both here, by the way. They’re looking at you. Judging your posture.)

Meet Sir Dopamine: The Rabid Goblin of Instant Gratification

Sir Dopamine is a frantic little beast wearing a wizard hat made of expired receipts. His primary job is to yell “WHEEEEEEEE” every time something vaguely pleasurable appears within a 50-mile radius. He is the reason you can’t focus for longer than the lifespan of a mayfly.

Whenever you try to be a responsible adult, like filing taxes or flossing, Sir Dopamine leaps out from behind your amygdala, waving sparklers, shouting:

“BORING! Let’s look up photos of otters wearing hats instead!”

(And you do it. You weak, beautiful fool.)

He’s the reason you clicked on a “Which Type of Bread Are You Based on Your Zodiac Sign?” quiz instead of answering work emails.
He’s the reason you suddenly NEED a Bluetooth-enabled tea kettle at 3:17 a.m.
He’s currently whispering, “Check your phone. Maybe someone liked your meme,” while you’re reading this.

He’s relentless. He’s victorious. He smells vaguely of Skittles and shame.

Enter Duchess Validation: The Passive-Aggressive Monarch of Your Self-Esteem

Now, let us bow (but not too deeply, or she’ll judge you) before Duchess Validation, resplendent in her gown stitched from Yelp reviews and middle school report cards.

She’s perched dramatically on a throne made entirely of “likes,” “good jobs,” and “I’m proud of you, but why aren’t you married yet?” speeches from distant relatives.
Her power is infinite.
Her insecurity is bottomless.
Her favorite hobby? Sneaking into your brain at night and whispering:

“Everyone is thinking about that stupid thing you said in 2013.”

(They’re not. But she needs you to believe it. It’s her cardio.)

Duchess Validation runs your wardrobe choices, your Instagram captions, your decision not to sing loudly in public even though you absolutely could have NAILED that high note.

Every time you almost express a unique opinion, she kicks you in the shin and shouts:

“WHAT WILL THEY THINK?!?”

They being… well, everyone. Strangers. Ghosts. Imaginary Victorian judges with tiny spectacles.

Meanwhile, The Goblins Are Heckling You. Yes, YOU.

Sir Dopamine is currently tapping his tiny goblin foot and muttering:

“Bet you won’t even finish this article. Coward. Probably gonna get distracted by a sandwich or a slightly shiny rock.”

Duchess Validation is fanning herself dramatically and snorting:

“Hope you’re reading this correctly. Don’t mess it up. Somebody somewhere might be silently judging your INTERNAL READING VOICE.”

(Don’t panic. They’re wrong. Probably.)

The Cosmic Truth: You’re Being Played Like a Kazoo

Here you were, thinking you were a majestic free-thinking unicorn, galloping across the plains of existence. Nope.
You’re a kazoo.
Being played by two goblins who can’t even agree on whether wearing socks to bed is acceptable behavior.

Sir Dopamine: “We should start seventeen new hobbies RIGHT NOW.”
Duchess Validation: “No! Only hobbies that make you look effortlessly impressive on LinkedIn!”
Sir Dopamine: “What if we become a magician??”
Duchess Validation: “Only if we’re an aesthetic magician with a carefully curated Instagram presence.”

And there you are, somewhere in between, impulse-purchasing a $400 deck of artisan tarot cards you will never, ever learn to use.

Finale: Accept the Goblins. Love the Goblins. Blame the Goblins.

The good news is you can’t actually win.
You can only acknowledge that you are a glorified meat puppet for two squabbling goblin overlords who spend their days throwing glitter, anxiety, and Pop-Tarts at your soul.

Smile. Nod. Let them fight over whether you should buy that ridiculous sequined jacket you just found online (you should).

And when you feel lost, just take a deep breath, look inward, and remind yourself:

“I am not a failure. I am simply being aggressively micromanaged by two mythological idiots with no long-term planning skills.”

Carry on, you magnificent, manipulated goblin vessel. 🌟

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