Fuckism: Mouth full of big words, brain full of static. Congrats, you’re a polished parrot
There’s always that one loud motherfucker in the room.
The self-declared genius.
The guy who can’t shut up—spitting buzzwords like he’s the guru of the hour.
God forbid he’s not heard.
He’ll drown the silence in nonsense just to prove he exists.
But when it’s time for action?
Crickets.
Because parrots don’t build—they just repeat.
Yeah, you know this dude.
He’s in your office, your feed, maybe even your friend circle.
He’s the polished turd of the tribe.
All shine, no spine.
Big words, small moves.
So here’s the Max Ren truth:
Don’t let these clowns dirty your shoes. Watch your step.
Parrots are loud—but they ain’t deep. And they sure as hell ain’t dangerous.
