I'm sure someone somewhere can explain to me that this "means something", but it can't ever change the fact that this is almost unwatchable. Avant-garde for sure, but such a chaotic sensory assault that I felt like I had injected a million drunk college girls straight into my veins. I wound up feeling more annoyed than interested.
("3.5") True, most of it consists of garish post-internetsy gimmicks which you'll like or not, but there are other, more interesting things here. The poet in me (that is what I am, after all) really likes the flarfy jargon these splendid beings utter to you, to one another, to nobody. They're like humanoid spam-proteins existing in some liminal fringe, outside the noosphere. It's fun to spot Plaza and Shawkat, too.