Find two friends. Make something ugly and honest. Export it. Upload it. And before you click “Post,” whisper (or shout): “Let’s post it, three mofos. This is our 2023 work.” Even if the calendar says 2026. Even if nobody watches. Especially then.
If you typed this into a search engine hoping to find a specific video, podcast episode, or meme from 2023 — you might have come up empty. But that doesn’t mean the phrase is meaningless. On the contrary, it is a perfect time capsule of a specific internet micro-culture: lets post it 3 mofos 2023 work
It was the last message in a Discord thread before hitting “Publish.” It was the sticky note on a cheap mic stand. It was the code comment no one else will read. Find two friends
A zine. A 3-minute short. A single song. A functional web toy. A PDF. Size doesn’t matter; finished does. Upload it
Not a private link. Not a Google Doc with comment access. Public. On a real platform (YouTube, Itch.io, Substack, SoundCloud). Then send the link to each other with the subject line: “Let’s post it, 3 mofos — 2023 work (but actually [current year]).” Part 5: The Legacy – What Happens to Forgotten Internet Phrases? In ten years, “lets post it 3 mofos 2023 work” will be a digital fossil. Linguists might study it as an example of post-ironic productive slang . Archivists might never find the original. But for the three (or however many) people who originally typed it, it was real.
“The Three Mofos” or “Mofos & Co.” — silly names remove ego.
Now go. Post it.