Even if the original artifact is lost, the sentiment is salvageable. Let’s translate it into a working manifesto for anyone who creates in small groups:
Lastly, a critical MOFOS in 2023 is the heightened focus on employee well-being and development. Organizations are recognizing that their people are their greatest assets. There's a growing investment in programs that support mental health, continuous learning, and career growth. This not only aids in retaining top talent but also in fostering a positive and productive work culture. Companies are realizing that supporting their employees' well-being and professional development is essential for long-term success.
Unlike 2024 and 2025, “2023 work” still meant human-first creation. Most “2023 work” was made before Midjourney v6 and GPT-4 Turbo. It was sweaty, flawed, and real. To call something “2023 work” today is to praise its analogue soul.
The third mofo doesn't look at the thumbnail twice. They don't run a test audience. They type the caption with zero punctuation (all lowercase, chaotic energy) and they slap the "Post" button like they are starting a lawnmower.
If it fails? Who cares. You are the 3 mofos. You already started the next piece of work. lets post it 3 mofos 2023 work
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.
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.
And that’s enough.
Want to channel the energy? Here’s a 5-step framework: Even if the original artifact is lost, the
Step 1: Find your two other mofos. Not 1. Not 4. Two others who tolerate your 11 PM voice notes and won’t laugh at your first draft.
Step 2: Set a “post it” deadline within 7 days. 2023 work wasn’t about long timelines. It was about rapid deployment. Give yourselves a drop-dead publish date.
Step 3: Name your collective. “The Three Mofos” or “Mofos & Co.” — silly names remove ego.
Step 4: Create one piece of “work.” A zine. A 3-minute short. A single song. A functional web toy. A PDF. Size doesn’t matter; finished does. The third mofo doesn't look at the thumbnail twice
Step 5: Post it. Publicly. 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]).”
Every few months, a string of words appears in search analytics that stops a writer cold. “Lets post it 3 mofos 2023 work” is one such phrase. It has the rhythm of a rallying cry, the grammar of a text message sent at 2 AM, and the energy of three friends who just finished something imperfect but refuse to let it rot in a Google Drive folder.
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: low-stakes, high-enthusiasm creative collaboration in the post-TikTok, post-pandemic era.
This article is an attempt to reverse-engineer what “lets post it 3 mofos 2023 work” actually refers to, and more importantly, why it should be a philosophy for creators everywhere.