
Originally Posted by
FatFreddy
Dear posters:
Die.
No, seriously. This is a rant, and it’s about you, personally. You, personally, are a ****, because statistics indicate there is an almost 100% certainty that you have either shitposted, or wanted to commit a shitposterey, or knowingly assisted or defended someone who committed a crime of bad posting, or mocked a poster who was trolled. And no, I’m not dropping links to tell you what you should damn well already know.
Here is what you know: that you are a vile and depraved chunk of flesh that doesn’t matter to the world. You exist in a reality you perpetuate in which value is all relative, in which everything is placed into a hierarchy, which in the end means that nothing has inherent value. You are literally worthless.
And you are willing to do it so long as someone is worth less. So part of the way you deal with that is to try to make forumses worth less. You whine and whinge and cry about the Big Brother Corporations or Big Brother Government or Big Brother China-taking-all-our-jobs or Big Brother *******-who-beat-you-up-in-seventh-grade or Big Brother who-raped-you, but in the end you lap it up and pass the buck so that you can have someone underneath your own pyramid quote. You only care about your old cyno effect in the pecking order, so spare me the crocodile tears.
I used to pity you. I used to feel sorry for you. I used to think most of you got a bad rap [as in hip-hop, not bad rep as in reputation] and were probably misunderstood.
But idiots are trolled everyday and we don’t go on murdering sprees. We don’t hunt Yuto down and torture him to death. Fat basement dwellers aren’t known for picking the wings off flies or frying ants to death on the sidewalk [actually they are]. Posters on forums are trolled en masse and then cry for mods, and I’m expected to swallow your sob story about having a bad posting style because you never knew your father and that’s why you and your friends got dragged into 4chan and enjoying My Little Pony.
On a daily basis you, individually and in concert with other forum warriors, actively attempt to destroy the lives of a class of people who have, for the most part, never done anything to you. Who have been mocked and trolled and PM'ed with pictures of buttes and forced to endure a wordfilter you claim to be hilarious LOL or despair over your miserable antics in the emo thread , and have for the most part still managed to find it in their hearts to never stop posting. Who rarely troll you back. Who almost never laugh at or ridicule you. Who usually only harm themselves or their keyboard when suffering from deep shitposting trauma-related psychoses. We suffer, daily, and you laugh at us, and tell us it’s our fault.
Then you tell us you can’t help it. It’s your nature. It’s how you post. It’s how you flaunt your rhetoric skills. It’s how you prove yourselves.
All of which leads me to believe that either you’re deluding yourselves about the reality of your posting OR that you really and truly are fundamentally flawed beings. It’s amazing how many of your academic fields and governance – from evolutionary biology, to psychology, to criminal lawl – are constantly trying to convince me of the latter. Posters are human beings, but I’m not sure what you are.
If the world was the tiniest bit just, or fair, or merciful, or righteous, I would be out there with a knife or a gun hunting you down. I would offer you blowjobs for forty dollars behind the building and then dispatch you quickly in quiet solitude. I would be kinder than you, because I would only go after Torothin. I would be kinder than you, because I would do it quickly and not read you your posts first. I would be kinder than you, because I wouldn’t call you names or demean you or psychologically terrorize you while I was doing it. You would be released from the psychotic prison of your message board, and there would be one less troll out there threatening my emo megathread, my MLP megathread, my babe thread, and my self.
You wouldn’t know who I was. I smile at you in that elevator. I dress inconspicuously. I call you “sir” if you’re older. I’m the one who serves you coffee at the drive-thru window, and you crack jokes to try to get me to smile. I’m the one who cleans your office, who you greet by first name and a smile with that little half-wave. I’m the one who tells you to turn your head to the side and cough. I could poison you, I could go through your desk drawer and destroy your finances, I could kill you on the operating table. I could do things to you. You don’t know. I’m your next door neighbor, your secretary, your sister, your wife. I’m the loud fat nerd in your office you dismiss out of hand. I’m the young poli sci student from downstairs you laught at because I play internet spaceships all night and write terrible lolus rants at day, while juggling a cold slice of pizza in one hand and a can of root beer in the other (that's right, I've learned to write my posts with my terribly unwashed penis).
It’s ironic, really – you try to subvert, and corrupt, and infect, and distort, and mangle, and destroy our lives because you aren’t even sure you have one. It’s obvious that you don’t deserve one.
You aren’t scared of me, but maybe you should be. Because I know what you are. And I know how this will end.
You think this sounds violent? Don’t even start; I know what you look at when you masturbate.
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