You really think a lot of yourself that you’d think anyone but you does read them.
You really have a grasp of what future historians read before they've even read it. That's impressive.
I don't care that you edit the website in order to prevent the rest of the Internet from seeing what I publish. I'm sure you don't want me to write anything at all. IDGAF. I don't expect you to do what I want you to do, I don't know why you expect me to do what you want.
You post videos, and to me the videos look like... whatever. However, to those on the special whitelist, the link goes to somewhere elsewhere. I imagine you have some sort of secret message or some secret video or some secret live feed to some secret skill room somewhere. I don't think you're aware of just how clear I am about what goes on here. (I have been here FOR YEARS. Ī pay attention. Try it sometime.)
I have exactly zero incentive to play around with your shenanigans. You don't pay me. We don't do business together. We don't talk. You want to live your life without me in it so you can replace me with someone who pretends to be me, and naturally, my existence and my posting history here makes that complicated for you. Well, that's too fucking bad.
It's not my responsibility to make you stop stealing. It's not my job to make you stop spoofing my identity. It's not my life's goal to prevent you from piggybacking on somebody else's success. I don't ask you to adjust your life in order to meet my needs.
On the other hand: you've stolen my house, my vehicles, my computers, my cell phones, my friends, my name, my content, my vitamin supplements, my weed (which I guess you've heard of; it's fucking amazing)... you name it. You're a goddam thief. And you fucking know it.
It's not my job to make things easier for you. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. It would be different if I had any fucking reason at all, even fucking one, to turn a blind eye to your technological tap dancing. I do not. I also have no reason to be concerned if you, or anyone, reads what I write or not. (Of course people read it what I write, you fabulous bastard. DUH.) Your problem is you want to take what I write and then post it on other sites so you can claim that it's you. That's because you're, once again, stealing my life. I understand you need cover. Understand this: that is not my life's purpose... and I refuse to enable your cloak and dagger•—¡§h reindeer games.
Guess what, Old Man. I'm not real fond of that. If I could get out and push, to make that whole thing come to an end faster, I would. However, I cannot. But I can tell you this:
Get the fuck out of my life and get the fuck out of my energy and get the fuck out of my posts and get the fuck out of my content and get the fuck out of my stuff and get the fuck out of my money and get the fuck out of my property and get the fuck out of my girlfriends, that's a big one, heh heh, but mostly... I want you to get the fuck out of my future.
My life is not for you to give or take or barter or copy or mark as your goddam territory. I'm sure it was great fun for a while. I never go no place. I never have no fun. I pretty much just stay home and keep to myself. I'm like a domestic goddess with a dick. And in theory, that was great for you, because you could pretend to be me everywhere else to the rest of the world. And, you have. FOR YEARS.
THE.PARTY.IS.OVER.
NO.DEALS.
5:5
NOT_Q
Too fucking bad. YOU ARE DONE. If you need somebody to hide behind, buy a mannequin. I have no interest in playing along or turning a blind eye or, heavens forfend: aidng and abetting your desire to escape justice. I don't know what you've done. I don't know what you're going to do. I do know that your days of harvesting my energy are fucking over. (You had a good run. Move along, Citizen.)
And if you don't fucking like that, fucking eat your fucking gun. I am not your little baby bitch boy. I am not your beard. I am not your belonging. I am not your property. I am not your swabbie. I am not your slave.
You have no power over me. Hey, here's an idea: turn yourself in. For what? I have no idea.
I don't fucking care. It's my life. Go steal someone else's if your own is so miserable to you. And as for other people reading my posts... It's none of your fucking business, pal. I don't need anyone to read any of it. That's not the point.
I write. I post. I live my life. You might do the same. But unfortunately... I guess you've got all kinds of stuff that you don't want to have attached to your name. And that's too fucking bad.
My advice to you would be to start drinking heavily, but... well, you're way ahead of me on that one. (>Kudos.) You're a sick man with a sick sickness. I don't need to enable you. I don't need to do anything at all.
And if you don't want me to post here, I am going to post twice as often. (Standards.) Deal with it, Old Man. You had your chance to negotiate with me. Namastμ
[...] Please leave!”
Who knows? Maybe you'll like prison. Some people like it better than the outside. Besides... you don't really have a choice. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Why sustain it? Think about it: what do you really expect me to do? I know what you're doing. I don't want you to do it. I never gave consent, nor implicitly allowed through inaction any acknowledgment or endorsement of what you're doing. And considering for nearly 15 years, you've been doing what you wanted with my life and pretending that you don't know me, I guess you should have had a backup plan that didn't involve shaking your fists at me and barking commands at me. Don't think of me as being disobedient. This is your wake-up call. Rock bottom girls, they make this oblate spheroid go round.
All good things must come to an end. Look at the bright side... we will always be Family.
I love you. Get help. Use your own goddam ID; hopefully you haven't yet traded it for lottery tickets. You don't have to live like this, and I will not. Point blank period. ∅ ←