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I don’t know if you know this, but when you have a brain tumor you have highs and lows.
Sometimes, you feel like you’re channeling the voice of God himself, sometimes you feel like a rat in a corner some fat old woman is poking with a broom.
Today is the latter.
Oh, you’ll get your memes alright. You’ll get ’em real good.
But tomorrow.
There’s always tomorrow.
Today, we’re just chilling.
We’re just chilling, drinking tequila, stroking a Colt revolver that was given to me as a gift from a very important person I won’t name, looking at a bunch of faggot charts, wondering what kind of man I could have become if my parents weren’t divorced.
We’re going to have to do a segment about how we are all ruined and destroyed people because our parents are divorced. We have mangled souls. You sound like a faggot saying it, so I hope you don’t say it, but you know it’s true and I’ll say it.
It should have made us into angry, bloodthirsty ninja warriors. Instead, it made us into worms, so drunk we have to close one eye to read our stupid fake money charts.
I will tell you this: someone is going to have to pay for my ruined life.
And yours too, dear brother and close parasocial friend.
We are going to ensure that someone – and by that, specifically, I mean the Jews – pays the price.
I’m charging the Jews interest on my personal suffering, and the scars that are on my soul for having grown up in a nightmare realm of plastic and porno.
I don’t want anything from the advertisements.
What I want is revenge.
