If you are reading this, if you are going to read this, don't be offended by what I am about to say. I want you to take a step back and realize that you're fucking stupid, and there's nothing wrong with that.

For years, I was led to believe that my stupidity was just a form of "misguided talent" and I "just asn't able to apply myself" or any other number of terms and phrases that my boomer parents and teachers created to kindly refrain from labeling my talent devoid ass a "retard." I was a retard, but even worse was that it kept anyone from investing in me, as daytime shit-advice givers like Oprah, duped dumb ass boomers into believing that we're all special.

At age twenty-nine, after taking eight grams of magic mushrooms, I saw myself for who I really was, a talent devoid idiot, and I tried to commit suicide before the literal, actual God intervened. Since that time, over the last five years, I've learned that not only was I a talentless hack who'd been lied to, but so is/was everyone else, and so are so many that we'd consider "smart." I used the opportunity as a lesson, and taught myself organic farming, began getting reacquainted with my dwindling German speaking skills, and started reading everything I could and I still feel inadequate and dumb, as I should!

For whatever reason, beginning with the Boomers, people were led to believe they were special, but there is yet to be a generation after my grandparents generation, that has acheived something great on a mass scale, or that has bent the knee and said, "we can come together as a society and make things better." So it should be considered ironic that the boomers love to accuse everyone else of being "snowflakes" when they created literal middleman jobs, and button-mashing gigs, so that they could import illegals and pay them depressed wages to undercut their kids, while they themselves got paid unsustainable sumbs of money to sit on their worthless asses, and tell each other they were special snowflakes.

You would have thought the idea of being special and believing oneself to be smart because you were told so, would've peaked with my generation, but sadly it's even worse with the Zoomers, of whom I love and hope to encourage and help, something we should be doing to break a cycle of perpetual, intergenerational warfare that started with those filthy, lazy, entitled, drug addled "children of the sixties, man!" I love the little Zoomers because they will endure the same struggles me and my generation endured, except worse. I also want to shove my cock in a Zoomer girls ass and go to town.

That being said, I recently read a Reddit rant written by a thirty eight year old trannny (I'm not using your fantasty LARP terms, so get fucked) which sparked this post. It was actually a hard read because of how long, entitled, and self-unaware it was, and made me realize just how badly so many stupid people have been led to believe they're important despite having no talents. Even worse was that Redditors gave serious responses instead of just saying to this person, "Don't you think that maybe no one cares and you shouldn't be worried about it and you're a talentless hack that the world forgot?"

Every single thing this user claimed they were was about their political beliefs, and each one was so utterly counter-culture, that they ultimately fell into no actual political spectrum at all. It was akin to an article I read where a girl became a "trans-man" and was so convincing, that no one could tell. She eventually realized that no one cared, or paid attention to her, so she told everyone at work, then wrote an article about it, and still, no one cared. This person was screaming to the Reddit void, but for what? They wanted an answer. But to what? Nothing! But this is everyone!

Who are you to have an opinion that anyone should care about? What happened to modesty? Why does anyone need to know about your pronouns? Seriously. Do you think someone is going to say, "Whoa, that's crazy, your pronouns are pee/poop?" Why do I care that you're conservative and don't support abortion? Why should I give the slightest fuck about an irrelevant wedge issue like that? Feminism is one of those poisons where thirty five year old Millennial women who missed the boat, tell everyone about themselves, despite no one asking. Conservatism is some morbidly obese redneck at a local diner whining about illegal immigrants he/she him/herself imported so he/she could get a new glorified hotdog peddler built in a once nice part of town in order to get more fucking money.

Roman stability and the emperorship began deteriorating when everyone began to believe themselves a leader, and each person thought their opinion relevant, leading to the citizens perpetually killing each emperor in quick succession akin to how our constitutional republic is being chipped away by retards voting and the scourge of capitalist-democracy with a side of weird, hybrid gay-fascism-commie-corporatism as seen with BLM and Antifa. To exacerbate the issue, we have retard globalists who believe that having an IQ above 150 is good. That's horrible! What could be worse than socially retarded dipshits trying to get rid of all cultures and borders because they dropped too much acid in some secret back room?

Take my friend Rudy. Rudy is easily one of the dumbest idiots I know, but he can repair any car on earth because his 86 IQ having ass sits around and reads auto manuals all day, and you know what? I like listening to his stupid, low IQ ass talk, because he is too dumb to be caught up in politics that are too advanced for his simple brain. He has interesting shit to say. If the world ended, would I want some idiot globalist with an IQ of 150, who only knows theoretical physics, to be by my side? Absolutely not. You know why? Because these idiots run the world, and the world is crumbling. Great job Mister and Misses high IQ, you're so dumb that you don't know what social nuance is, so you're bashing your head against a wall, trying to figure out why nothing works. It's because you're so smart, you though automobiles were powered by thoughts, and not internal combustion engines. There is literally no room for a person with a 150+ IQ in the apocalypse, because they will serve no purpose.

We live in a culture of people who want to answer every question, and we feel stupid if we don't, but sometimes you just don't know the answer. This was a habit I had to break. If someone asked me how the thorascinating mihr on a ganglian reticulum was formed, I'd search for an answer and inevitably give one despite not even knowing what those words meant.

Sometimes I feel like I'm the only stupid person on earth, or the only one who realized it. I pass by mega retards every day who converse with other mega retards about advanced issues that are way above both their mental pay grade, and my mental pay grade, and I am astounded. We're stupid, you're stupid, stop pretending you're going to make a difference with your unoriginal and stupid opinion.

If you've read this far, take a step back, and realize that you're fucking stupid, and there's nothing wrong with that. Man... you fucking embarrass me. Yeah, YOU!

What a scourge. Please move west of the San Andreas fault and wait for the big one so we don't have to deal with you anymore when you sink into the ocean forever.

I've also been buying up hundreds of copies of Dahl's original works, along with guns I think the ATF will ban in the future, so I'm capitalizing on this leftist stupidity. Anybody [who's legally allowed to own a gun and a book] need an uncensored book or gun, hmu, I'm ya boi!

Kevin Spacey was trying to wipe the entrails of AT LEAST seven of what he liked to refer to as "little bottoms" off of his torture room wall after watching Silence of the Lambs for the millionth time, with his wiener tucked securely between his legs.

"Pawwwwwwwwwwwpers!" He purred to himself, as he repeated lines from the movie.

"F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F!" He was very upset that Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell had been caught so many years ago because they peddled premium "little bottoms."

"FUCK!" He shouted angrily, tossing a brain soaked rag onto the cold, drippy concrete.

"POLICE! FREEZE KANYE WEST!" Kevin Spacey screamed like that one tuba guy meme on YouTube that's titled something like "tuba guy screams."

It was okay though, because it was only the LAPD, basically a police force that only arrests you if "the tribe" decides you're no longer lucrative to their greedy ways of their beloved lord Mammon.

"YOU SCARED ME!" Kevin Spacey yanked his bathrobe shut I'm embarrassment.

"Oh shit... Kevin... we're so sorry. We were here to ruin Kanye West's life because the ***'* told us we had to since he called out Harley Pasternak for murdering a bunch of celebrities and proved it." It was too late, though. There was an entire camera crew standing behind the LAPD officers, and they were live.

*

Kevin Spacey was in deep shit for the second time for killing underaged boys. The whole nation had seen it, and there really was nothing that could be done to save him.

"I..." he was standing behind a podium, ready to give a statement.

"I'm." He was through.

"I'M GAY!" The whole world gasped, but it wasn't enough to save him this time around.

"LOVE IS LOVE!" He quickly and intelligently corrected course.

The global collective of trans-toddlers jumped onto their gender-sexually ambiguous Big Wheels made for non-conforming kids of all of the queerest age groups, now called "amBiguous Wheels" and rode around in the streets with the latest ridiculous pariah-freak flag in three new colors rolled out on February 15, 2023 by the ***'*, the flags of which their single mom's had obviously paid for because toddlers have no idea what's going on.

Trustworthy men dressed as female demons began vigorously bouncing wee tot-tots on their knees at libraries and absconded with several when no one was looking.

Grown men paid an 11 year old boy to do a normal twerk style ass shaking butt dance in the middle of a public street in Manhattan, while he was adorned in the tightest little Daisy Dukes, and several newly aborted babies were resuscitated before being subsequently dumped into the asshole of a red hot, bronze, brazen bull with "Egel Hazahav" written in Hebrew letters on the side.

Back in the White House, Joe Biden was being aggressively "fecally dredged" by his Secret Service "DD" AKA Diaper Detail (they were commonly teased and called Doo-doo Daddies), while Kevin Spacey occupied the desk at the Oval Office as Biden's entire ****** cabinet wringed their ****** hands just out of sight of the cameras, a cabinet loyal only to one nation, the same nation, and it sure as hell wasn't the US, yaknowhumsayin ;).

"Love... is... love..." everyone was happy. :)

I need volunteers to help set up my organic farm in the Florida panhandle. Don't be shy.

Went to the loony bin for the 6th or 7th time for about 8 to 12 days after mixing alcohol and blow with my antipsychotics and waking up out of a three day fog, starving, and with foreign objects inserted in "no-no places." Only got out two days ago. I can't really be sure how long I was there because time wasn't real.

While I was there, I got clean for the five millionth time since I started drinking at age 12, which was 21 years ago. This time is the last time.

I haven't JO'd since then and because of it, my testosterone is dripping with its own testosterone and people are afraid to even approach me because I've been back on my farm swinging an axe and my muscles are getting rock hard again and I'm too much fucking man to handle right now. I'm also covered in blood and smell like urine.

Today I set up a tarp between two trees to put a hammock underneath and cut some logs to build a ladder up an oak tree so I can spy on my neighbors to see if there's any smoking hot barely legal sl*ts over there (probably aren't because I'm in kinda the middle of nowhere but I've been hearing some ho's nearby, just gotta triangulate their location).

I'm gonna get a drone so I can spy on the local loser ass small town police because they gave me a ticket, and I'm going to report their speed traps to Google maps so they can't catch anyone accidentally going up a hill with their foot on the accelerator and then going down the other side of the hill and inadvertently going over the speed limit because that's how physics works, just like they did to me (yeah, you bitches ain't gettin' away with that shit!).

I cut down more trees to start my organic farm, and I'm going to order bamboo and English ivy to build sound barriers because I-10 is so close, but it's okay because I found out that this part of Florida, exactly where I'm at, is going to have a Walmart soon and they're already buying nearby land quietly and paying rednecks up to $4 million dollars. They haven't come knocking on my tent door yet, so I'm still holding out for hope. Imagine how much coke I can buy. Coke literally bought me this land because it taught me that the only way to make money is to dangerously gamble everything you have, because it will pay off, and it did.

I saw a cute little tuxedo cat, and really wanted it, she looked like she might have kittens nearby so I might go snag one. There's a John boat behind a gas station near a putrid retention pond where I saw the cat and no one seems to have claimed it, and I'm hypothetically planning on hypothetically acquisitioning it by hypothetically using a drone with thermal imaging, a hypothetical handheld, homemade EMP for hypothetical trail cams, and your mom's grotesque fatbody to distract the local police while I hypothetically drag a fucking 12 foot John boat through the woods. The plans were laid long ago and the die is cast... but only hypothetically.

I got some cinder blocks from a neighbor so I can build a stove, threw out 3 month old trash, and borrowed a ladder.

Pretty progressive day tbh.

AND COME ON DOWN (Or up, if you're in South Florida!) AND HELP STOP EVIL MONOCROPPING AND MASS COMMERCIAL AGRICULTURE BY VOLUNTEERING!

These two poems always reminded me of my roughest times and what it truly felt like to be out in the cold, harsh world during tough moments in my life. The first one evokes a feeling of what it means to feel disconnected from the ones you love the most because of the sicknesses of the modern world and how it turned me into a jaded individual that simply gave up over and over, and the second reminds me of the extremes I went to just to get out of my own personal hell in order to get back home, even if it only meant getting back home in my mind.

Snippet from Imru al-Qais:

Oh long night, dawn will come, but will be no brighter without my love.

You are a wonder, with stars held up as by ropes of hemp to a solid rock."

At other times, I have filled a leather water-bag of my people and entered the desert, and trod its empty wastes while the wolf howled like a gambler whose family starves.

I said to the wolf, "You gather as little wealth, as little prosperity as I. What either of us gains he gives away. So do we remain thin."

Cremation of Sam McGee:

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.

He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;

Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;

It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,

And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:

"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.

Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;

So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,

With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;

And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;

And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;

Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;

Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;

The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;

And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;

And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;

But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;

I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.

I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.

Five years ago you called off our engagement and left me alone with a barely furnished apartment, a dog and massive debt, and told me that God had sent you a vision and said we couldn't date anymore. I told you that in five years time, you'd be fat, single, and childless. You told me otherwise.

Yesterday I finally got to rub it in your wrinkly, fat fucking face, with your stretch fit jeans that hold your sagging belly flab in, you aged out, femcel wall hitter!

Yeah, I'm bitter... but guess what... I'm right, and that feels good.

OH! This is pertinent because I'm "reminding" her, which "remind" was the challenge, so it's not ALL bitterness.

"Just hold that happy thought, Peter..." Peter's attorney, one Mister Shmul Farbfinkelstein, held up a single finger before picking up his gold plated, pigtail style, early 90s m&m's phone that he'd had retrofitted so as to not be a piece of novelty junk, but instead a secured landline.

"Uh... okay, not a problem." It was a problem. Shmul had been blowing off his concerns about his case all morning.

"Uh huh... yeah... okay..." Shmul picked up an unfished pastrami on rye that had been sitting on his desk and began to bite into it.

"SHE'S ALIVE?!" Suddenly Mister Farbfinkelstein exploded into a fit of rage, shouting in Yiddish in the hopes that Peter might not understand him. The sandwich went flying into the air and landed somewhere on the floor, disintegrating into its many pieces.

Little did he know, however, that Peter spoke impeccable German, a language not at all removed from Yiddish, save for some Hebrew terms here and there, terms such as schmuck, schmegeckel, and schmegoikin, all terms for a pimmel, a schlange or a schwanz.

"I told you to have her disassembled and tossed into the fucking Hudson, you FICHEN SCWANZKOPF!" There was a pause as Peter raised an eyebrow like that one gnome meme.

"No you schmuck, I didn't tell you to let her out of the trunk of your car to run around New York as if she was your best, good friend, you worthless..." he readjusted his yarmulke just as it showed his bald spot.

"...okay, listen, you know where she is. Hit up Shlomo Dinkelferber's old Misyer Potato-latke-head lookin' self, and have him toss her in a tub of acid..." he paused. "Uh huh... okay... alright." He paced a bit.

"Alright, I've got some stupid schmuck client here, and I'm trying to waste his time to run up the clock so he pays me more... okay... alright... and bring me a new pastrami later, I broke mine because you're a stupid idiot!"

"Sorry, where were we?" He asked Peter after slamming the phone down and sitting across from him.

"Uhm... I was just talking about how I didn't murder that girl and feed her to sharks... but like..." Peter's demeanor changed. "If you're into that sort of thing???" Peter gave him a confidently inquisitive look.

"Ah, sprechst du Judischer Deutsch?"

"Nein, normal Deutsch, aber es ist nicht so anders."

"Welcome to the team brother!" Mr. Farbfinkelstein extended his hand, Peter extended his, then Mr. Farbfinkelstein pulled out a pistol and blew Peter's head off.

"Here we go again!" He said rolling his eyes, as he picked up his secured landline, gold plated, 90s m&m phone and made a call.

"Thank you so much!" She said to me.

"Your beatyful!" I replied. "Ur a angle."

"Thanks. How sweet of you." I waited for her to tell me she wanted to meet and... ya know... ;)

"Can we meet and... ya know..." It didn't send because OnlyFans didn't allow words like "meet" to be used in private conversation with pornstars.

"13T's M34t!$!$!$! Know what I mean? :D" I said meat, but in 1337, so she'd know what my intentions were. Clever, I no. ;)

"Can you please give me a tip?" It made me so angry. We'd talked about everything and that's what you want from me?!

"Oh, I gotta tip! ;)" get it?

"Okay, well please send it." She was really starting to piss me off. After all we'd been through.

"Hide your address better... AMBER WILLIAMS WHO LIVES AT 4719 W. SYCAMORE LN. IN TAMPA FLORIDA!"

There was a long silence. She'd "seen" my message. I hated her. I just wanted to go to prison for life because my-my, she was so ¡HOT!

"I'm Cummings for you."

*Seen...*

"Well?"

*typing*

"I'm scared." She finally replied.

"I want 2 send u flowers :D :). "

"Please don't send me flowers."