There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old's life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs.

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A warning.

Started by altered, March 24, 2024, 11:06:25 AM

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Everyone you know and love will die unhoused and sick.

You will see the rug pulled out from under you and you will be helpless. A lifetime of surviving in the end times will not be enough. You will understand hopelessness.

There will be no release for you, no matter how important you are to others.

If you are particularly fortunate, you will dance the tightrope of precarity to its very outer reaches, and you will have no one left for you as the next step is swallowed by void. You might see "small business owners" and other low-grade parasites falling into the great darkness with you. It won't help.

It's too late to change this. You had your chances three years ago. Now they know they can get away with whatever they want. They're lying to your face and telling everyone else that they're your friend. They are no longer pretending to be in opposition to the raving fascists on the "other side". The two man con is exposed, and they know it doesn't matter anymore.

Everyone you know and love will die abandoned and miserable, of plague and jackboots and starvation outside of Whole Foods. Every last one of them.

Me, those like me, we will all be forgotten in ten years. Don't resolve to remember -- you'll have more important matters to attend to then. Everyone will.
"I am that worst of all type of criminal...I cannot bring myself to do what you tell me, because you told me."

There's over 100 of us in this meat-suit. You'd think it runs like a ship, but it's more like a hundred and ten angry ghosts having an old-school QuakeWorld tournament, three people desperately trying to make sure the gamers don't go hungry or soil themselves, and the Facilities manager weeping in the corner as the garbage piles high.