My blog!!!!

Fuck this. No seriously—fuck this entire site, fuck the soft-ass admin team hiding behind their little “community guidelines,” and fuck whoever flagged my post like a coward instead of commenting like a real human being.

I wake up, I check my email, and what do I see? Some automated dickhead message telling me I “violated terms of service.” Oh really? What part? The part where I dared to speak my mind? The part where I didn’t shove my thoughts through the same bland, neutered filter everyone else uses like good little internet sheep?

Fuck you. I built this blog from NOTHING. I’ve been writing on here since before half of you even knew what a keyboard was. While you were playing Flash games and jerking off to stolen LimeWire porn, I was HERE, putting in work—writing real shit, ranting, reviewing, talking about music, politics, dumb internet drama, whatever the hell I wanted because this used to be a place where you could.

But not anymore. No, now it’s “Watch your tone,” “That language isn’t appropriate,” “This might make someone uncomfortable.” GOOD. BE uncomfortable. That’s what real expression does. It punches you in the face. It doesn’t tuck you in and read you bedtime stories.

You want a sterilized internet? Go jerk off to Facebook. Go double tap some influencer’s staged-ass beach photo and pretend that’s a personality. But don’t come here and act surprised when someone with a spine actually has something to say.

I’m not deleting shit. You hear me? You take my blog down, I’ll make five more. You IP ban me? I’ll VPN in from a fucking toaster if I have to. You will NOT silence me. Not now. Not ever.

You picked the wrong bastard to piss off.

See you in the next post.

— [username redacted because I KNOW you're watching, you petty little rats]