I’m thirty-years-old, I’ve been on this site since the late-Bush administration, and not once have the moderators called me a faggot. Not even the janitors whom cleanse this place.

Do you know what kind of failure you have to be where even the jannies won’t call you a faggot? It’s a kind of low that, once sunk to, you cannot return from. A failure that means you are so incompetent, so utterly useless, you literally cannot do anything in life… not even make poo-poo. I haven’t been able to poo since this revelation, meine Freunde. I try and try and try, but it refuses to come out. I’m in so much pain, it feels like a dry dirt clod stabbing me from all sides of it. I can barely make pee-pee these days. And when I do, my pee has long turned amber red.

This is the end of me, mis amigas. I thought the pandemic would be the one to finish me, but no: ’twas constipation that did the job. I want you all to know that I love you, my wonderful faggots. You’re all such amazing souls – I cannot help but wish you the best. Alas, fate has disregarded me. The jannies’ refusal to call me a “big-willied faggot who enjoys homosex procreate with the opposite sex” has doomed me (and I fear others as well). Such cruel fates for which we’re fatal to. And if I can’t ask to be relieved of my suffering, I at least hope to ask others be relieved of it themselves. Is that too much to ask for? I ree to jannies and the mods in the void, but I never hear a ree back.

Farewell, prietenii mei. ’twas fun, but had to end sooner-or-later.