Back pain My back hurts every day I go into work and my boss has sexual relations with me. I love it. I don't enjoy being forced to be an object without rights or self respect, but I love the sense of purpose being an object without rights or self respect has given me. There's a work ethic that you just can't learn without being bent over a desk and railed for ten hours straight. After my boss fucks me, he gives me tools like a pick-axe and a shovel and points to a hole outside and then tells me to dig for the next four hours until a lunch break. I work so hard digging that hole and when it's finally time for lunch I savor each bite of the complimentary PB&J that gets deducted out of my salary. The hard work just makes it taste that much better, and the fact that I don't need to pay for it shows that I am appreciated. Once lunch is finished, my boss fucks me again, then he spits on me and calls me names like "pig" "cattle" "idiot" "slave" "moron" and then smiles at me in a loving, authority figure way, and then points back at the hole I dug earlier in the day, and says, "Go fill up that hole. I don't care if it takes you working overtime to get it filled up, I want it filled up before you go home. If you don't get that hole filled up by the time I come in tomorrow, you're fired. I don't care if it takes you all night and you have to take crack to stay up and get it all done, I want that ugly hole that you made to be gone!" Then my boss leaves. This happens every day. I love it. I've learned what it means to be an adult. No more childish dreams or hobbies. Just me and my career. My back hurts and I have STDs, but those are just the price of being a productive member of society. Without people like me, people like my boss could not thrive and our communities would quickly fall into disarray. There's a natural order in the world, a pecking order, and I'm completely fine being pecked at physically, sexually, and mentally until the day I die.

Return to walmart What have I been doing lately? Mostly, crying. Not being able to express myself is leading me down a dark path of vitamin D and fish oil abuse alongside lucid daydreams where i'm unable to speak to people I care about every day. Now that I have been exiled to my own private hell, I can no longer hide from my inadequacies and silly self contradictions that make me scream rather than laugh. I scream at least four times but usually at least seven times a day. In the coming months I plan on overcoming my mental woes via writing free word associations on pieces of paper and shouting them at people at my local supermarket. The resulting interactions with scared children, angry adults, and violent authorities will closely mirror what my life online has been for the past couple years. Somebody may even think I'm homeless and give me money, like a real life version of patreon but more profitable because I won't report the income to any authorities.

Island There is a fat, blubbering, screaming man sitting naked in the center of a 30x30 otherwise completely empty warehouse room with concrete floors. It's dusk and there is a bit of light that is coming through the glass windows that line all sides of the warehouse. Your eyes dart around for exits as if you knew the layout. There aren't any. You're not really sure how you got here, you might even be dreaming, but you can't really focus on that right now because the fat man's crying is so loud that it keeps interrupting your thoughts. He is absolutely disgusting to look at, but you can't help notice how long his hair has gotten and the almost humorous manner in which his bulbous form looks as he sits in a yogi-like lotus position and cries. All of the sudden, the fat, blubbering, screaming man stops wailing. He starts laughing, quietly at first and then a little louder. His laughs get louder and louder and louder until they fill the room with an almost maniacal aura of terror that would make you scared were it not for the undercurrent of pathetic despair that you can feel permeate the whole warehouse. This laughing goes on and on, completely uncontrolled. Then, the laughters stops. The fat man starts to cry again, this time more sorrowful than anything you have ever heard in your life. There is a tinge of resignedness and self-awareness to this sadness, something that was lacking before. There is sweat dripping from this disgusting fat man's body, pooling around him, slowly turning him into and island in an ocean of his own sorrow. He looks at you, and in his sullen, sunken-in eyes partially obscured by rolls of face fat, you can see what looks to be the eyes of a frightened child who doesn't know what to do. You don't know what to do.

Cool Online Older Brother Do you know all those things that people told you not to do that you were curious about? Well, I'm here to tell you that it's alright to do all those things and they're not actually bad for you. Somehow, it turns out that all the antisocial and dangerous and unhealthy things I do are actually not antisocial and not dangerous and not unhealthy, but rather justified and relatively safe and relatively healthy. It's just a matter of perspective, allow me to explain. There is a general consensus in the first world that smoking can cause lung cancer. It seems to be common sense that putting anything that isn't air into your lungs is probably a recipe for tempting fate in many different ways. Smoking is just a bad idea for you, all the squares say. I, the twenty something burnout on the internet who has managed to amass a small cult following by repetitiously complaining about things that I don't understand and have no ability to change, have actually found out that smoking is good for you. Smoking raises testosterone levels, kind of, according to a few pubmed studies that I read. They want us weak and infertile so they can sell us junk and toys, because there is no way to monetize excess testosterone. I had started smoking - because it looked cool and I was trying to impress women - before I realized that it was actually good for you and that I should completely ignore lung cancer or other long term problems that habitual cigarette use causes. I'm really glad I found out that cigarettes are good for you, because I'm addicted to nicotine and MAOIs now. Listen to me kid, I know quite a few things about the world. I'm not like successful people who follow the rules. I try and fail to be successful like normal people and I'm fundamentally an unhappy failure, so I know how the world really works. Funnily enough, my ideal world is essentially a 1950s black and white child's sitcom America found only on TV, where I would be a normal person and have a normal job and have normal kids and have a normal career and be normal, but being unable to adjust to reality and unable to adapt how I live and what I do in a productive manner means that I'm actually smarter than everybody else and you should look up to me. I may have never done anything original or interesting in my life, and my "area of expertise" may as well be various stitched together composites of loner loser characters I've seen in movies and idolized, but I know a thing or two about being a success and winning in life. That's why I'm respected by a small cult of kids with no life experience yet and pretty much nobody else. Another thing you should do is read the books of dysfunctional people. They're a bit different than me because they managed to actually do things, even though those things were almost always failures or destructive, but they have a similar worldview as me. In fact, I've stolen all my thoughts and perspectives from the dysfunctional books I've read. The worse things somebody has done to innocent people, the more I feel compelled to spend my time pouring over their words. Perhaps the crazy losers of the world are actually the sane winners? I'm not a crazy loser, but I identify with crazy losers and base my personality off crazy losers. Don't listen to your parents, your friends, or your peers. Don't listen to the people who are successful in the ways you want to be successful. Don't be optimistic, hopeful, happy, or upbeat in life. Don't be carefree. Rely on me. Be a realist. Stick to listening to what I say. Everybody else is stupid, even the people who have what you want and have successfully done the things that you hope to do in the future. Reality sucks and life isn't fair and that's why I'm miserable and that's why you should be miserable too. Start smoking cigarettes. Start reading lookism. Start pouring over graphs that talk about pollution and plastics. Be careful not to touch receipts. Look for hidden messages in media. Study psychology and relationship patterns until you hate women and don't find any pleasure in talking to anybody. My life is horrible and it's my fault. I'm being honest with you. I'm the real deal, which is why I'm constantly miserable and talk like a B-Movie antihero. Please respect me. Please don't leave me. I'm so lonely.

You Will Have Nothing That You Want Thirsty but not thirsty enough to [---- ---- ---- ------ -- ---]. Supposed to write today. Won't happen. I have ideas as I turn the shower knob. They vanish as I soap up my body. I'll write nothing. Nothing for a year and that's fine. Ten years, twenty years, until I'm dead, who fucking cares. If you want something you can't have it. It's when you remove desire that things come. Actually no— if you don't want something you cant have it either. You just can't have anything. Our God feasts upon suffering. Our world is a rich banquet.

Grind People in the Philippines who live in sewers are happier than the average american because they can fucking give up. There's no way you'll ever have money there. They got that system from the Spanish where two guys in suits own all the land. They just flog the other sixty million people for not picking sugar fast enough while their wives get plastic surgery. It's a sort of double edged dilemma to be given opportunity. You're haunted by this idea that if you just work a little harder you might make it. If you could just grind out 1% more. That dream is a tool to keep you alive in the crab bucket. Crank up a stock owned by someone who fucking inherited it. You will never have enough money to just relax. But they make you believe you might. The thing they do in hell is make you think you might get out.

Running Thud. Thud. Thud. Panting, panting, sweat, thud. Pain in knee. Pain in hip. Sore. Tired. Want to die. Feel so sweaty. Breathing heavy. Ankle hurts. All this and more can be yours if you take up the wonderful hobby known as running. Yes, that's right, the thing people do when they're late somewhere or being chased by a deranged person or animal that is trying to attack them is now a "sport." You can spend hundreds of dollars on drinks, shirts, socks, undergarments, earbuds, music players, braces, hair-bands, blood pressure gages, smart watches, fitness programs, and don't forget the shoes needed to "properly participate" in this sport. Best part is that running takes hours of your time and does not benefit you and instead starts to break down the joints in your body and turn you into a mentally deranged individual (seriously google it) once you do anything more than casual semi regular jogging. Not satisfied with running for three hours underneath the heat in short shorts while listening to audio books and wishing you were dead? Don't worry, there are "competitions" and "fun runs" available to hang out with other like minded mentally ill middle class white women with too much time on their hands and no meaningful relationships or hobbies. Don't like the sweaty stickly people you rub shoulders with for the first ten minutes of the 5k you're running? Don't worry, you'll never see any of them again outside of yearly races. That means you have no incentive to make any meaningful relationships and it's for the best because they all live far away from you anyway and they have no personality traits other than running for no real reason. Running lets you get from point A to point B. It's like driving or being driven somewhere but without any real purpose, because if you're running from point A to point B, the only reason you're running to point B is so you can turn around and then back to point A. It is a complete waste of time and makes absolutely no sense to invest time into this sickening hobby. The only proper amount of running is a fifteen to thirty minute jog every few days to serve as maintenance for your heart and circulation as well as a small and doable commitment to set the inertia in your personal life on a positive course. Running any longer than that betrays a broken modulation center in the hippocampus, top scientists (Gyro PhD) have declared. There's nothing wrong with being physically fit. You have my permission to do that and I will not scorn you for doing so, but somebody needs to start driving by races with baseball bats and breaking the kneecaps of people who run in marathons. It is such a waste of time and energy. Just raise money for breast cancer then spend the time you would have spent running doing something more worthwhile, like playing mobile gacha games or drinking at a casino. There is something wrong with reality when people feel comfortable advertising that they run in circles as a sport and nobody thinks it's abnormal.

Reducto Ad Absurdism Dude you just did a reducto ad absurdism. You just did a diddly womp foofooropolous. I cannot believe you just pulled a reverse hat trick inverted triangle rope around trees swing tire. Total insanity, you just flibbity blopped all over the place with a total compounded gish gallop, which is obviously related to the dunning krueger law of third thermodynamic integrated cohesive systems theory as established in Berlin in 1842. You have just revealed your incompetence and utter lack regarding an obscure field of niche inanities, which has now proven your whole point void. Everybody is laughing at you. Haha, we are all laughing at you. Have you ever read Lischenstein? Bengburghblatz? Spinoza? Smith? Doe? Adams? Do you even know how to read? Are you familiar with the forums I debate on every single day? I thought not. You are not fit to shine my boots after this horrid display. You are so ignorant of the rinshten fliwotzifitz hypothesis that it makes me laugh. Who did you train under, an idiot? Have you even trained? Where are your certification? What is your breeding? What is your haplogroup? You are so uneducated. Where is your college degree? What professors have you had tea with? What..

Gore Is So Passe Gore videos are so boring. Nowadays you can see heads chopped off, limbs wrended, stomachs stabbed, and corpses flushed at the click of a button. For a cool customer they don't mean anything. Just another log on the fire of depravity. No heart rate change here. No sweat dripping from the forehead as we gaze upon the death of an innocent victim through our screens. We at Total Equality Now are apex human beings who lack feeling, it's all so mundane to us. We've never loved another human being and we never will. We can't feel empathy and we can't feel hate. All we feel is hungry for three meals a day and a never ending sex drive that boggles the mind and would befuddle neurotypicals like you, the reader. Gore is meaningless who cares not us haha

It 1sWhat1t1s It is what it is. That's just a fact. It isn't what it isn't or else it wouldn't be what it was which is what it is which is why it is what it is. It is what it was and it will be what it will be which is what it is and will be so it will be what it's being which is quite straight forward. If it isn't what it isn't and is what it will be and isn't what it was then what it wasn't was at least partially what it is or else what it is would be what it wasn't and as we just said it wasn't what it is. All of this is kind of beating around the bush with regards to what it is, which is what it is, hence the phrase "it is what it is." If it was what it is however, instead of not being what it was now that it is what it is, and alongside the fact that it was what it is the additional requirement of it being what it will be, that would mean that it is unchanging and what was is and will be what it was which is what it is. It is what it is doesn't give us enough information about what it was or what it will be at first glance, but once you start to think of things as iterations of now then you will see that the statement "it is what it is" applies equally to the past and future as well as the present, because the past is just prior now and the future is just now to come, so if it is always it in the now but it appears to be changing from the past to the future, then we are not really observing the it but rather something that the it is doing and confusing the its most visible properties but not the actual it. If the point of this essay does not seem to be staying the same, that means that you are not getting what it is and..

Transcribed conversation with myself So for the last like two years my dad has been kind of progressively getting more vegetable.. as uh as alzheimers encroaches further and further into his mind.. and that's changed my perception of him. It's almost done like a 180. From someone who was very strong, forceful like... willful in.. getting shit done to someone who was frail, weak, and was pitiful and not worthy of my time or my respect.. only really worthy of my sadness and.. and my anger. But in doing that I was just, I didn't realize how detrimental how, how fucked it is to.. to change the way that you perceive someone who really is 50% of you. But this logic extends to friends as well. Honor your friends for being your friends. Because if you dishonor or denigrate then, internally, as being perhaps not good enough for your friendship what you're saying is that the part of you that resonates with them isnt good enough and needs to be excised from.. your whole. But it doesnt work like that you have to go the other way you have to... you have to believe in them in a way. You have to love them. And in doing so.. when i talk about self love but.. it.. its just a crappy word for something thats much more than love.. when you exercise self love its.. its a strengthening process. It's a process of discovering what your fundamental will is. It's knowledge.. it's the knowledge power thing like in Kafka's Castle.. even though I barely read it. Honor the family... dont dwell on your parents weakness and the fact that they're slowly calcifying becoming less and less able... to deal with the world. See them as beings that have made it so far, and have been able to make you. It's the whole fucking you know Lion King shit isnt it.. he lives in you hey oh

Writing A Book Hey man, I'm writing a book. Isn't that so cool? Once I write this book I'm going to get so rich and famous from it. Finally everybody will understand how important and smart I am. Finally people will stop making fun of me. Finally everybody will realize that I'm not an obnoxious weirdo with no redeeming value who is in love with the jumbled word salad that bounces around in his brain. The best part about writing a book is that it's really hard to do. It's very complicated, but luckily I've read lots of books to I know how to write really well. My vocabulary is so huge. I'm pretty much all the good writers I've ever read, just by virtue of reading them. I'm also a bit of a philosopher myself, and know a lot about pretty much every subject. I know so much and I'm so smart and finally everybody will buy my book and stop making fun of me. I'll be a cool kid once my book comes out. I have never really done much in my real life except for college and a small amount of traveling, but I have read a lot of cool stories. I'm a big fan of Hunter S Thompson and kind of see myself as a younger version of him, although I haven't done much besides smoke weed and take acid once. Life to me is like one big adventure, so I figured "Hey, why not give this whole writing thing a shot? Who knows, I might make the next great American novel!" And here I am, being an artist and writing a book. A lot of people call me verbose and a dweeb, but that's just because they're not literary geniuses such as many famous authors and myself. I've got what it takes to become a famous writer because I am special. All my relatives told me I'm special, all my literature and writing professors gave me lots of compliments on assignments, and all the books I like are for smart people such as myself. I usually sit down at the local coffee shop and type out a little bit of this and a little bit of that while sipping on some piping hot coffee. The baristas there know my order by heart. It's a bit long so I won't list it now, but don't worry in my book I've self inserted a lot of things about myself as kind of easter eggs for anybody who wants to get to know me. This book is going to be a masterpiece so I'm putting a lot of meta themes into it to make it even deeper. Yeah, it's my first book, but I've read enough that I'm really confident that what I make is going to be profound. I just know that I'm destined for success and I really like the vibe I'm feeling whenever I'm writing. I feel like an author. I feel like somebody who matters. I feel like I deserve respect and I'm going to get that respect once everybody sees how brilliant of a writer I am. There's no way that it's not the case, I just know it.

Feeling well? Hey there, just calling to check up on you. Just wanted to make sure you're doing well. Just wanted to make sure you haven't killed yourself or somebody else. Haha, just kidding, but seriously, we'd like to take up some of your time and talk to you for free for maybe ten or fifteen minutes or maybe an hour, because we don't respect our own time and we don't care about your time. You are taking your medicine, right? We know it has been a year and nothing has happened since the incident, but you are taking your anti-psychotic medication, right? Of course you're being honest when you tell us you are, because your family all says you're taking the medicine, you mention easily found side effects of taking the medication, and you couldn't just look at us and act nicely and lie right too our faces, right? We're happy you're getting your life back on track and we feel responsible for this. After all, where would you be if we hadn't made you take psychological surveys that always came back perfect and made you sit in a room for an hour a week talking to somebody about your lack of stress or worry about anything to pass the time. We're here to help, we are helping you, and it's all made possible by you filling out forms, you taking medicine that causes Parkinsons, you talking about your feelings that you don't actually have, and you learning to delve into your feelings. You're obviously disabled. Just keep on pretending that we help anything and make our lives easy and we'll be here as long as you want to serve as an emotional support blanket for friends and family who don't know anything that's going on, don't actually know how to think for themselves, and have the mental depth of spoiled children who think they live in a Disney movie where they deserve everything nice in the world instead of seeing everything as a life and death struggle and people as parasites stealing time and energy from anybody that lets them.

Sorry Babe Sorry babe, I can't have sex with you now. I'm busy writing an essay for my book. Yes, that's right, I'm a famous individual writing a book that will be highly successful and turn me into a multi-millionaire. I understand that this makes you want to have sex with me even more, but I am simply too busy to possibly impregnate you and I refuse to wear protection. I am not currently able to engage in coitus with you or almost anyone else for that matter yes there are quite a few beautiful and rich women I would and have made exceptions for because I am too busy writing a stunning work of art as we speak. No, do not disrobe in front of me, it will not distract me and will just serve to make me more cruel towards you in the future when my schedule is more available. Perhaps that is what you want, isn't it? You always did strike me as somewhat of a deviant. After all, what is a woman in your situation, young, rich, famous, highly sought after by nearly all men, to do in order to achieve a state of cognitive deviation and thus physical arousal? Nothing but go after that which is just out of reach: my affection. I understand that my emotional and mental distance is like catnip to you, and I pity you because no woman alive can withstand my boyish charm, physical appeal, and mental agility, but I am simply too busy to attend to you in the way that a woman like yourself deserves. I refuse to let you make physical contact with me, and I am recording this whole encounter as we speak, because I don't want to be framed by you in an effort to repair your fragile psyche. I understand that you are not used to being denied. I understand that every woman on earth wishes for me to impregnate them, but I refuse to do that at this time. There is simply too much on my plate to..

Compassion There was a time when some of us cared about the tailspin. Here, now, not a single person cares about it. It happens again tomorrow. It hurts to care. Our eyes face forward or the boots come down. The police are not our friends but then again they never were. Now they are military-grade bullies, before they were only arrogant high school washups. Consensus says the people prefer the untethered bullying kind of police, simply because it's nice to feel some form of compassion, regardless of its harsh approach. They prefer the tough love instead of none at all. The consensus is never released to the people. We didn't reach this nightmare by telling the truth.

I got an applebees gift card once Across from my table is a family that can't seem to stop smiling. I should be appreciative of this, a wholesome family, braving the hellscape with teeth out throughout, but I'm not. The reason i'm not is because of the father and his stupid decision to wear what he perceives as "nice dinner attire" to a fucking Applebees. A [--- ----- ----- -- --- - ------ --- ----- ----- - -- -----] topped off with white New Balances. This is his sunday best, on wednesday. The wife and children are wearing generally normal clothes. Why am I annoyed? I'm not. I wouldn't say annoyed, more so intrigued while still death gripping a dull butter knife. He's clearly dressed up for this, I know full well it's not his usual attire. He dressed up to pay absurd prices for food that is nearly advertised as "Yes, we fucking microwave it, what are you going to say? Don't microwave it? We already did." It's not only this but the fact that only two minutes down this very road is a family owned restaurant with much cheaper food. Food that is cooked using real ovens and real stoves. But no, Jerry Russo from the local Honda dealership took his family to this disgusting, chemical-ridden death trap. Applebees translates to Auschwitz. This sick fuck has growing children to feed and he's shoving microwaved chicken bites into their smiling mouths. They trusted him. Their mother trusted him. I trusted him. The waitress ,if you could even call her that much, nears the table to take his order. "I'd like the Ribeye steak, well done," he says with confidence so thick I can only grab the butter knife tighter, I can only wonder where he gets it from. I am sick. I can't hear the waitress reply, too soft-spoken, but I imagine she asks him how he'd like his steak microwaved. Microwave the sides too, please. Microwave the check before you bring it out. I'll make sure to leave a big tip if you promise to microwave it and charge fourteen ninety-nine for the burned remains. Double that, add an appetizer and we've got a commercial-worthy deal on our hands. Their hands, I mean. I don't want Applebee's blood on my hands. The industrial revolution was a disaster; Applebee's is proof of this alone. Microwaved martinis are two for five all night but you are only allowed to have three. The foods they serve cold? Microwaved and then left to chill in an industrial freezer that hasn't been cleaned since the 90s.

Return to nature How sad is it to desire such a thing? A system that was not that long ago a completely standard way of life. There are pieces and places of the world where it is still so —though to enter them as a tainted modern man, that's a cruel poison.

it's 2:11 AM' up all night with the 211s again
lie and steal as i travel through the void
never pay for shit cuz i'm not even really employed
it's hard to cope with life so empty of joy
so i always run to safety at the bottom of a tall boy

steel reserve
yeah buddy, that's what i deserve
i'm talkin steel reserve
catch me passed out at the curb
8.1 abv
yeah man that's what it's gotta be
i need the high gravity
cuz that's all that's left for me

Grubbin out Hello friends, and welcome back to our youtube channel. Be sure to hit like and subscribe, sit back, and relax. We're about to take a deep dish dive into some fantastic foods found all across this crazy kooky country. Are you sitting still? Are you strapped in? Hopefully you are! You're about to watch me eating food! It looks delicious to you, doesn't it? I'm going to get paid because of ads you watch and you're going to watch this video of me eating food! I hope you like Philly Cheesesteaks, because I'm about to eat a Philly Cheesesteak. I'm about to shove this food in my mouth then describe what it's like to shove this food in my mouth. You'll get a mental hint of a taste, maybe (not really though), and you'll think back of all the good times you have associated with this Philly Cheesesteak i'm eating in front of you. I'll eat this food once, then go somewhere else and eat something else, then do this same process again and again and again. You'll keep on spending your time watching videos of me eating. It's easier than eating food yourself, and cheaper if you don't count the time you're spending. Whatever you do, please don't count the time you're spending watching me eat food. I'm good at doing this and will keep on doing this for years and maybe even decades. Over time, hundreds of thousands of people will watch each of my videos. I'll pay my editor minimum wage and he'll spend an hour editing and then uploading each ten minute video. Then people I will never meet, but I genuinely care about, will spend a total of years of time on each video. I will then get paid because I get lots of money in exchange for people spending their time watching advertisements. I'm getting rich off eating food and sucking up your time and energy and selling it to advertisers. I don't just do this through youtube videos of me eating, I do this through having comment sections on my news sites, discussion sections on my websites, group chats on my chatting software, and pretty much all large scale things that work through advertising. Make sure to buy a t-shirt in order to support this channel ! I am a vampire, and the amount of harm I cause is huge but slightly disguised. People don't understand what's being taken from them because most people are incapable of connecting any vaguely abstract dots. I'm taking your time and selling it to people who don't care about you, but I definitely care about you. The bigger I get and the more money I make, the more I care about you. I've never done anything for anybody else in my whole life but I care about you. Keep giving your time to me, keep letting me sell your attention to the highest bidder, so you can watch me eat.

Honest Work What is honest work? Selling poisonous food to poisoned people? Selling useless shit to useless retards? Selling things to people that then sell those things too?

Size Eleven Something has been bugging me about my writing — the font is in size twelve. This looks fine for most sorts of communications, but I need my creations to have a specific feeling of value that just can't be achieved with a font that big. Because of this, I have made the decision to change all my writing from now onward to a font-size of eleven. I may even go down to font size ten or even nine or eight if I feel like it, but that would be more out of the sick sense of amusement I would get knowing that there would be people with poor eyesight who would have a hard time reading anything I create rather than any functional utility, so I will resist this urge as long as possible. You might be chuckling to yourself, thinking I am not aware that this change in font-size means that I need to do more writing in order to fill up the same number of pages, but I can assure you that I am aware of this reality. In fact, this is another aspect to why I'm doing what I'm doing: I want to provide more value and content that requires more work in the same form factor that my loyal readers have grown to know and love. The consumer just wins with this new setup, and I love that. Yes, I will work harder and create more art per book with this font-size, which will be more enjoyable and fulfilling for myself. Lots of authors are lazy and boring. They are not writing for the love of communication and creativity, but rather out of a desire for recognition and financial gain. Let these morons keep their books in font size twelve, I'll do what I know is right. I'm dedicated to being a man of integrity, of style, and of grace, so I have made this executive decision. I might be mocked, scorned, or even libeled by my inferiors (notice I said inferiors and not competitors — my only competition is myself) in the literary communities for treating this decision as if it warrants explanation, but this just speaks poorly on them. To them, everything is incidental and unimportant. They do not invoke meaning and weight behind every decision. They do not wake up every morning with a list of things they seek to accomplish and monitor their diet and consumption in order to achieve proper discipline. They do lack souls. They lack meaning. They do not understand what it means to have a truly godlike compulsion towards constant compulsion, and for this I look down on them and scoff at them. I matter and they do not, and this will never change.