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I’ve noticed some worrying signs that [BLANK] might actually happen, and we need to talk about it. If it does—and to be absolutely clear, I’m not saying it should, even if in a just world, it might—I would be devastated. Just devastated. I'd be so devastated that I've already drafted 5 different articles about how devastated I am, each with a slightly different tone depending on exactly how [BLANK] goes down.

Really, think about it. Imagine it happening. I’m not trying to scare you. I’m not trying to sensationalize. I’m not some kind of sick, twisted freak who gets off on watching the world burn. I'm simply pointing out that such an event would fit perfectly into the broader narrative I've been meticulously documenting for years. I’m not warning you because I care. I’m warning you because I need to feel better about myself. And guess what? It’s not working.

We need to be having this conversation. WE NEED TO BE SCREAMING ABOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS like lunatics on a suicide mission. Because if we don’t, if we just sit here quietly, then WHAT HAPPENS WHEN IT HAPPENS?

And when it happens, it won’t be some random, senseless act of Fate. No. It will be poetry. It will be a masterpiece of destruction. And I’ll be there. I’ll be the one masturbating to the carnage. I’ll be the one who can’t stop laughing, who can’t stop screaming, who can’t stop crying. I’ll be the one watching it unfold, devastated, of course, but also… I mean, come on. You have to admit. There’s something almost beautiful about the poetry of it all.

And when the worst happens and the gods decide to take a dump on us all, and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse show up at your doorstep playing a kazoo rendition of “Who Let the Dogs Out,” don’t come crawling back to me like some abused puppy who realized too late that the nice man in the van was a serial killer. Don’t give me that “Why didn’t we see this coming? Why didn’t we do something?” bullshit. Because I’M TELLING YOU RIGHT NOW—I’M SCREAMING IT AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. But you chose not to listen. You were too busy dumping gasoline on the library of Alexandria while watching 9/11 slow motion Remix 66 BPM Live Stream, stuffing your face with Taco Bell and huffing vape like it’s the Eucharist, doing Tik tok dance Challenges for clout with the Reply With Pics Of My Butthols Fandom Extended Universe, feeding on the fucking attention like a starving demon.

And when the dust settles, and the bodies are buried, I won’t gloat. I won’t judge. I won’t shove it in your face and say “GUESS WHOS A BANKRUPT TYCOON NOW A LAUGHINGSTOCK PUBLICLY HUMILIATED DELUSIONAL VAGABOND LIVING IN A CARDBOARD BOX YET STILL WEARING A ROLEX, INCOHERENTLY BLABBERING ON ABOUT ‘THE NEXT BIG DEAL’ WHILE THE WORLD WALKS BY UNIMPRESSED.” No, that would be cruel. That would be beneath me. Instead, I’ll sit quietly, my eyes cast downward, my voice soft and heavy. And when I finally speak, it won’t be with triumph or smugness. It will be with the crushing weight of regret. And all I’ll say is... “It didn’t have to be this way.”

It didn’t have to be this way.