#you guys i think the entertainment industry might be about to implode

[mcbitchtits]

first rejection! they closed the position without hiring anyone

i applied to two jobs at [REDACTED] today. it would be a big deal if i got one, but also, i kind of don't want them. but also... bills.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

PORNSTAR!HARRY WITH THE NEW BEARD (me? wet)

“What d’you think, then?”

Harry scratches absentmindedly at the thick stubble covering the lower half of his face, the coarse, light brown hairs heavily dusting his upper lip and haloing around his mouth and chin.

His eyebrows perk up at Y/N expectantly, awaiting her response as he sits across from her in the break room, laid out on the sofa with his head mounted against the elbowrest. His arms tighten around the maroon velvet cushion he’s hugging to his chest, a certain anxiousness jittering in his veins. He doesn’t know why her opinion matters to him or why the suspense is tearing his stomach to shreds, but it does and he can’t stop it and it’s fucking annoying, to say the least.

In his line of work, Harry had learned not to make severe emotional attachments to his partners. A platonic relationship is fine— he tended to naturally attract people without much effort and he thrives in social settings; friendships were bound to form— and a casual “friends with benefits” type of arrangement isn’t off the table, either. However, the industry had hardened him into being the kind of person who doesn’t care what others think of him. He never put much thought into people’s mundane concerns towards him (like whether his new beard was attractive or not) unless he had started to develop deeper connections, which then leads to him harvesting feelings, which in turn causes him to act like a complete lovesick moron and usually topples him into an actual solid dating situation. And if there’s anything Harry has painstakingly learned through multiple trials and errors is that being an adult entertainer while simultaneously engaging in a serious relationship never mixes well.

Yet here he is, waiting for their assigned filming room to be ready so they can go in and shoot a scene for a new video. Here he is, playing with a loose seam thread on the couch pillow, tugging at it nervously to give himself something to focus on other than the silence suffocating the room— a silence he himself had instilled by asking such a random, pointed question. Here he is, with sparks firing off in the pit of his tummy as the leg hanging off the side of the sofa bounces restlessly on his heel, toes curling in his pastel yellow Vans. He hasn’t felt this like this in so long he thinks he might vomit right onto the coffee table.

Y/N is extended across the loveseat opposite his, her legs draped over the armrest, knees bent and feet swaying back and forth distractedly. Her hands are cradled against her stomach, fingers sifted together as she taps at her knuckles, head snuggled into a throw pillow identical to his.

She had snapped her head to the side at his sudden question, surprised by the low thrum of his voice reaching across the still air since she thought he had fallen into a nap.

She’d run into him earlier as he had hurried inside the building, Nike gym bag slung over his shoulder and thudding against his hip as he made a beeline for his dressing room, itching for a shower. She figured that after exerting himself with a heavy workout and washing away the tension in his muscles with warm water, he’d probably want to get some sleep in before their shoot in order he to be at the top of his game. But evidently, Harry is wide awake, staring at her over the glass table between their makeshift beds, eyebrows raised in curiosity at her thoughts on the facial hair he’s sporting.

Y/N stares at him thoughtfully for a few seconds, eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in this never before seen appearance.

She’d been working for this company for just over two months now and she had never seen Harry with more than just a light bit of stubble. One can imagine her shock when he had waltzed in with a decently thick bushel covering half his face. She almost didn’t recognize him, being so used to his clean, boyish face rather than a hairy, full-fledged man. She hadn’t quite processed the change since their fleeting interaction prior to his bath, but apparently her take on it interested him and for some unknown reason, that notion makes her cheeks sizzle.

The response she blurts out makes her wish she could implode on command.

“You kinda look like Paul Bunyan.”

Harry blinks at her blankly exactly three times, shifting upwards higher against the armrest and cocking his head to the side in awed confusion. “Pardon?”

Y/N parts her lips to speak but her brain can’t seem to find a way to justify the idiotic, nerve-induced comment she’d just made. After a moment of charged silence, she splutters out a semi-acceptable explanation.

“Y’know, Paul Bunyan. The lumberjack guy? With the blue ox?”

Harry continues to stare at her, emerald irises twinkling with a mystified haze and eyebrows scrunched down in bewilderment.

She swallows quickly, feeling heat crawl up the sides of her neck. “He’s this folklore legend that they use to tell us about back in grade school. Disney even made a cute little short film about him.”

He blinks at her again, not sure how to react to her response since he has no fucking clue what she’s going on about. All he knows is that he wants to calm the ragging in his belly and possibly ebb some type of compliment out of her to tide over the craving for her approval.

He takes a wild stab and hopes for the best.

“So he’s a lumberjack, yeah? That must mean he was ripped. Was he hot?”

Y/N bursts into a round of easy laughter, feeling all the tension wash out of her in a huge wave of relief. Leave it to Harry to be a total dolt at the perfect time.

“Yeah, he was, actually. I used to have a crush on him, despite the fact that he was a literal cartoon.”

Harry’s lips break into a cheeky, satisfied grin, his dimples pinching into place. He sits forward, dropping the couch cushion into his lap and leaning back onto the palms of his hands, head lulling on his shoulder as one of his knees bends upwards to rest his heel at the edge of the sofa. He gives his brows a cocky shrug, well aware of how her gaze momentarily flickers to ogle at his widely parted thighs. He’d made the right call to wear his Adidas joggers, the thin polyester material obviously strained by what resides between his legs.

“Guess that means you have a crush on me now, too. By association.”

Y/N’s glazed eyes dart back up to his face and she tries to cover up her little escapade by snorting humorously, shaking her head lightly in amusement. “He was a bit taller than you, though. Makes him sexier.”

His voice comes out slathered with fake pained insult. “That’s no fair, I can’t even control that! How tall was he? Bet I could take him.”

She bites into her lower lip, a small playful grin peeking around her teeth at the ensuing banter. “Well, according to the myth, he’s seven feet tall.”

Harry scoffs dismissively, swinging an arm forward and settling his wrist over his bent knee, hand turning palm upwards for emphasis. “I can take him, no problem. A foot is nothing.”

Y/N props her chin onto her shoulder, maintaining her comfortable position stretched out across the couch, her back supported by the armrest. She sucks at her teeth in disagreement, pursing her lips with exaggerated contemplation. “I dunno, H. A foot is more than you think. What are you gonna do, jump on his back?”

He points at her warningly with his index finger, tone adamant. “I just fucking might!”

She releases another fit of bubbly giggles, cupping her tummy instinctively and for some reason that simple, unintentionally adorable action makes Harry’s pulse flutter in his temples.

He remains quiet for a bundle of heartbeats, just admiring the way her entire face glows when she smiles. He loves how bright she is— how lively and tender and easy-going. Her personality always shines through, no matter the instance. Whether it’s at a restaurant with their friend group, or at a get together at someone’s house, or when they’re sitting in the break room having a random, silly chat, or when he's balls-deep inside her with cameras trained on their every movement and there’s people watching every brush of their swollen lips, every caress of their heated skin, and every desperate plead whimpered onto eager tongues — no matter the tone and texture of the situation, she’s always the most blinding factor in the room. She’s just so golden.

“So you really think I can’t take this Bunyan bloke?” Harry inquires with a joking edge, his two front teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth to keep himself from grinning like an enamored fool.

“He’s a pretty big guy.” Y/N quips matter-of-factly, giving her shoulders a gentle shrug.

The edges of his lips twitch into a sly smirk. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty big, too...and you can attest to that.”

Even from across the room, he can see the way her whole body tightens at his lascivious dig. Her fingers halt the tapping on her knuckles and her eyes can’t seem to break free from his coy gaze, air struggling to expand her lungs.

Harry somehow always manages to make her speechless and she wishes he didn’t have that hold over her. They’re friends and coworkers; this influence on her could end in a real mess if she isn’t careful and the gig she has here at the company is too good to risk it. The porn industry is littered with producers that exploit their workers and women are more susceptible to this abuse than men, but somehow amidst the pile of shitty businesses, she had managed to book a permanent spot at a facility that treats their workers with the respect and dignity they deserve. Harry had been working here way longer than she had— he’d been here before she even knew the company existed. If things went downhill, she would have to be the one to leave.

Technicalities aside, Y/N’s worst fear is ruining her relationship with Harry. He had been the person that had comfortably eased her into the whole world of sexual entertainment and she would forever be thankful to him for making her experience smooth and seamless. They’d developed a decent friendship along the way, their personalities clicking together perfectly from the second they had been introduced, their chemistry practically palpable. Harry had been her partner in almost all of her videos— save a handful she had done with other stars as a way of testing the waters and branching out— and had introduced her to all of the friends she had made here. He’d shot with her for her first ever video in this profession and helped welcome her into something she had been extremely terrified to try. She cherishes him beyond words, which is why the idea of allowing some harmless flirting to grow into something with the potential to end in disaster outright ices her blood.

What she hates the most is that such a simple cocky comment had sent her into a midlife crisis.

She anchors herself back into reality, clearing her throat softly as her lashes flutter. “You’re a moron.”

Harry cracks a self-assured simper, messing with the chunky rings of the hand hanging off his knee. “You’re not denying it, though.”

Y/N huffs offhandedly, finally breaking the intense eye contact he’d pinned onto her, glossy eyes zoning in on tracing the checkered pattern of her worn sneakers. “Your dick is obviously big or else you wouldn’t have a job here.”

The deadpan bluntness behind her tone sends Harry into a round of boyish snickering. “I know, but I just love hearing you say it. Strokes my ego like nothing else.”

Y/N picks at one of the tears of her cosmetically tattered jeans, a strangely contented smile threatening to string across her lips at the idea of him enjoying the way she specifically praises him. “And we both know how much you love having things stroked, now don’t we?”

Harry bites into the inside of his cheek, humming in agreement deep in the back of his throat. He absolutely adores the way she can go toe to toe with his vulgarity. “Touché. Although, if I recall correctly, you never seem to have any complaints about being the one doing it.”

“S’part of the job.”

“I’m pretty sure your kitchen isn’t one of the designated filming rooms.”

“Practice makes perfect.”  

Y/N’s jaw clenches as she feels Harry’s delighted condescending stare boring into the side of her face. He swings his arms out from behind him, slumping into the backrest of the couch, flexing forearms settling across the light blue fabric of the vintage Mickey Mouse t-shirt stretching over his broad chest. The foot resting on the ground braces itself onto the edge of the coffee table, the one on the couch shifting some, his thighs parting open even wider. She has to resist the urge to look, having to make due with the blurry image registering from her peripheral vision. Even out of focus, he looks incredible.

“D’you know what we’re shooting today?”

The change in topic gifts her the chance to recuperate and regroup; work talk is a sanctuary she is more than happy to inhabit.

Y/N cranes her neck to look over at Harry, refusing the impulse to check him out in his new, much more revealing position, meeting his eyes with an indifferent attitude that hides how buzzed he truly has her. “It’s something for a series you’re doing on your channel, right?”

Harry bobs his head in an easy nod, thumbing over the inside of his right elbow— a mindless mannerism. His lips twitch into a goofy grin. “Wanna know what I named it?”

“Something dumb, probably.”

“How Many Licks Does It Take To Make a Cherry Pop?”

Y/N sighs heavily through her nose. “Expected no less. It’s a bit long, though, don’t you think?”

“Maybe a little but the Wow Factor outsells.”

“Whatever you say.” Y/N checks the time on her phone, slipping it back into her rear jean pocket. They’d been sitting here waiting for their call for almost fifteen minutes now. “So from the looks of it, it’s mainly based around eating girls out?”

Harry scratches at the back of his neck casually, playing with the ringlets that curl along the nape of his neck. “Mmhm. Just thirty minutes of me making you cum as many times as I can with my tongue.”

The shells of Y/N’s ears burn. “Sounds like a dream. I’m getting paid just to lay there and I won’t even have to take off all my clothes.”

“Good karma, I suppose.” Harry glances impatiently towards the door of the break room, eager to get started. He doesn’t really know why, but he’s just gained an abrupt hunger to be nose deep between her thighs right this second. “Although, do you think you can pull your shirt up? Y’know how much I love a good view and you just look so fucking good in lace.”

She kinks an eyebrow up in mild shock at his accurate statement, pushing down the way his admiration makes her pulse skip a beat. “How did you know I was wearing lace?”

His tongue sweeps over the front of his teeth teasingly, Cupid’s Bow curving with a hint of perceptive glee. “Because you know it makes my balls ache.”

Y/N’s thighs unintentionally clasp together at his crudeness and she decides to put his insight to the test. “What color am I wearing, then?”

Harry sits forward, interest elating his limbs, forearms flushing against his thighs as he twiddles his thumbs between his separated knees. He takes a second to think it through, tilting his chin up slightly with a confident air. “Pastel peach.”

Her hands slap down against her tummy, the action tainted with disbelieving outrage. “How’d you know?!”

He chews on his bottom lip pensively as if carefully sewing his words together. “Because I complimented you the last time you wore it.”

A rush of white hot energy surges through Y/N’s entire nervous system. “Didn’t think you’d remember since you always compliment everyone.”

Harry shakes his head gently, twisting a metal rose ring around his middle finger. “Always remember you.”

An electrified silence falls between them, zizzing every molecule in the chilled air.

Y/N is well aware of the large number of people Harry’s been with and she had always assumed she would melt into the masses without much of a second thought. But here he was, telling her that she stood out to him enough that he could vividly recall the little odds and ends of flattery he gave her. It probably wasn’t much of anything and he was just being his polite, courteous self, but it made her stomach somersault nonetheless.

Her lips part open as if to speak, but her vocal chords can’t seem to find the pitch of her voice. She just lays there with her mouth agape for a second or so, fishing for a response that her brain has yet to conjure. Harry waits in anticipation, wanting to know her thoughts on small but meaningful confession.

Y/N is saved by a collection of swift hard knocks to the door of the room.

The knob turns and the door cracks open, a familiar face peeking in, bare chest covered in a sheen of short, disheveled hair and a complimentary company robe. Niall— a mutual friend and fellow entertainer— throws up a relaxed wave, icy blue eyes lighting up with the effortless jolliness he’s so well known for.

His voice filters through the heavy atmosphere, his thick Irish accent cutting the tension like a knife. “Oi, Jeff told me to come get you. Room’s set up.”

Harry licks over his lips absently, keeping his muted olive irises glued to Y/N for an extra heartbeat before breaking away, forcing an easy smile for Niall’s sake and matching it with banter. “Couldn’t come get us himself? Lazy prick.”

The sky-eyed young man shrugs his shoulders sloppily, his exorbitant laughter bouncing off the walls. “Was headed for my dressing room to clean up and you guys happened to be a pit stop on the way so it wasn’t much trouble.”

Harry pushes himself onto his feet, stretching out his back and twisting his torso from side to side. “S’about time, too. Been sitting here so long I thought my bones were gonna cement.”

Niall whistles sympathetically. “That’d be real shit for business.”  

The British boy sputters into his next sentence with a flurry of giggles. “Fuck off.”

Y/N speaks up for the first time since before Niall burst in. “Jeff would basically lose all his income. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘World renowned adult entertainer Harry Styles hospitalized, leaving mother company in shambles!’”

“A right Shakespearean tragedy, that is.” Their blonde friend cackles, the suspicious bite marks on his lower lip tinting darker as his skin stretches.

“Lucky for me, I already have experience with Shakespearean tragedies.” Harry quips proudly, walking towards the exit and standing beside Niall with his arms crossed over his stomach nonchalantly.

The fellow pornstar scowls jestingly, reaching forward and tugging at the corner of Harry’s mustache. “Romeo and Juliets: The Four-Crossed Lovers doesn’t count, Obi-Wan.”

“Whatever.” Harry snaps in return, slapping Niall’s fingers out of his facial hair and smothering him with the palm of his hand, shoving the boy out the door. “Go clean the jizz off yourself.”

“Go clean the jizz off yourself.” The shorter man mimics mockingly, backing away from the door with both of his middle fingers prevalent.

Once Niall’s gone, Harry glimpses back at Y/N over his shoulder, coughing awkwardly. “So I guess I’ll see you in there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She gives him a timid, watery smile, barely nodding her head.

“Alright. Show time, Peach Lace.”

The joking nickname eases the pressure of the situation to a bearable level. She repeats his phrase in agreement, shrugging her brows as cool and collected as her churning tummy will allow. “Show time.”

Harry’s messy quiff of curls disappears down the corridor that leads to their designated room and Y/N can properly gulp down air for the first time since he asked her what she thought about his beard.

It’s then that she realizes she never really answered his question directly, but she gets the feeling that he knows where her opinion lies.

[hanzi83]

Suspended from Twitter Again from Organized Harassment

The thought of catching up scares me and it keeps me going back to check what happens on reddit etc and then I fucking just don’t want to write even though I am acting irrational on twitter more than usual. I then start commenting on twitter more than focus on my personal journal and I am prompted with people trying to trigger me because they sense vulnerability in me, and I feel these people are employed to do this kind of behavior, as you can tell from my plethora of videos, blogs, tweets, instagram posts etc. I have angered so many people in this world, where there is a team dedicated to fucking with me and tarnishing my image, and instilling paranoia in me, and since the Stern Show, I feel is responsible, even though I cannot confirm 100 percent, they have dedicated an obscure subreddit dedicated to me claiming they are working to get me banned from twitter, and other social media outlets, hinting my family and friends are in connection with government agents, because I am technically on a watch list, or at least that is how I see it, and they have limited my movements and since I have angered people in my life with jabs because I feel a lot of them are in connection with people behind the scenes. I know it sounds crazy that this type or organization is going on for an individual, but there are teams dedicated to doing this to others. People in the system, mostly public figures, have been targeted, and some of them behind the scenes are organizing teams for employed fandom to take over the internet, depending if that person is supposed to be popping.

I have been pointing out this for the last several years how this is going down or at least putting theories, that have not been officially backed up specifically, but there are plenty of articles in prominent news and media outlets that have shown you what the capabilities are based off what has happened in the past, and because I am not partaking in sports tribalism, and people knowing it might bother me because this type of pretentiousness bothers me when people make these sporting events seem like some great moment for history, as we are currently becoming America light, and since a lot of this is predetermined and is supposed to propel this city into the upper echelon, I feel like people are blinded by this, and not focusing on the political shit involved with all of this. I am glad Toronto is in the championship, it is cool, despite me being irrational and wanting to hate it because people who love it have contributed into hurting me behind the scenes and stumping my growth, and have stolen everything from me.

I am not allowed to even express any of my irrational behavior to help me to cope because by letting me speak out, people see me as a threat because I bring transparency into the system, and even though the people in charge, hypothetically, have tarnished my image from being credible, and being seen as someone in his mom’s basement who spews out conspiracies and is obsessed with pro wrestling, and he doesn’t want to get laid because he feels he is not mentally capable to satisfy women, and also believing some of them could be agents, but they will label me an incel, when the people they work for in the upper echelon are the ones who treat women horribly and basically bribe them to give them good PR and then when they are allowed to disclose a horrible scenario involving one of those men, then they are seen as crazy. These people have been entitled, and hell they don’t put men or women on a big stage unless they had to compromise themselves physically and mentally. I point that out and I am seen as the bad guy, and now that people are still tuning into seeing me, even by suppressing the views, so people can watch it by other means, in a group setting, because a lot of people online are a part of groups that gossip how to fuck with people, because they are given incentive, the system has bribed these people with perks and access and makes their lives a lot more comfortable, when they can’t suppress my views they will actively cut short some of my periscope sessions. I will do 20 plus minutes and these people will somehow make it 4 minutes or something.

More Whack Packers are dying and the ones alive are dealing with harassment are prompted to kill themselves and being harassed with the worst type of shit imaginable, and threats of doxing and instilling fear that Howard is going to kill me or that Vince McMahon will kill me, because I speak out on horrible things they may be accountable for even though they will never take accountability and they are protected, and so are the people who are attached to them, and now I feel they have constantly being fucked with me because they want me to be put in a hospital or they want me to attempt suicide, and the movements and transparency in my life seems people who are supposed to be close to me help in that regard, and it is much more important to be connected to what everyone else is doing that is popular, and stick by the official narratives, they would do it at the expense as someone who is supposed to be their friend. Social Justice Warriors, who claim to stand up for injustice, and some of them put their money where their mouth is, but others are just there for the limited narrative and they act outraged when they are told to, so it looks like they are speaking out against racism, when they ignore the larger chunk that is going on systemically. I spoken out how other Whack Packers could be sacrificed for their fame or what they contributed to the system, and Tan Mom and Marfan Mike are hospitalized, and people capitalize on that conspiracy and hint that I am the next Whack Packer who will die.

I have one asshole who is clearly obsessed with every move and speech I make and talks about it nonstop and misrepresents it and if I don’t give this dude and his group of people the entertainment, and for me to take the barrage of harassment about where I am in my life and how everything I am saying is delusion, but then I analyze them and this person in particular about what his life must be like, because he has made grand announcements he was done watching anything I do on periscope, but then constantly does it and then hints that people are after me, and it is clear this person is bought off because I can’t imagine anyone being this obsessed with me for fun. He is obviously protected and he makes claims that people in my life had people look into him for harassing me, just to make it seem like he is dealing with some harassment to take the fact off that I am dealing with the real deal.

No one with a platform is allowed to speak, and even anything that I write, this particular agent just takes everything I say and misrepresents it as delusion grandeur when I am not the only one going through this and the ones that are, are too afraid to address it because it makes them look crazy and I am a bigger target because I was on of the biggest radio shows in the history of radio. I got active mob bosses in this system trying to silence me, and they know by suspending my social media, I will implode, and I know people in my life are probably hoping for that too since everyone fucking hates me.

I know when I write this blog, barely anyone will care because people are only invested when I am mentally breaking down and not being able to fucking handle any of the backlash and it becomes great entertainment for them to get to interact with a whack packer from the Stern Show because they are more invested in harassing me or harassing Wendy because it does not have to focus on their shitty lives so they attack people within the system, even wrestlers go through this targeted shit, but I don’t know if they realize they system they are emboldened to, are probably the ones organizing it since the people in charge exploit anything while pretending they care about these social issues and mental issues, while helping perpetuate the harassment, and when people like me speak out, and even as irrelevant I seem to be, I still anger a good chunk of them and they are constantly coming for me. and they will not stop until I am completely self destructive and kill myself, and the fact that people in my life could be helping with that just so they can have access to these institutions  and all the industry sex workers they could ask for because they are that easily compromised, but they are doing it at my expense, when me being a public joke for the Stern Universe and the Wrestling Universe to get a hold of, they have profited off of it behind the scenes more than anyone and will never admit anything.

They will never stop and it is fine if 10 people read this, I hope that some people who do read this actually know what is going on and please let it be known that this is happening as no media outlet will fucking care about this, because they are told when they can start going after stories, even as truthful some of the leftist ones are, they have to be compromised a little bit, even with the conspiracies, you would think someone on the Stern Show would attract these people to see what I am thinking right, but even they are limited. Only when some vindication occurs, or if I implode and something horrible happens, then after the fact they will care, they will not see my growth and exposing the way the system has manipulated us into hating each other and being more racist, misogynistic, homophobic, and presented it as the cool thing to do because I bought into it for a good portion of my life, but these people who have the chance to do it, don’t because they would limit their discussion and not have nuance and pretend they are speaking out on something big and powerful, when it is merely just calling out one person in the system who said something racist, and people behind the scenes don’t care, it is meant for a limited narrative and because I am sick of the status quo, and have constantly spoken out on shit that I have to say are theories, because I can’t prove a lot of it, they still see me as a threat and will continue.

Normally I write down my thoughts privately but even that is not 100 percent private, it is constantly hacked and people move my cursor around when I spew some venom just to get it off my chest and since I have not written down anything it is getting difficult to know what is in my fucking mind. They will keep fucking with my mental health and it will never stop. I am clearly not high on anyone’s list to help out, even though I have taken on big wigs like Stern. I don’t care how irrelevant he seems to be to the culture, he has pull behind the scenes, even the negative he still controls I think, he can easily have it seen as the people who hate him are the republican Trump supporters, while also being a secret Trump supporting, but somehow on this endearment tour he is going out on, he has convinced people he has secret information about Trump not wanting to be the president, which would beg the question, why did he not say anything before the election? He is in bed with Trump, and he is protected as long as Trump is in power, but no one can see this and the ones who can, are not allowed to say anything. They have managed to censor me during the Raptors game, because it hurts people locally to know that I point out that this is all predetermined, and maybe it is my irrationality and insecurity that I did not connect with my city, and someone who has sold their souls have more respect in this city than someone like me, who did not want to partake in rituals that compromised another life, and then later on have a rabid fan base attack those people and make them seem crazy. Maybe with all my flaws, I still have a fucking soul and actually don’t want people to be discriminated against or oppressed.

People will sacrifice their own loved ones to be part of the upper echelon and it makes me not want to be part of this world, because as far as I am concerned I was never loved, all through my life they have made it known how they treat me, even back in high school or now because Stern has allowed them to be trolls in the system who can put me down because they resent me for being someone who blew up and I can see what their intention is, and when they got what they needed, they sold me out and exclude me from anything that does not benefit them because they secretly hate me. So why don’t you just end me, you won’t though, because I have been told I am needed here, I need to be mentally tortured and limited, as long as pretentious people in the system and in my life prosper and can control me. I don’t want any part of it. Let me die. Come on Howard, sacrifice me, like you supposedly sacrifice other Whack Packers, and then your sick fan base can claim “HE GAVE THEM FAME AND WITHOUT STERN THEY WOULDN’T BE KNOWN” while allowing a sick fan base to treat us like shit and then you make all the fucking profits. Fuck you.

Anything I have said I don’t have factual proof. I will never have it, and if I did they would certainly fucking kill me, and until then they are hoping they fucking I fucking kill myself because it would fit into their narrative better, maybe pat themselves on their back for feeling bad for this torture while they helped create it. They torture everyone in the fucking whack pack and no one cares. We are all lower than filth to these pretentious snobs. Fuck each and every one of you that have allowed this to happen. I hope you catch and become riddled with herpes from all the orgies you sold your souls for. I hope everything around you crumbles, and even if I will never become vindicated from any of this and continuously be mocked by an obsessive troll who is showing off the harassment he can do under the guise of “calling me out on my bullshit” since I did not embrace him, because these sick people want to be producers of mine for a podcast or be a co host, and I don’t want to be with anyone, because I think you are all government agents. Fuck each and every one of you for doing this to me. It makes no difference because you will be coddled within your group chats, where you sick fucks are taking bets on which whack packer is going to die next. Fuck you all.