Dude and I are both convinced, in advance, that we are 16,000% right.
This is what it sounds like … when doves have the lachrymal equivalent of dry heaves
Ian Belknap

I’m becoming more and more convinced that TGS (The Great Satan — my name for Frankenscrotes) is an inevitable byproduct of the Internet. Once there was a way for every dickwad of whatever persuasion to retreat in a condom and inflate it with there own farts TGS had to happen. For the record, I too have my own little fart inflated condom. No wonder I stayed so easily in denial for so long.

Yes we all love the Internet. But he turned out not to be “the one.” He enabled our worst skullfuckery. He flattered us by letting us flatter our jerkedoffest selves. Now we’re slapping ourselves and screaming in our own flat faces whatthefuckweshudduvseenitcoming.

The golem of the Internet is upon us. It’s not just a bad dream. I know because I keep hitting esc but I’m still here.

Like what you read? Give Quasimodo a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.