God, amateurs. All of you amateurs. Give Ralph back a measure of success, have people forgive him, start to get back into shape, hell let them pay him an amount of superchats to keep him happy. Then get someone close to him, really buddy, buddy up to him. Just as things are starting to look bright have that person start feeding him liquor and pills. Start whispering in his ear that different people are out to get him, that Meigh is jealous of his success, whenever he gets in an online argument tell him that his ideas of driving out to confront the person are brilliant, plant one of those white noise generators in his room that you cant hear but definitely effects your ability to get restful sleep, start slightly moving things around on him and tell him it is all in his imagination gaslighting the fuck out of him and making him slowly lose that little grasp of reality he once had. Then sit back and let Ethan Ralph be Ethan Ralph and completely crash and burn knowing the success he craves was within his grasp moments before it was torn away. Then build him back up and repeat the cycle. Time, after time, after time.
Each collapse kills a little of Ethan each time it happens. Each time we get to laugh. And when those final minutes come to him he will reflect on his life of always striving for what he wanted only to have it evade his grasp everytime, and he will never again taste something like the Mundane Matt flagging stream ever again in this life or the next. Let that be the gift to the corn gods.
