You will never be a real horse. You have no mane, you have no tail, you have no horse cock. You are a degenerate man astroturfed by leftist donors and social media algorithms into a crude mockery of Marxist theorists.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your goblinish appearance in private discords.
Viewers are utterly repulsed by you. Dozens of years of Internet access have allowed people to sniff out Lolis with incredible efficiency. Even “shortstack goblins” look uncanny and unnatural to normal people. Your unsorted folder is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a horse home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your computer chair.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a goblin, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear – you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your followers will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your twitch name and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a pervert is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is an Internet thread mocking your porn folder.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
